Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Absolutely nothing has been going right for you, and this is the last straw. You have been working your ass off for this company for the past six and a half months, and the only thing that they seem to have recognized about you is that you can’t seem to get to work on time—probably not even if your life depended on it. Most days, it's not even your fault. You’ve tried leaving your apartment extra early only to be met with a flat tire in the parking lot. You’ve tried setting your GPS to avoid construction only to have an undocumented car accident reduce traffic to a crawl. You’ve over-communicated with your supervisor to explain yourself, and hoped against hope that your transparency would at least build some trust that you were trying. You’ve come to realize that she probably thinks that everything was just excuses or lies, so all of your humiliating, self-deprecating humor about how you can’t seem to do anything right, has probably served to damage your relationship with her more than help it.  They put you on an employee improvement plan last month and you’ve decreased your lateness by about fifty percent—which for you, is huge. You shake your head sadly as the HR representative drones on about your severance package. It slowly creeps into your awareness that if you could have reduced your late arrivals by that much, maybe you had a little more control over it than you previously thought.

But that was par for the course in your life: it was nearly impossible to be motivated unless you were under dire threat of failure or extremely passionately excited about something. Why are you like this? You think to yourself and realize, yet again, you’ve blanked out on what the HR person was saying. They’re all looking at you expectantly for some form of a response and you have no idea what to say, so you look down into your hands and sniff slightly. You hope that they will just get it over with if tears are impending; most people would have had to fake it but you’re nearly there in reality, thanks to all of the negative thoughts you’re lashing yourself with internally.

Up until now, you’d never been put on an employee improvement plan. At 31 years old, you’ve been mercifully employed in jobs where such things were not the norm. But this job was your most earnest attempt at adulting that is chalking up to be yet another in a series of failures that remind you how hard it is for you to do all the things that it seems to be completely easy for everyone else to do. You continue to feel helpless as you catalog all of the reasons you failed to hit their goal for you this month. One morning there's a stall on the freeway or your battery is dead or okay, yeah, once (or twice) there was a longer line at the espresso stand than you expected and you probably should have skipped it, but you know that you can't keep your brain-to-mouth filter working without a nearly fatal dose of caffeine each day… So much for excuses. Even real, genuine reasons. They are letting you go. You realize that to them, your failure sends the clear message that you are not ‘one of them’; you don’t fit into the hyper productive culture of worker bees they are trying to build in a company they tried to claim was Gen Z laid back, and hip, and realistic about work/life balance. Liars. They never seemed to notice how hard you work or how much you've been trying. You were the newest person on the team; you stuck out like a sore thumb, so you're out.

Fuck these fake ass anti-capitalist posers.

But for you, this is really the last straw. You really can't do this whole ‘adulting’ thing like everyone else.

School never panned out for you, either. None of it went how you had hoped it would. You struggled to keep up with the workload of your classes, failed spectacularly at meeting deadlines, and your professors scoffed when you had the audacity to actually take the mental health breaks that they insisted were acceptable at the first day of class. Leave it to you to be naïve and not realize that they did not actually want you to take any breaks. Your grade was lowered for every day you missed. You ended up walking away from school and never did graduate your university program. Since you did acquire some reasonable skills and knowledge from the courses you were able to complete, you thought you could use those skills in your present job and just be able to start your life, even without some shitty degree. Boy, were you dreaming.

You just can’t seem to conform to everyone’s expectations, you chide yourself. You really should know this by now. It used to be a running joke in your family how you were an ‘out-of-the-box’ thinker, but it’s really not so funny now, in the real world. You still have to fit into the same box as everyone else, but who are you kidding? This world is just about boxes and labels and how people fit in the world. You’re sick of the boxes.

You put all your stuff from your desk and your cubicle into a box—ironically—and you do the Walk of Shame through the front lobby. Security is kind enough to just stand by at a distance. They know you're not going to do anything in retaliation; they look like they feel bad for you. They've seen you struggle every day, bursting through the doors to get upstairs as quick as you can, and they know that you're generally a nice person who tries their best, so they're not judging. At least there's that. You glance around at all the people you were hoping to make friends with (your co-workers) but nobody meets your eyes as you walk toward the front doors. You shove the door as hard as you can without spilling your box of belongings, and stumble awkwardly out of the building into the sunlight. It is not the brightness of the day that brings the moisture to your eyes, or even the fact that you just can't get your proverbial shit together. It's kind of just… everything.

All of your failure comes crashing down on you at this point. You feel yourself starting to cry for real, so you walk to your car as fast as you can. You clumsily get in, throwing your box in the back seat and cringing as you hear the contents spill out onto the seat and the floor. The tears start falling hot and fast as you sit there and fall apart, crying uncontrollably. Your unrestrained sobs come so hard, wracking your lungs until you begin to cough and wonder for a second if this is how you die, choking on your own pathetic snot and tears. Your hands are smacking the steering wheel in silent screams until the stinging pain buzzing in your palms jars you to realize how ridiculous you probably look. You stop and begin trying to figure out what you're going to tell your mom this time. Your thoughts run the reel of cascading concerns, like how are you going to keep your apartment? How are you going to get another job without a reference? You find yourself blankly staring for a moment until you take a deep breath and start the car, grabbing the nearest leftover fast-food napkin from the center console. As you dry your tears, you can’t help but feel absolutely pathetic.

You push the car into reverse and glance in the rearview mirror. You try to ignore how your theatrical hysterics have completely wrecked your face. You dab at your puffy eyes and runny nose again before putting the car into drive. The stereo has finally connected to your phone’s Bluetooth, and you startle as Turbulence comes on from your favorite ATEEZ complete playlist.

Of course. The universe seems to be set on fucking with you at this point. You start to lose your shit all over again, because of course: ATEEZ is always there for you and knows exactly what you need to hear. and you wish all of life could be that simple. They say that they will always be there for you, and you feel like they are—in their way—the best that they can be. But It's not enough; it's not the same. It's obviously not the companionship that you need. You’ve struggled so much in this city and not making friends at your job because nobody wants to be close to the fuck-up girl who can't get it together, your attempts on dating websites have been absolutely horrendous. You’re still so devastatingly lonely.

It's been so awful that it's almost funny but not really funny at all, because you're still alone and you have ATEEZ to comfort you. But right now, you still just feel completely empty and worthless. Having ATEEZ on your side somehow seems to highlight, rather than soothe, what is missing in your life. How do you begin to imagine what life would be like if there was something more for you out there? If only somebody would come along and recognize what you have to offer. You've always been a calming presence to the people around you. Small children and animals trust you instinctively. People who tend to get overly angry or yell at your work, don't do it when you're there. You always come back from a couple days off and find out that somebody completely lost their shit when you weren't around. It seems like a huge disconnect between the people you know and the stories of all of their meltdowns and tantrums you have missed. You wish that your flaws could be overlooked in favor of some of these unspoken skills you possess. Maybe it’s a coincidence, or maybe your old coworker was right when he referred to you as “human valium.” Bitterly, you hope that someone totally flips a desk when you’re gone and maybe they realize how you’d held the office together with your secret superpower.

Your thoughts shift to all of the comfort ATEEZ offers you through their music and their variety shows and their lives, the FROMM messages… everything that they do that brings you comfort and makes you at least feel like you can keep putting one foot in front of the other. As the next song on the playlist rolls around, of course, it's Take Me Home. And it's not helpful, at all, in this moment. The sweeping melody passes through you as though your body is not a solid entity but a collection of atoms only coincidentally buzzing around each other. It feels like when you wear a thin sweater without checking the weather forecast and a cold breeze blows right through you. You are empty, cold and alone and the painful melody is like ice through your chest.

The lyrics of the song draw your focus and cause you to wonder, do they have somebody like that? Do the boys have someone to keep them from feeling so terribly alone? Because, obviously, they're idols. They have to keep their private life secret and separate, and everything has to be just so. It’s not the first time you find yourself wondering—are they as lonely as you are sometimes? Obviously, they have each other, but they've been together for so long; they probably have their good days and bad days. They probably fight and avoid each other sometimes, depending on what's going on. And besides, they all work so hard. How would they even have time to find somebody to just listen or just be around? You hate the idea of any of them being lonely and you can’t help thinking how much it feels like you owe them, and your ultimate fantasy would be to take care of them in any possible way, as a tiny way to repay your gratitude.

You laugh at your own ridiculousness. The very idea sounds absurd. You wonder if that’s some of the crazy shit that sasaengs think, and your stomach does a sick little flip. No, your thoughts are not impure; you genuinely would do anything behind the scenes, even if it never brought you near them. You’d be completely fulfilled if you knew you were helpful to them in any meaningful way. You assure yourself that you’d never try to insert yourself into their lives where you know you don’t belong.

It’s such a stupid thought, anyway. You don’t even speak Korean. You've tried to learn, and you’ve never been able to do it. Yeah, you've tried with the stupid app on your phone, but like, let's be honest: it all sounds totally different in context when they're talking casually in their pop lives and in their interviews, and you’re completely baffled by the translations even though you recognized some of their words. If you even attempted to get a job at KQ, would they even look at you? What are your skills? You've never finished a degree. You haven't finished a lot of things to be honest, and what would it even look like? But you're just sitting there in your car, you can feel the tears that shrink wrap your eyes trying to stay on the composed side. You’re trying not to cry again and welcome this silly, distracting thought. You open your phone and search for the KQ website. The little bubble pops up: [Do you want to translate this page?]. Yeah; you still don't read Hangul, and it would be horrifying to have to go through the whole thing to try to figure it out on your own.

You scroll to look at their human resources page. It takes forever to load, giving you time to start to think this is the dumbest thing you've ever thought about doing. You’re not going to fly to Korea. You’re not going to get a job at KQ. They're never gonna hire you anyway… How would you justify the expense of flying there if you’re not likely to even get the job? Whatever. But, okay, you know, maybe they would have something for you to do, so you open the webpage auto-translate the HR section, and half-heartedly scroll down the page.  You pause over a short listing. “Assistant (General): housekeeping, personal assistance, light duty.” It doesn't say who you’d report to. You know you could be working for literally anybody there. You don't know if you’d be just cleaning toilets in the office or what, but you look down at the job requirements, and most of them are all things that you've done that you still have decent, not-too-stale references for. You still wonder if it matters that you don’t speak the language.

But you suddenly think about your friends who went to China. They were teaching your language; they didn’t speak a word of Chinese. You don't even know how that works. But they stayed there for like 3 or 4 years, with their whole family, and everything was great, and they came back happy and healthy. You’ve heard all these great stories about how much they learned and loved the culture and everybody they met, and they started learning the language. So, maybe it doesn't matter.

The listing doesn't say you have to speak Korean but maybe that's kind of implied by the fact that it’s a Korean company on their own website. You chuckle as you shrug off your own ignorance. Who knows. You scroll down further, and it just lists generic duties like housekeeping, organizing, shopping, food preparation, personal errands, things. It's super boring stuff, but you can't think of anything else to try. This is the silliest thing you've ever thought of and then you realize you’re still sitting in your car in your assigned space at the complex with only a vague recollection of the drive home. Fear grips your heart as you realize you don't really want to talk to your weird nosy neighbor in this state if you get caught outside. You shut off the car and quickly grab your things to dash into your apartment. You walk into the dark entryway, clumsily bumping the box and your hip on the doorframe as you curse and slam and then deadbolt the door.

It's exactly how you left it: the three outfits you changed your mind about this morning spread across the couch, last night's dinner dishes piled up on the counter next to several previous nights’ discards. Clearly, all of the stress at work has left you exhausted, and you’ve neglected your living space as a result. You heave a shameful sigh as you slide the box onto the kitchen island, using it to plow piles of unopened mail out of the way in hopes of finding enough level space for the box to rest.

Your stomach lurches with shame at the crust forming on the dishes, but thankfully there's really not that many because you never actually cook anymore; you just reheated a bunch of frozen crap that you got at the convenience store down the street. Your eyes scan the cluttered counters, coming to rest on the small, clear fishbowl that is partially overshadowed by the cupboards. You take a step forward ,thinking it was probably time to feed your little blue Betta fish, Hala. You’ve curated his little bowl tenderly in a pirate motif, and you selected the prettiest blue gravel that nearly matched his iridescent blue tail fins. As you move toward him, your gut clenches, and you instinctively know something is wrong but it’s not readily apparent what the problem is until your eyes come to rest on his little body floating at the top of the waterline, resting gently near the tender leaves of the fake plant you have placed in his bowl. Your little buddy, the only other living creature sharing your daily life, is dead… Another last straw in a big pile of last straws. You start to cry again, and without thinking, grab your phone to call your best friend. But you stop yourself; you want to get it together before you do because she's really been there for you so many times, and you have not been super helpful to her lately. It's just all you can do not to put her through that again as you become this insane person sobbing over dead fish, lost jobs, and the crushing realization of all the things that you’ve struggled with in your entire stupid life. It’s a wonder she answers your calls at all.

After a few moments of self-indulgent sobbing, you look at your fish. Sighing heavily, you scoop his body up gently with a paper towel. Look at his beautiful little fins. He was kind of your only companion, and you can't bear to flush his body down the toilet because it just seems wrong. You shudder as you think about what you do in that toilet. No way, that's not the burial that he deserves. But you don't have the energy to go scatter him over a rosebush, or whatever, so you fold him up in a paper towel and place him inside the kitchen trash. At least he’ll go to the waste-to-energy plant and become energy. Maybe someday, when you turn on a light bulb, there he is.

You chuckle a little to yourself, realizing that you probably have become completely unhinged at this point. Like how you've even considered moving to Korea to do some weird personal assistant/housekeeping job at your ult group’s production company. You need to go to bed. This has been the worst day in a series of worst days. Yes, it's mid-afternoon, but who cares? Nothing good is going to come from trying to make decisions in this state, so you go crawl into your unmade mess of a bed and fight the tangled sheets to pull the blankets up to your chin. You grab your Jjoongrami and Deongbeoli plushies and place them protectively on either side of you as you pull the blankets up over your head, closing your eyes tight against the afternoon sun peeking through your curtains. You'd always promised yourself you'd get black-out curtains, but you never got around to it. Then you read some article saying that it helped you wake up if you got little bit of natural light in the morning. So, you thought well, maybe that'll help me be on time and be more awake. Spoiler: it didn't work. But anyway, you are thinking in circles about nothing, and you have no idea what you're going to do next, and you drift off to sleep. When you do wake up, it's dark outside and it's dark in your apartment.

The first thing you hear as you peer around through your puffy eyelids is the booming base of the next-door neighbors; they're probably doing their nightly ritual: drinking cheap beer, yelling while playing some violent video games, and listening to music at a level that makes any sort of conversation impossible without screaming. Passively, you wonder how they even have vocal cords left after doing this night after night. But it's sort of become the background noise, and it allows you to not feel like you're completely alone because you're clearly surrounded by people. You shuffle to your kitchen, pushing your hair out of your eyes, looking across the carnage of dirty dishes and neglected meal prep containers. You suddenly remember your lunch from work is still in your bag, so you go to your bag and get that out, and your phone falls out. You shut the bag when the screen lights. Your lock screen is the picture that you took at the concert two months ago... The part when the boys give their ending ‘ments, and you stare at their perfect faces and sigh to yourself and think, well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad…

Maybe it's insane, but you know, maybe this is finally your moment of having some good luck. You've had enough bad luck; the odds of something good happening to you something's gotta change, right, if everything's going wrong? There's gotta be a shred of good luck out there in the universe left for you. Luck certainly hasn't been on your side at work or at home or in the dating world. Stop it. You take a deep, steadying breath. When you unlock your phone, it's still on the KQ HR webpage. And then the thought hits you: they might not even be hiring for anybody who has anything to do with ATEEZ. This might be for Xikers, but maybe it doesn't even matter, maybe that's fine. and you start to think, even if it's for Xikers, maybe that's better, actually because then you won't have to like figure out how to not fangirl and act like a complete dumbass If you ever run into anybody from ATEEZ, much less either of your biases….

You laugh at yourself and shake your head as you close out of the browser that has the HR window open. And you think I better at least call my best friend and tell her what has happened because she might kill me for getting fired, but she will definitely kill me if I don’t at least tell her what went down today. So, you dial the number, take a deep breath and figure maybe she'll have some ideas of what you can do next. You certainly don't want to tell her anything about your stupid idea about going to Korea and trying to get a job at your ult bias group’s company because it sounds insane. It is insane. Forget about it. The line keeps ringing.

Eventually, it clicks over to voicemail when you hear the old message, “The person that you have dialed has a voice mailbox that is full.”  You hang up the phone and roll your eyes. She's not exactly more on top of life than you are, but somehow—you don't know if it's her winning smile, her wicked sharp sense of humor, or her perfectly in-shape, toned body, but people seem to give her a lot more leeway than they do you. Self-consciously, you look down at your body; your work clothes have become horribly wrinkled because you went straight to bed in them, and honestly, they're a little dumpy on the best day.

You hate how you dress for work; you just chose what you thought people in an office were supposed to wear. But none of the clothes seem to be flattering on you. In fact, they make you look like you're 50 years old and you're only 31. Gross. You wish you had a better work style but have never had a good sense of what was acceptable, and since you've not had any success keeping a good professional job for more than 6 months, you didn’t want to push your luck by going outside the norm. You didn't dare to try dressing too fashionably or in a way that makes the older, more conservative people in your office uncomfortable. You didn’t want anyone to think of you as vapid or superficial because you put a lot of effort into a unique or stylish look. So, you just dressed like anyone else did, picking up your clothes at the local department store and layering shapeless jersey knit dresses with frumpy cardigans, mass-produced “statement necklaces,” and sensible shoes. You slip out of your work clothes, grumbling to yourself that you hope, wherever you work next, that nylons will not be involved. You ball up your nylons and throw them straight in the trash because, let's be honest, you’re never wearing those again.

You wonder if maybe you could just go back home and get a job with your mom at her daycare center. It doesn't pay well. But at least you’d get to spend your day with people who think that the sun shines out of your ass, because small children are generally pretty loving and accepting. And when you're the person who brings out the finger paints and the teddy grahams, you are the coolest person on the planet. Okay, so there's plan B,  you suppose. But you cringe slightly thinking about how your mom is gonna get that look on her face that's super disappointed and concerned but loving and trying not to judge. She’ll, of course, be wondering when you're gonna get your shit together, or at least get married or something… because you've not managed to check off a single thing off of the adulting checklist thus far. And obviously, she was trying to raise a stick, not a boomerang, as she always loved to tell you. You sincerely hope this saga isn’t going to end with you having to ask to move back in with her again.

You change out of your wrinkled work clothes into your favorite fleece joggers. They're black with cargo pockets, and they’re your favorite; they're flattering, they sit just below your waist on your rounded hips, and you wear your absolute favorite ribbed black tank top with them because it reminds you of the black tanks that the boys like to wear that drive everybody crazy on ig. And they just seem to universally look good on everyone. It hugs your full breasts and tapers around your waist without being restrictive. You feel slightly sexy in it but also extremely comfortable.

You shuffle back toward the sink, grab your earbuds, hit play on your playlist, start tackling the mountain of dishes, and try not to think about what conversations you must have next. As you finish stacking the dishes, the thought occurs to you that you do have some money saved up, so okay, maybe you aren’t a complete failure as an adult. You've saved up some money, and you could pay your rent for a couple of months until you figure out what you're gonna do next, without necessarily having to admit to your mom what you have yet again failed to do, which is keep a steady job.

You might have to eat bargain ramen the whole time because it'll be all you can afford. But hey, it's better than the humiliating crush of parental disappointment and having to humble yourself to take whatever job you can get in this stupid city. Because you're not going to be able to use the last one as a reference, and you'll have to tap dance a bit around the question as to why you have a hole in your job history for the last six and a half months...

…And before that is your mom's daycare. Great. You sigh to yourself, as you drain the sink and dry off your hands. Then you find yourself wondering exactly how much a plane ticket to Seoul would cost if you were to get an interview. No, that's nonsense. But you pull up the browser again and it's still on the HR website. You scroll down and look at the heading “Language requirements” and the only one listed is your language, and that doesn't make any sense. Shouldn't Korean be at least on there? And again, you laugh to yourself thinking, it's got to be just implied. Like, who in their right mind would think you could go work in Korea for a company if you don't speak their language… But it's a technical loophole that offers you the tiniest bit of hope, and honestly, this silly fantasy you’re mulling over might be the only think keeping you from having a complete mental breakdown if you were to actually face and embrace reality right now. You tangentially wonder if you could finish up some of your college courses while you're there or take some language courses so that you could learn enough to be passable. Before you think about it too hard, you're looking at how much a plane ticket to Incheon airport from your town’s airport costs.

The one-way ticket from your home airport costs about the same amount as a month's rent. Round-trip? No way. One way. You chuckle at yourself. That's absurd. That's so much money, but also you have 2 months’ rent saved up. You’re actually slightly grateful that you had decided to go month-to-month on the rent because you weren’t confident about your position when you moved here. You could get out of your apartment without breaking a lease. If you came back from an interview in Korea unsuccessful, what would happen after that? You could put your stuff in storage and worry about it later because you wouldn't have a place to live if you didn't get the job.

But you meet all the requirements—at least as far as they've listed them for the job. This is insane. You have no idea why you're even going to consider doing this, but at this point, nothing conventional has ever worked out. You don't fit in the mold; you don't even know where “the box” is that everyone thinks inside of. You're an out-of-the-box person; hell, you probably backed over the box by accident or left it on the roof of your car.

You know, it's just a metaphor, but really, it’s so true. Without thinking further, you click the link at the bottom to open the application, giving yourself permission to hold on to the fantasy a little longer before facing actual solutions to your life’s problems. Of course, the application that opens is also not in your language; you hit the translate button again, but only half of the boxes on the page change. You realize, with an icy jolt of dread, that the other ones are images, not text, on the page. Great. But for whatever reason, although that obstacle should have been enough to jar you to your senses and make you just quit even trying, there's something about this crazy idea that gives you just the tiniest bit of butterflies and hope in the pit of your stomach. It feels so much better than the rising despair and self-hatred/self-loathing you were feeling a moment ago that you press on.

You plop on the couch, sending throw pillows and empty snack bags airborne before they scatter to the floor around you. Grabbing your laptop, you open it up and launch the browser with the application for the job, and you exit out of the browser, on your phone, and instead open up your translation app. You start scrolling through the translator for Korean to your native language, and you open up the Hangul keyboard and start punching in what you see in the boxes that you don't recognize before hitting “translate.” And of course, it's exactly what you expected: it's the numbers, the street address boxes, things that would be really simple to someone who had even the rudimentary understanding of Korean. So you continue the laborious process of typing, translating, and entering your information until you have been able to enter all of your information. When you get to the bottom, it asks [If you're not a citizen, do you have an F-Series Visa, or would you be able to apply for a work Visa?] You click [Yes] even though it doesn’t require you to specify which part of the question you’re answering in the affirmative. It’s a bluff, honestly, you’re going to shoot your shot, but you know you’re not gonna get it. But it's an adventure. You’ll probably get a wacky story out of it that will make you a hit at parties, and it makes you feel a little bit better than you did a moment ago. So, this is the course of action you're going to take. It's completely bananas, but at this point in your fucked up life, you can probably just claim insanity. You hit [Submit], and then wonder, what the hell did I just agree to? So, you open up the Korean Visa website to find out more information on that, only to realize that your attention span for finer details has been exceeded for the day and you take a deep breath figuring, you know what, it won’t matter anyways. You’re not getting this stupid job. You don’t even know what the actual job is. You don’t know anything about anything. But hey, it’s not unlike buying a buttload of lottery tickets with a plan to change your life, or anything stupider or more reckless or more unlikely to actually work out that desperate people do. You close the laptop down and start laughing at yourself. Wow, you really are ridiculous. They're never going to contact you; it's never going to matter. But yeah, what a nice fantasy for a moment. You just let yourself reside in the bubbles of excitement of what if I actually did get the job and got to, like, meet my idols help them with their lives in some tiny, tiny insignificant way? And you bask in the warm fuzzy glow of thoughts of how they've helped you so much through all of the bullshit of your life. You let that giddy feeling just sort of roll around in your stomach as you laugh at your own stupidity and realize, you know, you really are a child for believing in fairy tales. And this is why, for real, you can't do adult things because you just are really not an actual adult.

You lean back on the couch and turn on the TV. You scroll past your current K-drama because you don’t have the attention span or energy to follow subtitles and pay attention to all of the gorgeous details and intonation of the scenes. You also are really not in the mood to cry again, and this particular series is like a delicious sucker punch of unrequited love that hits you in all your vulnerabilities. Instead, you pick your favorite comfort movie, Ever After, because you can recite it word for word, and you love the imperfections of the heroine, who, not unlike you, has delicious curves and a sassy mouth that she can’t quite keep shut even when her life depends on it. As the familiar movie plays, your head lolls to the side, and you aren’t sure when you drifted off to sleep.

You awaken to the jarring sound of your alarm, Work Pt.2, blaring from your phone. You wince as you realize that you forgot to turn off the alarm before falling asleep last night. You no longer have any need to get up so obscenely early. Swatting at your phone, you manage to silence the alarm and sit up slowly. Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and you can feel how puffy your face is from all of the crying yesterday. You feel a little dizzy—probably from dehydration. You blink in the morning sunlight, beginning to filter into the room. Glancing back at your phone to make sure that you didn’t just snooze the alarm, you notice the email icon in the top corner. A heavy sigh escapes you as you wonder which of your former coworkers had been nosy enough to message you about your termination or whether it was something even more annoying like an “exit interview” link from your former employer.

Satisfied that you did, in fact, dismiss the alarm, you click the icon to open your email. You were completely wrong about the contents and what you see in the subject line makes your breath and your blood freeze in panic. You can’t actually read it, as it is written in Hangul. But you can read the sender’s email: [email protected]. You fumble to get the message open and wonder if you even know how to get the email app to translate for you. Trembling slightly, you select the text and hit [Translate]. The email appears to be a standard form letter thanking you for submitting the application. There is another box to confirm your email and fully submit your application. You smack yourself in the forehead for not anticipating that the website would want a confirmation. You skim the rest of the contents and hit the [Confirm] button, and laugh lightly at yourself for all of the adrenaline the initial discovery of the email had caused. The self-doubt and shame at your ridiculous idea comes flooding back in with the morning sunlight. Shaking your head, you walk the short distance to the kitchen to attempt to stomach something for breakfast. Scanning the contents of the fridge, the pathetic assortment of wilting vegetables, your collection of well-intentioned protein powders on top of the fridge, nothing appeals to you. You know what you should eat, what’s healthy; you’ve struggled with your diet which was largely dictated by singular “safe foods” that appealed for months at a time, to the exclusion of all others, and then became utterly revolting without any warning. It was one of these in-between times when a safe food had become disgusting, and nothing had yet stepped up to hold the honor of the new safe food.

You step back from the fridge, annoyed when your phone vibrates again. Relieved by the distraction, you look down to see another email notification. There’s no way that it’s anything important, but you allow yourself to hope and ride the little stomach flip of adrenaline that the email icon triggers. Another email has arrived from KQ, and you hold your breath as you open it and hit [Translate]. This email thanks you for applying and informs you that interviews will be held via Zoom by appointment until the posting closes on {Date}. You glance at the calendar icon on your phone and realize that the closing date is tomorrow evening. A slight panic hits you as you also realize that Korea is many hours ahead of you and that it is technically tomorrow already. You quickly tap the link for scheduling and panic as you see that only two times are left and both are within the hour. You take the later option without hesitation, hit [Confirm], and slam your phone on the counter. You run for the shower and rush through your morning routine, breaking all of your speed records from days when you slept through your alarm and still had to catch the commuter. You spend a little extra time on your makeup since the interview will be on camera. You curse and dash out of the bathroom when you realize that you probably didn’t connect your laptop to the charger last night. In your haste, the bath towel you were wearing slides out from under your arms, and you nearly faceplant when you trip over the corner of it, and it propels you forward, slamming your shin on the small coffee table. Tears spring to your eyes as you gasp and curse but continue moving toward the laptop. You can already see that you didn’t plug it in, so you ignore the pain and get it connected on the kitchen table. You glance at the various crafting items, completely obscuring the surface of the kitchen table. With a wild sweep of your forearm, you swing most of the mess to one side of the table and ignore the unlucky items that fall to the floor. Satisfied, you turn and dash back to the bathroom to dry your hair before it sticks that way and finish making yourself “Zoom pretty.”

You probably look like a drag queen irl, but you know that the appearance filters on Zoom and the questionable lighting around your kitchen table will need all the help they can get. You select a conservative blouse and pair it with a pair of high-waisted relaxed slacks. There was no way you were going to forgo pants as you’d heard so many nightmares about people forgetting and standing while on camera. You complete the look with a pair of pearl stud earrings your mom gave you when you got your last job. They were supposed to be a graduation gift, she said, but since you didn’t actually graduate, she felt like this was the next best thing. You cringe a little at the guilt you feel and are grateful that you really layered on the foundation, and no one would be able to detect the flames of shame licking up your face. You glance one more time around the area, ensuring that the curtains are closed behind the table, and you throw a stack of old magazines down to raise up the laptop and avoid the cursed double-chin effect of a low camera angle. You have three minutes to spare.

Knowing how dry your mouth gets when you are nervous and forced to talk, you dash to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and slide into the seat just in time for the email with the Zoom link to arrive. Despite your shaking hand, you click the link to open the interview session and nearly die when you see the notification that pops up. [Please Update Zoom to Proceed]. You just about projectile vomit onto your screen, but click the notification as fast as you can. Of course, it was out of date. You hadn’t used it since undergrad and the whole pandemic thing. This is just perfect. You really are so predictably pathetic. You roll your eyes at yourself and try to control your urge to hyperventilate while you wait for the program to finish updating. You try to remind yourself how this whole idea is really silly, and you don’t actually expect it to pan out, so it doesn’t really matter if this delay causes them to reject you.

Suddenly, the update is complete, and you click the [Join Meeting] button and glance at the clock, just four minutes late for your scheduled fifteen-minute interview. The screen opens to display a polished, poised woman in a lavender suit jacket and cream blouse. She appears reserved and professional—her lips pressed together in a small smile. You give a wide, toothy grin before checking yourself and realizing that you might be failing miserably at observing the culture and decorum, and quickly morph the grin into an attentive, neutral look. As you think about your ignorance, you realize that you do not know how you will be communicating with the woman. You glance at the settings icon on your screen and hold your breath slightly while you attempt to click on it without making the movements obvious. You’re hoping against all hope that there might be some type of real-time captions or translations provided.

As you nervously scan the settings and feel yourself beginning to sweat, the woman speaks, snapping your attention back to her image on the screen. Relief floods you as you realize that her words are in your native language. You can’t believe your luck. Of course, they may have brought in someone who was bilingual when they saw your application, but you realize quickly that there was no way they could have done so on such short notice. She must already speak the language and you hope that maybe more people at KQ are bilingual than you had previously assumed. You realize you’re lost in your thoughts and have yet to respond to her greeting, so you clumsily shift gears and say, “Good afternoon,” acknowledging the time difference and stating your name. The interview proceeds similarly to every interview you have ever had: asking about prior experiences, education, strengths, and weaknesses. You wonder if you have inadvertently applied for a totally different company, as nothing she has said seems to pertain to anything in the entertainment industry. You talk generally about your skills relating to childcare but generalize it to cooking, cleaning, organization, data entry, communication, and financial management. The fact that it relates to toddlers seems like an unnecessary detail. You wax poetic about your interest in Korean culture, music, and geography and state that you have planned to experience more of the world before you settle down, and you sincerely hope that she can believe that being unsettled at 31 is totally normal in your culture. The interview proceeds pleasantly enough, and you feel like you may actually possess all the skills they are looking for.

But the interviewer’s tone shifts, and she is joined on the screen by a man in a casual but tactical-looking shirt and earpiece. He speaks Korean directly toward the camera and appears to be addressing you. You recognize enough of the words to know he is introducing himself to you, and his name is Hong Beom-seok. The woman pauses, listening carefully, until he is finished, and translates the statements, pausing for your response. They discuss the results of your preliminary background check, the required, extensive NDA you would be signing, and explain the additional data safety procedures which would include sharing all of your passwords and inactivating your social media accounts. When he explains that you will be issued a company smartphone, which will include sensitive information access but also be monitored exclusively by the company’s cybersecurity firm, you are slightly confused. It sounds as though you already have the job, but you have never been hired during an interview before. All other interviews ended with a trite statement that they would “be in touch with you,” and you had to wait an indeterminate amount of time before receiving a call, but only if you actually were getting the job offer. These two make it seem as though you already had the job.

You realize the woman is paused, waiting expectantly for some form of acknowledgment, and you nod your assent. She then asks if you have questions, and you can’t help but stammer, “So, when do I find out if I get the job?” She gives an almost imperceptible sideways glance at the man who nods at her, bows to the camera, stands, and leaves. She looks directly at the camera and says, “If you would like the job, I have a few more questions. Then you may tell me if you want to accept.” Your eager smile morphs into a frown of confusion. What was she going to need to ask you that would change your mind? You shake the concern away and nod, an open expression on your face as you await her next question. What she says next changes everything.

She begins by reminding you that the details of your interview, including the content of the questions, is covered by the application signature you provided and that it includes a nondisclosure agreement that is legally binding and internationally applicable. Your heart falters for a moment wondering what in the hell she is going to say next. You nod, and she asks you to say yes or no aloud, so you say “Yes.” in the most confident tone you can muster. The woman takes a noticeable sip of her glass of water before continuing. Her next question is the one you have been dreading. “So, have you been a fan of either of our groups?” she asks, staring down the camera poignantly. You take your own swig of water before replying with a subdued “Yes. I like ATEEZ.” But when a long silence follows, you feel that your response is inadequate, so you blubber, “I mean, of course, who doesn’t? But I don’t actually want to meet them or anything. I just wanted to have a job where I could help out however I could because I want them to be super successful and happy. I’m not completely crazy. I know my place. I just thought if I could do something that helps out their company, I could be helping them out indirectly. I’m completely fine if I never, ever even see them or anything like that. It would probably be better. Really.”

The woman has remained largely impassive throughout the interview, but at this, one manicured eyebrow flicks upward before returning to her neutral, professional expression. You kick yourself internally because you really did sound a little insane just then. But she must be somewhat accustomed to this reaction, as she doesn’t seem put off by it. Instead, she folds her arms across the table in front of her and leans toward the camera slightly. “Your duties would require you to meet ATEEZ. You would be required to interact with all members of ATEEZ in order to provide the services that are part of your job description.” She pauses mercifully to allow you to swallow a panicked gag and begin breathing erratically. “The personal assistance and housekeeping responsibilities would largely take place in the members’ dormitory. Some travel may be required. That part is not yet decided. But your position would be located within the KQ headquarters and ATEEZ dorms, for the most part.” Your eyes must look cartoonishly large at this point, and you would glance at your own camera image on the screen to check if you didn’t feel the edges of your vision blacking out as your panic rises.

You manage to ask her, “But… why would you hire internationally for a position with this level of security?” It may be an impertinent question at this point, but your brain is completely unavailable to sensor you. She smiles tightly and says, “It is simple. The very fact that you do not speak Korean is the best of your many assets.” You are incredulous and can’t contain your blurting, “How do you know I don’t speak Korean? What if I was faking it!?” The woman’s professional demeanor cracks and she chuckles in surprise. “We have ways to know this. Hong Beom-seok sshi is a paid actor who joins our interview teams and says some, ahem, choice words to test whether the interviewee is being honest about their understanding of the language.” You gape at her in shock. You wonder what on earth the man had said to you, with your complete ignorance passing the test with flying colors. When you recover yourself, you ask, “You said I had assets. What are my other assets?” The woman chuckles again and she glances down at her paper for a moment before looking up and addressing your question a different way. “Please stand up and step back from the camera.” You are confused but still can’t believe you’ve made it this far in the interview process and you can’t stifle your curiosity about what bizarre twists and turns will come next, so you stand and step back—again glad that you didn’t decide to forgo pants in your haste. “Please hold your arms straight out to your sides and turn slowly in a full circle.” Your brow furrows in confusion, but you follow the directions. It almost feels like you’re going through a security check, but no one is x-raying or patting you down. When you return to facing the camera, she says, “Thank you. You may sit.” You plop back in your chair unceremoniously as your nervous legs are rebelling against your wishes to lower yourself properly. The woman glances off camera, and you swear you see her give an almost imperceptible nod off-screen before she looks back at you with her neutral expression and answers your question, “You possess the physical qualities that are required for the nature of the job.” What the fuck? You desperately order your face to freeze—not react to this bizarre and vague response. “Okay. The job description said I need to be able to lift up to 30 pounds and walk up to three miles in an hour. You can tell that by looking?” You swear you see a slight blush creep up the woman’s neck. “Yes. Your physique appears adequate to the requirements.” A little red flag pops up in the back of your brain, but you’re honestly morbidly curious and

Wait… hold the fucking phone. She said you would be working directly with ATEEZ and spend most of your time at the dorms, and WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ASKING ANY OTHER QUESTIONS!? SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ACCEPT THE JOB ALREADY, DUMBASS!  

You retrain your face to what you hope is a pleasant, professional, open expression, and you say, “Okay. Do you have more questions for me? I would like to accept the position if you are still offering it.” The woman’s lips twitch in a tight-lipped smirk before she nods and says, “I have no more questions for you. We will email you the contracts to sign and the other information so that HR can obtain the working visa if you need one. We will accept digital signatures for the extended NDA but will also ask that you sign in ink when you arrive at the KQ offices. Do you have any questions about this?” You shake your head, and she continues, “We would like you to start as soon as possible so that you are trained and begin providing the support right away. How long will you need to get your affairs in order? Would you be able to take a flight next Tuesday?” You hesitate slightly, wondering both what you will do with all of your stuff and how you will tell your mother. Seeing your hesitation and misinterpreting it, she quickly adds, “Of course, KQ will furnish your airfare. The contract includes the details, but your airfare will be deducted from your first three months’ salary and repaid to you in full on your twelfth-month check.” “So, you will just give me back the money?” “Yes, it is included as a bonus upon completing one year of employment with KQ. The details of other benefits are included in the contracts we will be emailing you. You can respond directly to those emails if you have questions or let me know and I can arrange another Zoom meeting to discuss them if you would prefer a more personal conversation.” she concludes and looks at you expectantly.

You swallow nothing but air as you realize you are slowly dissociating from your body. This must be some sort of stress-induced mental break, and you’re probably actually near death from an aneurysm or something and hallucinating on your sofa while drooling on yourself rather than about thirty seconds away from becoming ATEEZ’s personal housekeeper.

Embrace the crazy. Even if this is a lucid dream, it’s too wild not to jump in with both feet.

“Okay. I would like to accept the job.” You repeat, unnecessarily, before continuing, “Please send me the contracts. I will prepare to depart next Tuesday.” You realize you are holding your breath, and your finger is hovering over the mouse button to leave the meeting because your brain has begun to chatter wildly at 100 miles per hour about all of the things you will need to do in less than four days’ time, beginning of course with probably passing out and then calling your best friend, screaming. “Thank you. I will send the information. We will make the travel arrangements and send them in a separate email. One of the items required is a scan of your passport. Please send that as soon as possible so that we can ensure your airline information is accurate. Welcome to the KQ team. We look forward to having you.”

Holy shit.

“Thank you very much.”

Oh my fucking god.

“It was nice meeting you. I look forward to working with you, too.”

Breathe, dumbass. Oh my god.

“Yes. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have questions about the contracts. We’ll see you soon.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

“Okay. Goodbye.”

[This Meeting Has Been Ended By Host].

Chapter Text

Your best friend is beautiful. Not in a girl-next-door kind of way, not in a “once you get to know her” kind of way, not in a “if you’re into that” kind of way. No; she was traffic-stopping, unnaturally graceful, walking-instagram-filter beautiful. The two of you were opposites in many ways; people have called you beautiful before, but not universally, like they do with your friend. She is tall; you pack about the same amount of mass onto a frame much shorter and curvier than her lithe, athletic build. Her hair is luxurious, wild, curly, and thick. No one has ever told you they wished they had hair like yours. Sure, you’ve learned to style it in a fun, vintage way that gets compliments in most places you go, but that’s a different skill altogether.  We’re talking genetic gifts, and your bestie got the lion’s share. And that’s fine with you, honestly. You’ve seen how men approach her, how they really struggle to take “No” for an answer, how they get personally offended if she does not swoon over their awkward or intrusive compliments. Over the years, you’ve had to become her own personal pit bull: barking loudly and threatening to bite anyone who fails to respect her boundaries. Being the short, loud, angry friend has honestly been pretty entertaining, and the two of you often dissolve into deranged giggles to let off the adrenaline once danger has passed. No; you don’t really envy her because you know that there is a dark side to having such beauty.

On the other hand, you both share a similar intellect and sharp, if not twisted, sense of humor that has bonded you closer than sisters over the years. No one accidentally confuses you as sisters because you’re built like one of the women from a renaissance painting, and your hourglass shape is only emphasized by the application of waist-cinching supports because otherwise, it can be dwarfed by your ample tits and ass. This configuration has never failed to please enthusiasts of the kind; you’ve had plenty of interest and lovers who greatly enjoyed the fleshy curves and bounce of your body, despite your frustrating attempts to find flattering clothing that doesn’t require any alterations. Being short, of course, doesn’t help either. But you’ve made peace with being “fun sized” many years ago, realizing you never have to consider what kind of shoes you will wear to avoid scorching a sensitive partner’s ego by towering above them.

Your bestie towers above most people at five-feet ten-inches tall. She has played college volleyball and basketball; her athletic prowess owed entirely to her inhuman ability to coordinate her body’s aerial movements with the predicted path of a velocitized sphere. You, in contrast, nearly got your nose broken playing pickleball; you are very good at cheering from the sidelines. You wonder, in this one bizarre twist of fate, when you have the opportunity of a lifetime, how is she going to respond to being the friend on the sidelines? You can’t bring her with you, and you know on some level, this news is going to break her little ATINY heart. She loves the boys almost as much as you do. The fact that you did this crazy thing and applied for this job without even telling her… you panic slightly as you wonder if she will be mad that you didn’t tell her to apply too, even though she has an amazing job and the perfect relationship, and she has been nurturing both since she was in her internship year of graduate school. No, it would be unhinged for her to ever consider applying for a job that, in all appearances, was likely a huge pay cut and a very niche type of employment that wouldn’t offer any lifelong career development or résumé enrichment.

You take a deep, cleansing breath and hope that her common sense will accept all of that information. You also hope, nonchalantly, that you will even be able to tell her all of what has transpired in the last 16 hours without screaming, blubbering, crying, and throwing up. Good fuckin luck. She’s waiting for you at the café by her company; she graciously arranged to take her lunch break later in the day to meet you when you told her you had big news. She probably already assumes you’ve lost your job; she knows too well that you would not be free in the early afternoon otherwise, and she’s also privy to some of the drama that has been going on there of late. Your face begins to contort into some sort of crazy Cheshire grin that hurts your cheeks as you fight to contain it and not look completely deranged. But the squeal that is building up underneath your ribs as you consider what you’re about to say out loud makes you hiccup, and it is everything you can do not to bound up to her table on the patio screaming unintelligibly and terrifying all of the other patrons.

She looks up from her phone, long slender legs folded elegantly under the table; her conservative white denim shorts still appearing slightly risqué due to her height. You tug your light sundress out from between your legs self-consciously because your thick thighs are devouring the material between them as you speed walk to her table. She smiles quickly when she sees you, but her expression changes to a shrewd, surprised grin nearly matching yours. She gets up and hugs you, and the pressure of her embrace on your ribcage sends a little shriek from your throat. As she pulls back to look at you, her arms holding your shoulders to brace the two of you, she looks at you with wide, questioning eyes that twinkle mischievously. She knows the bestie code and whatever you’re excited about, she’s excited about; she doesn’t even need to know what it is to be completely stoked for you. You realize she’s waiting for you to spill, so you pull away from her hold and flop dramatically down into the nearby chair, letting out a huge sigh that does nothing for the stomach full of butterflies you’re transporting.

She sits down too, leaning forward intently and taking a sip of her iced mocha from the tiny straw. “Okay. Spill. What’s up?” She asks in a hushed tone. You hold her gaze, both sets of eyes sparkling now, and start the story from the beginning. Words tumble endlessly from your lips in a jumble that only someone highly well-versed in your particular brand of gibberish could decipher. Her face contorts in all the appropriate emotional reactions: devastation and anger at the unfairness of your termination, humor at your idea to apply to KQ, sorrow and disgust at the dead fish saga, shock and amusement that you actually got an interview, and then wide-eyed disbelief that you actually got the job and will be moving to Korea in less than four days. She nearly chokes on her mocha despite taking a moment to let the information sink in before attempting to take another sip.

“Eeeehhhhhghhh…” She splutters; you have rendered your verbose bestie uncharacteristically speechless. “I…uhh. Wow. Just. Wait. You have to leave on Tuesday!? What the fuck!? I can’t. You’re going to work for ATEEZ and you’re abandoning me and just… WHAT.” Her face is pallid and shock overwhelms her features. She actually looks legit frightened. You place your hand gently on top of hers. The two of you have been best friends since you were eleven and one of the key features of that friendship is the give-and-take nature of your dynamic: when one of you is weak, the other is strong. Her reaction to your news triggers this response in you, and you become almost instantly calm to help her process. She looks up at you with wide eyes; you meet her gaze and speak in the most reassuring tone you can muster. “That’s what the lady said. I started reading the contracts, but I didn’t finish because I wanted to tell you everything right away. Part of it said I get four weeks of vacation per year, and I can use it when the boys are on tour without restrictions, or I could request it at any time. They just have the option to refuse it, if they know they will need me during that time. So, I can still come home to see you and stuff. I don’t know. The whole thing is really crazy. I still don’t really believe it.”

She shakes her head as if to clear the fog. “But what will you even be doing? You’re working IN the dorm!? And interacting with them, like, on the regular!?” She makes an unintelligible noise somewhere between a scream and a feral moan, while mimicking pulling her hair out. “How will you live through it!? I would just DIE!” You smile at her knowingly and chuckle a little to yourself. “What? Why is that funny?” she practically shrieks. She loves you so much she honestly forgets how the majority of the world sees you. “Honey, they probably won’t even know I exist. I have my ninja invisibility skills. Besides, you’ve heard all the same rumors I have. At least five of them are gay. I’ll probably be like a piece of furniture to them. And Hongjoong and San speak our language the best, so I bet the rest of them will really ignore me because it’s so awkward anyway.” You pat the top of her hand with confidence. She still splutters, “But… They have to talk to you some time! And there are apps that can translate while you’re talking, right? What if they need something?” She begins to giggle a little, having clearly thought through a scenario in which the language barrier would be hella awkward. “Like….” She continues, cracking herself up, “What if they have to tell you they need toilet paper stocked in the bathroom? Or if Seonghwa’s contacts fell on the floor and they want you to crawl around on your hands and knees to help find them!?” She is really starting to lose it now, choking gasps between laughs. “You’d better pack those sexy yoga pants just in case you end up ‘ass up’ in front of them all!” You roll your eyes in mock annoyance but start to laugh with her anyway.

“I’m sure it’s going to be super boring, and they’ll be ridiculously professional. I’m just going to make sure that all of their basic needs are met around the dorm. They’ll probably ignore me altogether. I’m just stoked that I can do something to help them do what they do best.” She smirks at you, knowing you too well to fully believe that you’re that chill about this whole unbelievable situation. You know you’re caught, so you add, “And if any of them accidentally bumps into me in the hallway or looks at me for more than half a second, or,” you let loose an involuntary shudder, “makes eye contact with me, I will probably actually die instantly. So, start planning all the nice things you’ll say about me at my funeral.” you quip, and she playfully punches you in the shoulder. “Yeah.” She giggles, “And oh my god… where will you be staying??” her eyes go wide with wild ideas. “They have a floor of the building that is for the boys’ closest staff. I will have a room on that floor so that it’s easy for me to get to the boys’ dorm quickly if they need anything.” “So, you’ll be like, on-call, 24/7?” You shake your head. “No, they said I get one full day off per week, which will probably be Tuesdays since that’s a late rehearsal/studio day for the whole group anyway. And then a half day that will probably be rotating depending on their schedule.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s not a lot of time! Hey, what about travel?? Will you go on tour with them!?” Her features are electrified at this thought and her smile eclipses everything in the vicinity. “No, they said I wouldn’t probably travel with them unless something major changed. But the other thing is I don’t really know what I’d do with time off since I don’t speak the language or know anyone there or whatever. Besides, why would I want a day off when my days ‘on’ are spent with ATEEZ?!” “That’s a good point.” She nods vigorously. “Well holy shit. I’m so terrified for you but this could be fucking awesome. I still don’t know what to even say. Oh my god! We should go shopping!” She starts to jump up and pull your hand. “You still have to go back to work!” you squeak as she begins to drag you down the street, your thick, short legs desperately pumping to keep up with her Amazonian strides. “Fuck that! My bestie is moving in with ATEEZ!” she practically yells, and you jump ahead to catch her and clap a hand over her mouth.

“I have to sign an NDA, by the way. So please don’t tell anyone any details.” She looks at you with mock annoyance. “I know you won’t. But really. They said it was best if I just tell people I’m teaching our language in Korea, because a lot of people do that. So, seriously, please...” She looks back at you with large eyes and makes a zipper motion across her mouth. All of a sudden, her eyes go inexplicably wider, and she looks at you with alarm. “Have you told your mom yet?” The pit in the bottom of your stomach falls out again. “No. That’s the next thing I have to do. And tell my landlord.” You add as an afterthought. She whistles softly. “Good luck.” She says with a slight frown and pats the hand she is still holding before stopping to give you a huge hug and send you on your way. You can tell she’s disappointed not to be able to get swept up in the excitement and go blow a bunch of money on travel shit or whatever, but you’re glad that cooler heads have prevailed because, despite years of evidence to the contrary, you are actually trying to be levelheaded about this. Sure, it’s the most insane thing that has ever happened to you, but it feels like keeping yourself in a rational headspace is the most likely course of action to prevent this from being yet another series of unfortunate events and fuck-ups in your autobiography.

Chapter Text

You are a chickenshit. You decide to text your mom—instead of calling her—to see if she’ll make you dinner on Sunday, sending crying emojis when you explain that your fish died, and you want your mama. You aren’t sure if she’ll sense a deeper need behind the ruse, but mercifully, she plays along even if she suspects anything bigger is going on. She agrees to make your favorite comfort meal and tells you to come over at your regular time. You’ve fallen into a comfortable routine with her, where she no longer chides you for arriving late, so long as you text her when you’re on your way, and you arrive within the usual window of time. She used to joke about having to tell you to be there an hour before she actually wanted you to be there. That was hilarious to her until you started actually doing it, arriving early out of spite, and she realized that it had hurt your feelings. Being late was never intentional and each excuse was unique, so she finally acquiesced to the fact that her daughter did not inherit her genetic gift for being obsessively organized—whether it was in terms of time management or housekeeping skills. You follow the exchange with a quick text that will likely give everything away: I need to talk to you about some good news, too.😘 She responds with a quick Okay. Sounds good ❤️, and you put your phone down on your kitchen island before looking up to stare at the surrounding carnage.

It’s not as bad as it was… You’ve managed to get much of it into boxes. You laugh slightly at yourself because you still have some boxes that have not been opened since you moved in over six months ago. You also have a stack of empty boxes in the corner from online shopping that you were too tired to break down and take out to the dumpster over the past month. You also have that little phobia of the awkward, chatty neighbor and kind of avoid going out of your apartment unless you know you’re running straight to your car and are already late—the perfect, socially acceptable thing to yell as you run past them and can’t stop to talk. So, you’ve started taking the trash out late in the evening, joining the disheveled racoons which stalk the dumpster area of your complex, in hopes that your neighbor is the type to go to bed at a sensible time.

All things considered, you’ve accomplished more packing than you’d hoped. Your bestie is supposed to come over this afternoon to help you clean and pack more. The fact that all of this needs to be done before Monday evening leaves you wondering if it isn’t better to just lose your deposit and abandon any unnecessary items rather than painstakingly packing and cleaning to put it all into storage for an indeterminate amount of time. But part of your anxiety always extends to the future, and you’re unwilling to risk having a bad rental record or losing items that you have little funds to replace later, so you hoard anything that is practical to keep and toss the rest. You stubbornly push your body to the limits between all of the physical exertion and the nerves; you figure you can rest on the long flight overseas on Tuesday—the thought of which sends your stomach lurching into rapid somersaults yet again.

Your bestie comes over Saturday, as promised, and you get a ton of packing done with minimal tears and distracted giggle fits. When it becomes apparent that you will both struggle to remain on-task, you put on your ‘ATEEZ Faves’ playlist and turn it up so loud that conversation is impossible, and you can only gesture wildly at each other. You’ve been friends for so long though that nonverbal conversation is a particular strength of your communication skills together. You collapse into a heap on a pile of cushions, side-by-side, sweaty and dirty, when the playlist stops at the end of its third run-through.

You find yourself staring blankly at the apartment that used to be so cozy, now filled with unwelcoming stacks of boxes and furniture partially deconstructed and unceremoniously stacked in the corner. Your bestie is scrolling through her phone, probably texting her partner something funny about the day or about when she expects to be home later. You are spacing out a little and feeling exhausted but grateful that she came to help. You know how much more got done because of her eye for detail and fearless initiative when she sees something that needs to be done. You are also incredibly lucky that she has informed her partner that he will definitely be providing some much-needed muscle and driving his pickup truck tomorrow morning so that the three of you can take all of your stuff to the storage unit you arranged to rent near your mom’s house.

You look toward the bedroom where your suitcases are also spread out, open and partially filled with a random assortment of your favorite and most flattering clothing, a few of your cherished keepsakes, and absolutely none of your ATEEZ merch. You have, of course, lovingly packed that away in copious amounts of acid free paper and bubble wrap and placed it within waterproof storage totes to keep it completely protected when you leave it to the mercy of an unattended storage unit for the foreseeable future. You feel a tiny pang of regret for a moment until you remember that you will literally be working for the actual humans printed on those silly photocards and your heart leaps in your chest. At the feeling of your slight tremble, your bestie stops scrolling and pats you on the head lovingly. “What’s up, pooka?” You sigh a little and snuggle closer to her, ignoring the fact that you are both filthy and sweaty. “Just trying to imagine all of my stuff shut in a tiny storage unit for who knows how long, and I don’t even know how to picture the place I’m going to live next.” Bestie sighs too, puts her phone down, and wraps her long arms around your shoulders. You’ve always enjoyed the fact that you were the little spoon between the two of you. In fact, one year, in college, the two of you went barhopping for Halloween dressed in a couples’ costume as ‘spaghetti and meatball’ to the surprise and delight of many. You cherish the fact that she seems just as comfortable being your big spoon. She knows how difficult it can be for you to cope with anxiety when you are unfamiliar with the place you’re going or unsure what is going to happen; you’ve always preferred to have a clear mental picture of exactly what to expect. In this bizarre circumstance, you’re just going blindly into it and the thought is paralyzing. The only thing that drives you forward is your reckless curiosity; you’ve got to find out what happens next—even if it literally destroys you.

Bestie takes a deep breath, pauses thoughtfully, and then says, “You are going to do great. They’re going to love you. There’s no way my Yungi will look at you and fail to fall in love with your beautiful heart. They’re both smart and compassionate enough to know that you put your whole heart and soul into everything you do. I think for all of the idiots in this world who fail to recognize that, I am 100% confident that ATEEZ will not share that failure.” You feel your throat start to constrict and you realize that you haven’t cried in at least fourteen hours because you’ve been too busy to think or feel anything that isn’t completely task-oriented. You shake off the urge to let the emotions overtake you again because there is simply no time for it. You cough a little and jump up to your feet. “What time is your boytoy bringing us dinner?” you ask her with a sly grin. “Oh, are you getting hungry?” She recognizes your need to shift the conversation and gets up to join you in surveying the room. “Yeah and we’re almost done!” you both squeal a little and return to shuffling boxes around and throwing random things into your suitcases. Occasionally, your bestie asks you how you’d respond to a dumb hypothetical situation like, “What would you do if you accidentally walked in on Mingi in the shower!?” And you both dissolve into hysterics until your stomachs hurt and your breaths come in gasps at the absurdity of the fact that there is an actual infinitesimal possibility now that it could actually happen.

Sunday morning passes in a flurry of activity as you move all of your earthly possessions into a rinky-dink storage unit behind the strip mall by your mom’s place. You roll the heavy aluminum door down, it slams shut and you lock it, tossing the key to your bestie for safekeeping. You find yourself holding your breath for a moment as her eyes lock on yours, and your stomach flips yet again over the craziness of what is about to happen. The lurch in your stomach intensifies as you mentally go down your checklist and realize that the next thing to do is tell your mom what’s up. Your bestie seems to read your mind. She nods silently and comes over to wrap you in a huge hug. “It will be okay. I’m sure your mom is going to be nervous but happy for you. And you know what?” she pulls back to look at you at arm’s length, “If she’s not, fuck her.” She sounds just like she did when the two of you were fourteen. “Because I’m so fuckin excited for you! I can’t even stand it! You got this! Hwaiting!” and she holds up her fist in a gesture of encouragement that makes you burst out laughing before you glare at her with deadpan seriousness, “Don’t EVER do that again.” And the two of you dissolve into laughter again, leaving her partner bewildered as he stands by his truck waiting for further instructions.

You skip over and give him an overly enthusiastic hug which he returns reluctantly and thank him for all of his help moving your stuff. You look at your bestie again, with solemn eyes that start to brim with genuine tears, and she dashes to hug you again when she sees your lower lip tremble. You know she’s just trying to avoid your eyes because seeing you cry will make her cry, and you sniffle out a laugh because you know damn well she is crying too of her own accord. She quickly snaps back from the embrace, wipes her eyes resolutely, and says with complete confidence, “Okay! Well, I’ll see you soon. Just let me know when you get there. Text or whatever. I don’t care what time it is. You know you can always call me too, since now we have that app so we don’t have to pay crazy charges to chat. I will literally come to South Korea and kill you if you don’t call me at least once in a while, so don’t go completely dark on me. I have no idea what the prisons are like over there.” She chuckles darkly and you sniff back a tearful laugh, wiping at your own eyes. “I will. I promise.” You choke out. “See ya later, I guess.” you say, before turning on your heel and sauntering away as if the physical act of walking away from her involves breaking through invisible strings that bind the two of you together, and the force required to push through them slows your progress significantly. She senses this pull too and gives you a cheery, “See you later!” before jumping quickly into her partner’s waiting truck and probably informing him to step on it. This eases the pressure so you are able to get into your car and wait for the air conditioner to start up before heading over to your mom’s place. When your phone connects to the stereo, you have to laugh a little because you jump scare at the sudden “Ninety, two, four, kick that drum!” blasting from the stereo when the Bluetooth connects. Yup. Crazy times indeed.

You regret slightly that you will be going to drop the bombshell on your unsuspecting mother in the state that you’re currently in: dusty, sweaty, disheveled—full-on hot mess express. You probably smell really weird at this point. But you figure that the absurdity of this news really can’t be sugarcoated, and a freshly showered daughter is not going to somehow make the tale any more palatable since your poor mother already worries for your mental health as it is. You text her that you’re on your way and note your location, saying that you forgot to text when you left the house. Otherwise, she’ll notice how quickly you arrived and assume you were speeding (again). You really don’t want to have to fight your way out of a lecture on safe driving practices when you don’t actually deserve it (for once). You will need all of the time you can get to tell her your mind-blowing news and then let her cycle through every conceivable emotion in response before you leave. You know she will send you with a parting message of hope, pride, and love, regardless of how she is feeling about your crazy plans. But you worry that the entire story is going to really tax her, emotionally, so you mentally prepare yourself to take over dinner preparations if she begins to falter. You see your favorite take-out place on the way there and kick yourself that it’s Sunday and they’re not open. A backup plan would have been really smart, but you’ve had to put all of your brain power into planning a move across the actual planet, so who can really blame you for not thinking about a single meal?

You pull your car into her driveway and glance at your appearance in the rearview mirror. A faint smudge of dirt lines your cheek and you wipe it away, while clucking your tongue at your eyes which now seem permanently puffed and red from tears. You notice your pile of suitcases in the backseat and curse under your breath as you hurry to get out of the car and go inside. The last thing you’d want is for your mom to come outside and greet you because you know she’d notice the bags with her eagle-eyed gaze. That would start the whole conversation much sooner than you are feeling ready. You get to her door, take a deep breath, and let yourself in.

As you push open the door and call out your trademark long, drawn-out “Helloooooo!” you hear her echo back “Hellooooo?” from the back of the house where the kitchen is. A couple quick yips from her tiny little dog and you close the front door to avoid letting the overexuberant micro-mutt out into an unsuspecting neighborhood. You spin the little dog around and let her lick and roll around your feet as you coo at her, “Who’s my leetle friend!?” over and over which always gets her completely spooled up. Your mom rounds the corner and tuts, “Don’t get her all wound up! She’s gonna pee all over your shoes!” You laugh, bending down to scoop up the crazy little dog who is shaking head to tail with excitement. Your mom tuts again, “She really loves you best. It’s just not fair.” You nuzzle the dog’s head and chuckle softly, before placing the squirming dog back on the floor and following your mom back into the kitchen.

She turns to fuss with something on the stove, and you ask tentatively, “How are you?” You’re not sure if she didn’t hear you or if her attention was absorbed in whatever she was cooking. Instead of responding to your question, she says absently, “I couldn’t find the turkey I usually use, so I got another type. I hope it’s good. I don’t trust those store brands but there wasn’t anything else.” She appears to be turning things down to simmer and turns to face you and give you the welcoming hug she usually greets you with.

When she looks up at you, her brow creases with concern as she looks over your disheveled, dirty clothes and up to your still red, puffy eyes. You suddenly feel self-conscious as you wonder how long it will take for your face to return to normal. You suppose you’ll have to stop crying for at least 24 hours to find out. She utters a soft murmur of sympathy and clicks her tongue before wrapping you in a big hug. It dawns on you that she might actually think that your eyes are so red from your little fish dying, and it would almost be funny if you didn’t have to swallow the lump in your throat from the hard conversation you were about to have with her. After a few minutes of her hugging you and gently swaying, she sighs into your hair as she pats your shoulder and pulls away. “I’m sorry about Hala.” You can’t believe she remembers the name of your fish, but you are touched and grateful that she isn’t belittling you for either your K-pop obsession or your intense emotional attachment to a small, antisocial fish.

“Thanks.” You breathe, trying to figure out how to break the rest of your news to her. “But everything else is good?” She looks at you hopefully and a tiny part of you dies inside. “How’s work? You said you had news?” You heave a sigh and look away from her, desperately seeking any sort of distraction because you suddenly don’t want to tell her anything at all. You’re honestly considering just faking your own death and leaving the country or something to avoid what must come next. You fiddle with a dirty patch on the hem of your shirt before glancing toward the living room and asking her, “Do you wanna go sit on the couch or?” Having heard your sigh and noticed you avoiding her gaze, she nods without saying anything, and you can feel her tense up as you both make your way toward the sofa.

As you both get seated and you call the crazy little dog to your lap, your mom has not taken her eyes off of you. But when you look over at her, she is clearly nervous and waiting for you to tell her what is going on. You take advantage of just one more moment of distraction as the tiny dog jumps all over your lap, and you focus all of your attention on trying to get her to calm down and settle in your lap. Once the dog is settled, you look up and smile at your mom apologetically. She asks you in a slightly shaky voice, “What’s going on?” You regret that all of the ups and downs of your life over the years have probably given her this tendency toward trepidation or some form of PTSD because she must know by now that long pauses and ‘big news’ are rarely painless when it comes to you.

“Well,” you start, taking an unnecessarily deep inhale, “I do have some news. You know how it goes; I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Your apologetic smile is looking a bit sheepish now. You know her well enough to anticipate that she will always ask for the bad news first; you’re counting on it at this point. “The bad news, I guess.” She replies with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, I’d prefer that there wasn’t any bad news, but…” she trails off, and you try to ignore the pang in your gut. “Well, I lost my job.” You pause and realize she is waiting for more. “I mean, they let me go because of the, you know, (you gesture helplessly) the improvement plan thing. I guess I wasn’t improving fast enough.” She gives you a weak, knowing smile and pats your leg, and you continue before she can say anything, “I really tried, and I got better at being on time, but uh, well, you know.” You sigh and look down at the small dog in your lap who has started to snooze, oblivious of any tension in the room. Your mother shifts uncomfortably, and you can tell she’s trying not to say something critical. She's disappointed in your situation and her own response and she knows things are always harder between the two of you. You both wish Dad was there with a well-timed joke or that innate ability to keep you both level just by his presence. You inherited that from him, and it works on everyone but your mother.  

Mercifully, a timer in the kitchen goes off and you attempt to relax into the couch cushions while your mom goes to tend to something to do with dinner. A big part of this good news/bad news plan is that the good news should swiftly follow the bad, but you know that your good news is also kind of a mixed bag from her perspective. You hear her puttering around in the kitchen and wonder if she’s purposely drawing it out. Another pang of guilt stabs through your gut as you think about what it must be like to be her—having a ringside seat to your ‘school of hard knocks’ approach to life. You certainly have not been an easy human to raise.

Chapter Text

Your mom returns from checking the progress of dinner on the stove and allows you a few more moments in quiet contemplation of the dog’s velvety-soft ears before asking you softly, “So, is there good news?” with a tone of trepidation. Even the dog looks up, as if sharing her caution.

“Yeah! Um, sort of!” She winces at this noncommittal response. “Well, I think so anyway. But, uh, it’s a lot. I mean, it’s sudden. And I don’t…” Your voice shakes, despite your best efforts, and you can see the tears springing to your mom’s eyes in concern. Holy shit, you’ve really done a number on this poor woman over the years. You fight the powerful urge to run screaming down the street instead of continuing, “I have accepted a new job, and it will involve traveling.” She looks relieved and then stricken but you plow on, “I am going to teach our language in Korea.” Her eyes look like they are going to pop from her head, and her mouth hangs open as if this is the last thing she would ever imagine you saying. But she catches herself and snaps back into ‘mom-mode.’  “Teach our language to whom?”

Fuck. You take a deep breath; you hadn’t thought this one through yet. “University students. And some high school students, I think.” You desperately search your brain for a demographic that will make sense and won’t be interesting enough for her to ask more follow-up questions. “Maybe some K-pop trainees.” You throw in for good measure.“Ahhh,” she says, with a slight smirk of shrewd recognition. There it is. “The company that hired me offers tutoring to a lot of places, so it just depends on who has contracted with them.” Her smirk disappears, and you can see the wheels turning in her head, so you quickly add, “They’re a highly reputable company, and they have a nice space. I can show you the website, but I was thinking I would send you pictures when I get there for real.” Her stiffened posture doesn’t quite relax, but she doesn’t ask any further questions, so you breathe a sigh of relief that your bluff worked.

After a few moments, she finally shifts in her seat. “When do you get there?” she asks in a tiny voice. Fuck. Rip it off like a band aid. “I leave Tuesday morning.” Her eyes pop wide again, and in complete contradiction to the tears springing to your eyes, you chuckle, startling the little dog, who leaps away from you. “Sorry. I know.” You move to hug her because you know this is hurting her brain and heart. She needs to plan ahead and visualize, not unlike you. That is an area you are both similar, despite your tendency to impulsivity. You pull her into a hug and laugh into her hair as you both start to cry in earnest. “I’m sorry.” You mutter into her neck. She tuts and pulls you back to look at your face and brush the stray hairs away from your eyelashes. “No. This is good.” She says, attempting to gather some confidence and optimism. “This sounds like a great opportunity for you. And you have always wanted to go to Korea. I mean, I’ve never understood the obsession. And how you and your father can like kimchi so much…” she makes an exaggerated face and you both laugh. It’s true. You and dad have had the ‘cast-iron gut’ reputation in the family.

She looks momentarily sad after something flashes through her mind. But she continues to gather details to orient herself to the reality she’s trying to make her peace with. “How long will you be gone? Will you come home at some point to visit?” She looks as though she’s trying to steel herself for any possible answer, but she also looks fragile to you, because you know her so well. “I’m planning to stay at least a year. There’s a big bonus if I stay for a year; basically, they reimburse my airfare if I stay for a year.” You blurt, relieved that you don’t have to continue making shit up off the cuff. “I will have 4 weeks of paid vacation time, but I’m not sure when I will come visit. I want to get there and figure out the lay of the land before I make any plans.” She finally relaxes into her seat. These little details seem to make her feel a lot better. You imagine she’s stopped picturing you ending up on a documentary about human trafficking or whatever her paranoia has called up to justify all of the unnamed fear she was feeling.

You laugh a little and promise that you will call her so you can discuss the details and make a plan to visit, maybe around a holiday—you mention vaguely, because you know the boys are very busy over many of the major holidays your country shares—so you are careful not to get her hopes up that you’ll be home for Christmas. The thought makes your gut ache a little because you know Christmas is both her favorite and her most difficult holiday for many reasons.

You spend the rest of the evening setting up the communication app on her phone and computer so that you can have free texts and phone calls across the international lines. She tells you about your dad’s trip to Korea when you were six, and how much she missed him while he was gone. But you recall the adorable lilac colored silk pajamas he brought you, that had gold satin trim, a mandarin collar, and an embroidered butterfly on the chest. You wore them until they practically disintegrated. You keep this story to yourself to treasure. Your mom offers you one of the largest suitcases in the garage that rarely gets used, and you accept it gratefully and plan to reorganize your haphazard packing when you settle into the airport motel tomorrow afternoon after you check out of your apartment in the morning. You spend the rest of the evening chattering happily with your mom about her activities and some of the places you hope to visit when you get overseas. You also get your fill of small dog licks and cuddles because you know it’s going to break her little tiny heart not to have her big human ‘sibling’ come get her all cracked out and excited once in awhile.

When the dishes are cleared and you’ve both polished off a serving of ice cream that was slightly smaller than you would have liked, you see her stifle a yawn and know you’re pressing into her bedtime routine. Unlike most visits, she’s actually reluctant to shoo you out because she doesn’t know when she will see you again. But you know she’s getting tired so you rise and start making your way to the door as you talk. A family tradition: inch toward the door while talking but don’t actually acknowledge your intention until you arrive at the door and hold a long awkward pause before announcing that you should, in fact, get going. She laughs at you, unsure if it’s genetic or learned behavior. But it’s a comforting ritual either way. You give your mom an intense lingering hug, promise to text at each stop on the way and call when you’re settled, and prepare to head out the door into the rapidly chilling darkness of night.

You aren’t sure why you lied to your mom and told her the cover story instead of the truth. She’s always seemed a bit uncomfortable with your ATEEZ obsession, so it just came out that way. You really don’t want her to think you’re completely insane, but you also recognize that telling her you’re going across the world to teach your language out of the blue is pretty crazy, as it is. So great. You didn’t preserve your sanity in her eyes, and now you have this stupid lie over your head. Well, maybe you can practice your language with the boys, and then it won’t be a complete lie.

It’s getting late and you need to tear yourself away if you’re ever going to move forward. You make sure to get the dog all excited again one more time before you give your mom a hug goodbye. She rolls her eyes at you and chides with exaggerated frustration, “Great. Now she won’t go to bed.” You laugh a little too hard, and your mom looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes that can’t completely hide the wave of tears threatening to break free. So you quickly remind her that you’ll let her know as soon as you know when you’ll be coming to visit and everything and not to worry because this will be a grand adventure. You slip out and close the front door as soon as you hear her say, “Of course it will be. Nothing you do is ever dull.”

A sigh of relief washes over you as you pull out of the driveway, the stars glittering in the cobalt sky above you. Gentle piano and Jongho’s crooning “A Day” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist and you find yourself feeling tender but happy. The perfect bittersweet beginning, rather than ending, you think. You turn onto the highway and open the throttle to head to your bestie’s for the night, holding tight to the belief that there is something good on the horizon for you.

It’s after 10:00 p.m. when you pull into your bestie’s driveway and shut off the engine. You’re thankful that she has offered you her couch for the night since you’ll be heading to your apartment in the morning to do the final walk-through with your landlord. You’re fairly confident that you should be getting your deposit back because you somehow managed to leave the place cleaner than you found it; but you try to keep your expectations low because you know you won’t be around to fight about it if he decides to be a dick and keep your money. That’s the business he’s in, after all.

You let yourself in the front door of your best friend’s adorable “starter home” that she shares with her partner. It’s a little bitty cracker jack house from the 1950s, and it’s smaller than she’ll ultimately want, if she decides to fill it with brilliant, beautiful children with her perfect partner. You sigh and carefully slide your suitcases around the darkened, cramped living room to avoid scratching the wood floors or knocking the furniture out of its perfect placement. You’re secretly glad that bestie understood the assignment and has apparently already gone to bed. Without any formal discussion, you both seem to have decided to treat this like a regular day and ignore any of the earth-shattering significance of your sleeping over and crossing literal oceans of the unknown in the next thirty-six hours. You collapse onto the couch with a groan and sudden awareness of every single ache and pain in your body from all of the physical exertion of the past two and a half days. Holy shit, you’re getting old. You chuckle to yourself as an extremely uncharacteristic thought pops into your head, wondering if there will be an employee gym available so that you can get into better shape than you are currently.

You lay back on the couch without bothering to see if there were blankets or pillows left for you; you have your tour hoodie on and pull the hood up to keep your earbuds on lockdown in case they fall out while you’re sleeping. You make sure your phone is charging and turn your volume down, with your ATEEZ mood playlist. It’s all the songs that will often make you cry if you’re having a shitty day, but they are also pretty nice for relaxation if you don’t pay attention to the lyrics. You have no concerns about that as your exhausted body mercifully overrides your brain’s desire for existential chatter. You fall into a deep, dreamless sleep almost instantly.

Between the noise-canceling earbuds and the excessive fatigue, you somehow manage to sleep through your bestie and her partner both heading out to work. As you blearily open your eyes and look around her living room, the sun peeking through the blinds sets tiny sparkles of dust motes off around the carefully curated selection of retro reproduction and thrifted mid-century modern furniture. Pictures of the extremely photogenic couple line the flat surfaces and mantlepiece. You smile slightly to yourself before realizing that your mouth is bone dry and you’re likely to split a lip if you let that smile have its way. You probably snored to beat the band last night and your cotton mouth is enough evidence to that fact.

With a groan, you roll off the low couch and trudge to the kitchen to procure a can of diet soda: yours and bestie’s ‘breakfast of champions.’ You’re thankful that she always keeps her fridge well-stocked of your innocent, shared addiction. As you stand over the sink and drain at least three-quarters of it in one massive gulp, you run the mental checklist of everything you need to do today. If all goes well, you should finish with the landlord and head to the airport motel for an early check-in.

For most people, it would make no sense to stay at a motel the night before an international flight, but this is the ideal remedy for your extreme travel anxiety and difficulty being on time. You reserved the room when you realized that your bed will be in storage and you also really didn’t want to risk the traffic and airport challenges the morning of your departure. The last thing you’d want to do is miss your flight to Korea. So you congratulate yourself on this splurge; you know you’ll feel better as soon as you’re on airport property, and you won’t leave until you’re on a plane heading toward KQ.

You check out your apartment with the landlord, and he lets you know that he will forward all of the inspection results to the corporate person to send you a check after the total is approved. It’s a noncommittal way of saying that he has no intention of giving you your deposit back, but he doesn’t want to actually say it to your face. You’re already so steeped in the anxiety of wanting to get to the airport that you can barely hear him over the buzzing in your head. You try not to laugh at him as you get into your car; you realize that he’s a shitty little person with a pretty shitty little life, and since he seems to be laying out reasons for karma to kick his ass, you are glad you’re not him. Another bubble of hope bursts in your chest. You are destined for something greater; you have always known this somewhere deep down. Every once in a while, your inner clouds part, and the knowledge blazes like sunrise on a perfect summer day. You turn your car back toward your mom’s house, where you’ll park it until you come back to visit. You’re glad she, too, is at work, so you can just grab an Uber and get to the airport with minimal fuss. Last night was enough of an emotional workout for both of you; no need to repeat goodbyes or give her opportunities to think of more awkward questions to ask.

You decide to stop and buy some snacks to get you through the next twenty-four hours or so and indulge your urge to browse for some sketchbooks and light crafts that you can take to the airport and on the plane. You have no idea if you’ll actually be able to sleep on the flight. You are starting to feel so buzzed with nervous energy that you wonder if you’ll ever properly sleep again. A sharp pang in your stomach reminds you that you still need to eat something, even if everything sounds completely repulsive at the moment.

The rest of the morning passes by in a haze of jittery activity. You manage to get to the motel just a little ahead of schedule and only have to sit for fifteen minutes until they can give you an early check-in. You drag your luggage up to the room and look at the clock. Your flight leaves at 6:05 a.m., so you have about thirteen and a half hours to kill until you should be getting yourself through security to the gate. You open all of the cases and decide that this is the perfect opportunity to repack and triple-check all of your items.

Sitting on the floor, you spread out your belongings. You roll up your clothes in sections by outfit combination and hope it prevents most of the wrinkles. Your jewelry has already mated in your bag and turned into a large metal orgy where the chains have contorted themselves around each other and swallowed up the attached pendants. You groan and shove it back in the bag. There’s nothing that can be done now, so you’ll have to deal with that when you get settled into your room in the dorm building. Your brain shorts out at the thought as you try to picture a room that you’ll be putting all of your things in when you unpack them next… a room under the same roof that your beloved ATEEZ sleep under. Your breath catches under your ribs, and you can feel your heart pounding intensely as if you’re at the top of a rollercoaster, waiting for the moment when the chain unlatches, and the cars drop over the top of the huge ramp to go sixty miles per hour around reckless twists and turns. Your battery warning in your earbuds jars you from your weird headspace, and you jump up to plug them in, thinking you should also plug in your power pack and phone while you’re at it. You congratulate yourself for being so responsible but cringe at the sudden silence you find yourself stifled in. The last few days, you’ve pretty much had the music on nonstop because you’re really not sure how much you’ll get away with having earbuds in while you’re working, and you really aren’t sure you want them to know just how much of a diehard fan you actually are. The idea of not having your ATEEZ playlist in the background of all of your thoughts causes a nervous flutter in your chest, and you feel slightly twitchy at the thought. But you will be there with them. The actual THEM. Maybe the sensory input of real-life ATEEZ will make up for the music withdrawals that you worry will take you out. Wow. That’s kind of pathetic. You chuckle a little at yourself, but also, fuck off, they’re awesome, and that’s how you got into this mess anyway.

You repack your luggage and ensure that the couple of cookbooks your dad gave you and the Korean cookbooks you bought during your last hyperfixation with Korean food are all nestled snugly in between your favorite thrifted y2k pants, your perfect pillow with the pillowcase you made with your bestie’s mom’s quilting group, and your essential cosmetics. You make sure that your carry-on is completely ready with your laptop, a couple of chargers, your passport (you checked five times), and your medications. The butterflies in your stomach have now somehow turned back into caterpillars, and the slick, nauseating roll of nerves is in full control despite attempting to eat some crackers and soda to calm the roiling sensations. You don’t dare think about anything more than getting your ass on that plane in the morning. As tempting as it is to worry yourself to death over the pending challenges of entering and working in a country where you do not speak the language, worrying over what your coworkers will be like, whether people will like you, and then, gods forbid, what ATEEZ will be like and how you will be around them. Stop it. You can’t even go there. You have no way of visualizing or planning anything; you’re just going to have to let this play out however it goes. So, you keep your focus on the present, promise yourself you’ll only look at what’s immediately in front of you, and let the future unveil itself in good time. Your bedtime alarm begins to call from your phone. It’s Jongho singing “Wind,” and you find it perfectly matches your cautious optimism. It’s amazing you’ve made it this far and haven’t fucked anything up.

You allow yourself a deep breath of relief and indulge in the tiniest feeling of pride in your accomplishments before getting up to brush your teeth and crawl into the cool motel sheets to toss and turn until 3:30 a.m. when you spring out of bed with a huge adrenaline burst and practically run to airport check-in and security, even though you have plenty of time. You know you will not calm the tempest in your stomach until you are seated at the gate with all of your baggage checked in and your eyes on the plane that will carry you toward a new chapter in your life.

Chapter Text

You probably don’t need it, given the amount of adrenaline coursing through your veins, but out of habit, you slam an energy drink anyway. You rush through a shower, put on the comfy but hip clothes you selected for the long flight, and pop a few essential toiletries in your carry-on. After checking the room for the third time to ensure that you’ve gathered all of your power cords and loose items, you roll out the door and wobble your bags down to the lobby to check out and inquire about the airport shuttle. You are relieved to hear that it will be pulling up in about five minutes, so you finish checking out and step outside to wait on the curb.

As you stand on the sidewalk, waiting for the shuttle in the pre-dawn light, thinking over the whirlwind of the past four days, you're overcome by a sense of gratitude and love for your family: natural and chosen. You’re in awe of your mom's ability to ultimately put her fears aside and offer you encouragement and love. You never would have made it this far without your bestie's selfless support and optimism; you wonder what you ever did to deserve such a loyal ride-or-die.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see that Bestie just sent you a text:

BFFBestieSpaghetti 4:03 a.m.:

YOU GOT THIS, POOKA! I'M SO FUCKING EXCITED FOR YOU! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!! GOTTA WORK! ❤️❤️❤️🫰☠️❤️‍🔥🫶💪

You can't help but laugh out loud, startling a bleary-eyed woman who shuffles past you toward the motel lobby. You send her a quick response:

FUCK YEAH I DO. LOVE YOU TOO!!!💕👌👍😁😍😘

Turning your attention back to the street, you take a deep inhale of the crisp morning air and shift your weight back and forth between your feet to satisfy their nervous energy and the desire to get moving.

The shuttle pulls up, and you toss your luggage into the door which surprises the driver as you decline his offer to help you with the large bags. You shrug him off; you prefer to handle your own things anyway, and it's always been your favorite excuse to skip the gym: you find ways to be strong in real life.

Once you are seated, you pat yourself down again to ensure that your phone and earbuds are still safely in your pockets, and you unzip your leather jacket to check that your sling bag is still there and contains your passport and wallet. You're not sure if it's a stroke of genius or stupidity, but you decided to use your clear stadium sling from the tour this summer because you know you are going to want to visually check over and over that you've got your passport wallet, and whatnot. You keep the clear sling hidden in your zipped coat, so you figure it's as safe as any other type of bag as long as you keep it hidden and secure.  You brace yourself at the slightly chilled breeze and are glad you decided to wear the leather jacket to prevent it from becoming wrinkled in your luggage. You pop your earbuds in as you watch everyone else get seated, hitting play again on your ATEEZ Complete playlist.  Sure, it might contain some of the songs that gut you when you're sad, but literally nothing can dampen your spirits right now.

The bootleg of Poppia comes on and you allow yourself to crack a shit-eating grin as the shuttle pulls away from the curb. Everyone on board teeters and nearly falls over as the shuttle groans and drops the front wheels over the motel’s driveway onto the street. You reach out a hand to steady one of your bags that is attempting to fall from its perch on the seat beside you. You probably look cartoonishly small, sitting there between your gigantic suitcases and looking on in wide-eyed wonder at the industrial areas rushing past, beginning to blaze with the amber glow of sunrise as it starts to overtake the cold, unnatural blue light of the streetlights. You are grateful that it’s the ass-crack of dawn, as the rest of your traveling companions seem internally focused or sleepy and, as a result, are disinterested in anyone around them. You sneak glances at each of them, in turn, wondering where they are headed and if their passive appearance is an indication that none of them are excited about where they are going. They appear to be business travelers, so you assume they do this all the time and are not terribly stoked about the early hour or their impending air travel plans.

The shuttle cruises along the arterials and then banks around a corner at a high rate of speed, causing your heart to suddenly race. You are hypnotized by the perfect lines of runway lights zooming past the windows—interrupted with increasing frequency by the silhouettes of the airport’s larger buildings and structures that are illuminated by the sunrise on the far horizon. Utopia comes on, and the melody slips bubbles of excitement directly into your bloodstream. You’re knocked from the hypnosis as the shuttle rapidly slows, causing its cheap plastic windows to creak. Everyone once again is nearly tossed from their seats as it makes a sharp right turn, bouncing over the curb into the shuttle drop-off area.

You and your fellow travelers heave a collective sigh of relief as you gather your belongings and stumble out of the shuttle into the buzzing yellow light of the airport pedestrian walkway. You give another quick pat down of your belongings and turn to look around for a map. The large airport is unfamiliar, and you’ve never attempted any form of international travel before, so your nerves jangle as people pass by you in their own self-absorbed beeline for their respective gates. You feel your anxiety increasing as you have trouble finding a map, so you figure it’s probably best to at least get your ass inside the main airport and figure it out from there.

Your hunch pays off because as soon as you get past the gaping automatic doors, you are hit with a welcoming rush of warm air. You step into the airport and look up to see the large signs directing you to the appropriate gates for your airline and to the corresponding security check. A jolt of adrenaline seizes your heart for a moment; you don’t know why, but security has always freaked you out, as if you were going to be caught doing something terrible when you don’t have a nefarious bone in your body. You chuckle nervously to yourself and begin awkwardly walking toward the airline counter with your unruly bags, taking every opportunity to trip you up and bash into your unprotected shins before you find a rhythm and are able to walk smoothly with both of them trailing behind obediently.

You heave a sigh of relief when you are checked in. Security seems highly disinterested in you, and you are grateful that they don’t roll their eyes at you as you stumble and ask a ton of questions to make sure you follow the procedure correctly. Once you are through security and your bags are out of your hands, you start scanning the large signs for your concourse and gate. You become keenly aware of your nervous energy without all of your luggage’s weight holding you down, so you walk quickly through the concourse and feel as though you are already flying. It dawns on you that you should probably eat something, so you browse the names of the shops on the way to your gate. You’d rather lay eyes on the gate before you attempt any side quests. You realize quickly that you are the first person there. Even the airline podium is empty at this point. You secretly pat yourself on the back as this is exactly how you wanted this to go down. Almost reflexively at the thought, you hope that you aren’t using up all of your good luck on this portion of the adventure, but you shrug it off and turn back to go locate some form of sustenance.

The only thing that appeals is an extremely overpriced bag of breakfast cereal snack mix and another can of energy drink. You realize this is probably counterproductive to your intention to sleep on the flight, but you also know you’ll be fighting a wicked headache if you don’t keep up with your typical caffeine intake. You curse yourself silently for this weakness and vow to try to reduce your consumption once life settles down. While you still have over an hour until departure, your brain begins nervously calling you back to the gate, and there is nothing in the airport interesting enough for you to risk missing this life-changing flight.

You shuffle back to the gate and sit front and center by the podium to await the boarding calls. The incessant nervous energy coursing through you has sort of leveled off into a floaty, nervous, slightly nauseous feeling like when you’re sick, and you accidentally take an extra dose of cold medicine. You choke down a few handfuls of the cereal, grateful for the energy drink to wash the sharp, crunchy pieces down your slightly constricted throat. Somehow, you manage to space off, listening to Let’s Get Together and trying not to think at all. Your dissociation fast-forwards you in time until movement at the podium grabs your attention, and you look up, trying to get your eyes to focus on the employee moving around to open up the boarding area. A fresh wave of adrenaline spikes, and you gasp slightly. This is it. You’re about to leave literally everything you know behind in pursuit of a new life supporting the group you love so much that it hurts.

Out of the blue, you’re struck with a sudden need to call your dad. You dial the number—one of the few you actually know by heart—and listen to it ring, knowing he’d never answer at this hour. When his voicemail comes on, you stutter for a moment before you say, “Hey, Dad, it’s me. I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I’m about to do something that’s probably really stupid. Don’t worry, I’m okay. But I’m going to go work in Seoul and I just thought you might want to know.” You shrug visibly even though no one is watching; you fumble in silence for your next words before continuing, “I am really excited, and I’d love to hear what you think of it. I love you and I miss you. Well, they’re calling my boarding group, so I gotta go.” You hang up and look up at the screen above the podium, eyes slightly blurring the BOARDING notice blinking across the large display. You know your dad won’t get to the message, but somehow, leaving it anyway makes you feel better.

You are among the second boarding group, and you bash yourself mercilessly with your carry-on as you try to navigate the absurdly tiny aisle. Your brain gremlins growl profusely at the disgusting design of this metal tube with so little room for actual human-sized bodies to navigate, all in the name of profit and efficiency. You locate your seat and do a mental fist pump at the fact that KQ secured you a window seat. You can’t believe your good luck, and again, the thought of it makes you shrink in fear that this insignificant perk will haunt you later when bad luck rears its ugly yet oh-so-familiar head. You mentally shrug and collapse onto your seat while you kick your carry-on ruthlessly to make it fit under the seat in front of you. Once satisfied that it has been smashed into the limited space, you locate your safety belt and buckle it securely.

Your seatmate arrives and settles in; a woman with a slight build and hunched shoulders folds into the middle seat, and you thank your lucky stars that she is so tiny. You look away and grimace, however, as a large man plops into the seat on the aisle and you silently pray that you left your bladder on the concourse and won’t have to get up to go pee in the middle of this twelve-hour flight. You realize you’re holding your breath and turn to look out of your precious window. The seat in front of you creaks, and you hope against all hope that the person seated there has no plans to recline, but you know it’s a fruitless wish. You jump slightly as you notice a large, round, dark eye with thick lashes peering at you through the seats. You chuckle and smile at the eye, when you see the dimpled knuckles of a young child’s hand curling around the side of the seat just below the little face regarding you curiously. You make a surprised face and widen your grin, and the large eye stares at you unblinking. “Hi!” you chirp, and the little hand quickly withdraws as the face jumps and turns away to press against the mother’s arm. You chuckle to yourself, and you hear the mother speaking softly to the child in Korean, and you strain to listen. The child whines something to the mother, who responds quietly and calmly. The child shifts in their seat and falls silent; you can guess they have been given something to look at because they remain silent and still. Your heart warms at this tiny interaction, and you think of how much of the human experience is truly universal. You don’t have to know the language to know that familiar tone of voice and the inherent difficulty of being a tiny human in a big world.

You are grateful for the distraction of this small child and their mother. The child is silent during the take-off, and you wonder if, unlike you, this isn’t their first flight halfway around the world. You settle into your seat and try to concentrate on staring out the window as you watch the ground and all of the familiar geography turn into a miniature diorama, then patches of color, and finally disappear behind blindingly bright clouds. You close your eyes and focus on the music smoothly filling in your senses in the background and drift off into a white, dreamless sleep. Somehow you manage to sleep through all of the services offered on your flight, and you are drifting back into consciousness when a thump and a loud whine in front of you startles you into full awareness. You see the full head of hair through the crack in the seats; the child appears to be restless and irritable; you carefully flex your own limbs, feeling the stiffness there from the lack of movement and minimal space. You can’t help but empathize with the grumpy child. You reach down to your carry-on and struggle to pull it free from its prison below the child’s seat without accidentally punching the woman next to you as your arms strain to wrench the straps upward. You finally succeed in getting the bag into your lap and hurry to flip it around to find the particular zippered pocket you are seeking. When you succeed, you quickly unzip the pocket and thrust your hand inside, feeling around for the familiar texture of rubberized plastic. You withdraw your hand carefully, clenching a handful of springy, brightly colored hair bands that you typically wear as bracelets. They are a pretty standard piece of your wardrobe at this point, and you’ve long since lost the ability to care that others may find them juvenile. They are more functional than most people assume, as you tend to use them for discreet fidgets when you are feeling anxious or restless throughout the day. The bands are also quite handy when small children are nearby, as you have frequently given them out to little ones who need a distraction in the doctor’s office waiting room, the post office, or the grocery store. The parents always seem grateful and though they try to return the item once they are ready to leave, you always refuse—partially out of self-preservation rather than altruism because the children commonly find the springy texture delightful for chewing on.

You lean forward and whisper, “Hey, little one!” and see the mother turn toward the gap in the seats with a look of surprise and possibly alarm, and the young child also turns to look at you, forgetting to look at their mother to verify before allowing their curiosity to lead their attention back to the stranger between their seats. You smile sincerely and nod apologetically to the mother, who visibly relaxes before you reach out to offer the handful of the rainbow assortment of bands toward the large round eye between the seats. The child leans back slightly and finally glances at their mother, who gives them a nod and a single-syllable word of approval, and the pudgy hand snatches a few of the bands from you before retreating back between the seats. The mother says, “thank you” in your language, and you detect the faintest accent in her halting words. You smile again and lean back into your seat, resting your hands on the carry-on bag in your lap. Setting your head against the headrest and basking in the glow of positive human interactions, you close your eyes again. Although the bright light from your window is visible through your eyelids, you seem to drift off again.

You are awakened by the plane’s intercom system, and a jolt of alarm shoots through you momentarily as the information comes through the speaker in Korean. You realize you’re holding your breath as the familiar ‘bing’ of the intercom system follows the announcement. You take a deep breath, and it suddenly hits you that you’re going to have to get through this part on muscle memory and by watching everyone around you because the luxury of being surrounded by comprehensible language is no longer an option. A pang of guilt hits you as you think this is what privilege looks like, dumbass. You know your pupils are likely betraying your fear, so you force several deep breaths before returning your bag to the seat in front of you, verifying that your safety belt is still fastened, and lean back to gaze out the window again.

The clouds part as the plane begins to descend, and your breath is sucked from you again as you realize you are gazing down upon Korea. The actual, honest-to-gods, land of K-pop, of thousands of years of culture, heritage, and tradition. A land of unnaturally youthful, beautiful people with deep roots, modern goals, and tenacity to earn a place as international leaders in development and innovation. Your stomach does a flip as you also think that somewhere down below are your eight unreasonably pretty boys, their lives and work all about to become so much less mysterious to you. You are struggling not to hyperventilate at this point, and the woman next to you seems to notice and pats your arm weakly with a small, reassuring smile. You smile back at her and realize it’s pointless to try to explain that you’re not afraid of landing at all. In fact, you’d welcome some turbulence to ground you back in your body at this point. But alas, the descent and landing are textbook perfect, and you curse this wasteful use of good luck, yet again, because you don’t know how much good luck could possibly hold out for you, and shit’s about to get real.

The large plane rapidly decelerates, forcing everyone to brace themselves as it glides down the long runway and breaks away toward the gates. You vaguely realize that your playlist has stopped, but you lack the strength in your limbs to reach down and restart it as you stare in wonder out the window at the world beyond. The airport looks largely like any other you’ve ever seen, though you marvel at some of the elements of the architectural design that are clearly intended to impress. They do not fall short, and the glass and steel offer a glimpse of Korean ingenuity to the uninitiated. You gasp softly as the plane stops at the gate, and everyone around the cabin begins to stir to collect their belongings and prepare to disembark. The child in front of you, a little girl, you now realize, has unfastened her belt and now stands on her seat, gazing over the back at you in wide-eyed wonder. She seems to be regarding your face, and you wonder how much time she has spent around people of your genetic makeup, even though she is clearly experienced at international travel. You give her a gentle smile again, and she gives you a lopsided grin before holding up a chubby wrist to show you that she has placed the bands on like bracelets. She looks down at your wrist and back to your eyes for approval, and you can’t help but chuckle and nod vigorously at her fashionable choice. She turns away again as her mother reaches out to wrangle her back into her small cardigan, and you quickly flip your carry-on around to ensure all of the pockets are once again closed.

The doors of the plane open with a hiss, and more information is shared over the speakers in the familiar collection of words you recognize to be Korean but do not comprehend. You take your cues from the people around you and stand when everyone else rises and begins inching down the aisle to the waiting family and friends in the lobby outside. You hold your breath a little and check your phone again, remembering that you’ve had no music for a while. So, you start up your playlist again, and it’s Take Me Home, which causes a little involuntary whimper to escape you, but everyone is so engrossed in the disembarking procedures that no one appears to notice. You flip through to find your translation app, just in case, and walk off of the plane and down the steep ramp, trying desperately to hold back from the gravity threatening to force you into a jog. The fresh air hits you, and you stumble as you try to step out of the way of those passengers rushing into the waiting arms of their loved ones or speedwalking toward their connecting flights. You find a small pocket of floorspace where no one is walking and pause to catch your breath and make a plan. As you look up, your eyes catch sight of a small, black-haired head bounding across the concourse, and you feel the slightest pang as you watch her leap toward the man who has crouched down in anticipation and catches her in his arms. You watch as he stands, cradling her against him and smiling widely at the mother, whose tired eyes sparkle, and she smiles demurely at him in relief. You swallow thickly and when you look again, they are gone—back to their lives and the love of watching this tiny little human develop into a thriving person with their own thoughts, hopes, and dreams.

A pang of loneliness hits you and mingles with something you try to pretend is not guilt. You shake your head to ground yourself and look down at your phone. Remaining in your own sovereign patch of isolated floorspace away from the hustle and bustle, you pull open the email that details your travel arrangements. It informs you that you need to collect your bags and meet the driver from KQ at the arrival area. You take a shaky breath and force your legs to move, maneuvering into the flowing sea of humanity toward what you can only hope is the baggage claim. As you follow the herd and round a slight bend, you can see the baggage claim appear ahead of you. You realize that your whole life has been spent preparing you for this moment, as you think back to the millions of times you zoned out only to realize that you had no idea what was going on around you and had to quickly rely on your observation skills to do whatever the people around you appeared to be doing. You are now the master of blending in and suppressing the deer-in-the-headlights look that coats your internal expression but remains disguised on the outside to all but the most astute observers.

You stand, feigning confidence, at one of the baggage carousels, and breathe out in relief when you see your seat neighbor standing across from you at the same carousel. When the alarm blares, you only slightly hear it over the sounds of Arriba pounding in your earbuds. You awkwardly retrieve your gigantic bags from the moving belt and stumble backward to face your next steps without the reassuring guidance of the crowd.

The email said you will meet the driver at the arrival area, so you try to gather your luggage into a coordinated jumble that will roll forward smoothly, and you step carefully out from the safety of the airport onto the sidewalk of this foreign city. You see ahead of you, the lines of black town cars and vans, and you shudder at a sudden chill that somehow penetrates your leather jacket. You walk slowly forward, hoping that there will be some clear identifier on the driver or the vehicle because you fear if someone steps out and tries to collect you, it will be more like a kidnapping than a corporate rideshare arrangement. Your fears are unfounded, thankfully, as you see someone holding a sign several vehicles ahead of you, and the collection of printed letters and Hangul characters drops your clenched stomach into relief as you recognize your name. It takes everything in your power not to break into a sprint toward the comforting sight of the letters of your name printed out on that sign like a beacon of hope in a situation that would terrify the absolute daylights out of you if you’d ever really had time to stop and think it through.

You smile and bow awkwardly as the man greets you in Korean. You are happy that you at least understand ‘Hello’, and you step aside as he graciously offers to load your baggage in the trunk. After so many bursts of adrenaline, shoddy sleep, and the general disorientation of overseas travel, you gratefully accept his help. The man appears to suddenly remember himself, and he says, in your language, “Passport?” which you retrieve from your sling bag and hold up for him to see. He glances between your picture and your face a couple of times, a look of concentration on his brow as he scans your unfamiliar features. After what seems like an agonizingly long moment, he looks up and smiles in relief before handing it back to you. The man turns and gestures for you to get into the seat as he opens the passenger door. You collapse into the seat and fumble with your seatbelt while you listen to the gentle thump of your bags being placed in the trunk. When the driver gets into the driver’s seat, he says something to you, and you realize your earbuds are still in. You quickly pull them out and apologize before your face flushes, and you realize he doesn’t understand a word you’re saying. He, too, gives a slightly sheepish nod before he says, “KQ?” and you both seem relieved as you smile broadly. He puts the car into drive. You sit back into the seat and try to breathe as you feel your heartbeat violently assaulting the inside of your ribcage, and you grip the strap of your shoulder bag tightly as if it is the only thing tethering your soul to life.

The car smoothly enters traffic as you see the city appear on the horizon, and you marvel at the vastness of the backlit skyline beyond. Figuring you can’t understand each other anyway, you put your earbuds back in just in time for Empty Box to come on and trigger the familiar tightness in your throat once more. As the driver deftly maneuvers the car onto the highway, you watch in fascination as a large plane descends over the road toward the airport, and you realize that you have no idea if the view beyond is sunrise or twilight. You check your phone again to see if it has updated to the time zone and location yet. You had tried to comprehend, from the company’s email detailing your travel arrangements, whether the departure and arrival times were in your home time zone or in KST, but you gave up quickly as soon as you looked up the flight for the local departure time. All you really needed to know was what time to get your butt on that plane. The rest was a ‘future you’ problem.

Now, cruising along toward KQ in the skin of ‘future you,’ you wonder if you’re about to launch into the dawn of a new day or a sleepless night in an unfamiliar place. Your phone shows that it is, in fact, the early hours of the morning. You breathe a sigh of relief as the only way to get this over with is to start. You settle back into your seat and watch in fascination as buildings rise out of the landscape, punctuated by waning streetlights, patches of greenery, and views of your future that lay beyond the further you get from the airport.   

Chapter Text

You arrive outside the KQ office building and try not to stare up awkwardly at the imposing structure. It’s all you can do to try to keep your eyes from bugging out and incidentally tipping off anyone that you are there purely by cosmic accident or mistake; you don’t actually belong. You fear it’s painfully obvious to anyone with adequate vision that you shouldn’t be there, and you cringe at the thought that any minute someone is going to come dashing out to correct the error and send you back immediately on the next flight out of Korea.

But nothing happens; the driver unloads your luggage, gives you a small smile, and bows before dashing back to the still-running vehicle and disappearing from sight. At the last glimpse of the taillights, you suddenly realize you should have returned the bow, and you are halfway through a poor imitation of his gesture when the front door of the KQ building opens and a man dressed in a black suit and earpiece steps out. You try to suppress a grin at the sight of the familiar earpiece, remembering the charade at your interview in which a paid actor probably told you that your mother was a whore, and you were hired to become a professional bootlicker for the underground hardcore porn industry in an undisclosed location…

You stop your wild imagination from going down this hilarious rabbit hole as you realize he’s holding open the front doors for you to enter the building. You struggle to capture the handles of your unruly luggage but manage to wrangle them in through the large doors into the building’s lobby. He gestures you toward the desk and bows as he leaves your presence. You return his bow, slightly quicker than last time, and turn to face the unknown woman at the reception desk. She smiles at you pleasantly and gives a quick bow before shuffling through papers and saying your name, with the tone of a question. You say, “Yes. That’s me.” And she frowns, recognizing but being unable to respond in your unfamiliar language. She gestures for you to take a seat in the waiting area, and you gratefully collapse into one of the stiff modern armchairs, suddenly aware of the weakness in your knees. You conscientiously remove your earbuds and put them back into your sling pouch, verifying that your passport is still within. A little pang hits you as you now have to take this step in the journey without your ATEEZ soundtrack in the background, and you realize, sadly, that this will likely be the new norm.

You avert your eyes as people come and go through the lobby around you, exchanging various pleasantries and conversation with the woman at the desk and passersby. You don’t want to see if anyone notices you, and you silently plead that your powers of invisibility will kick in and they won’t see you there at all. You realize that this is a very unlikely scenario as you probably stick out like a sore thumb—your hair mussed from a dozen hours in flight, your rumpled clothing, your plump ass taking up most of the dainty lobby chair, and the rest of your body being dwarfed by the two enormous suitcases that flank you. Yeah. You must be completely invisible you think and roll your eyes at yourself.

Someone coughs nearby, jolting you from your self-deprecation, and you look up to see a woman walking stiffly across the lobby toward you. She approaches robotically in unnaturally high heels, causing you to wonder what—besides sheer force of will—is holding those tiny, angular shoes on her feet. You shake your head to clear it and look up at her, trying to suppress the relieved grin that threatens to break free onto your face when you recognize her as the woman who conducted your Zoom interview. At least there is someone familiar who you know speaks your language. Your tense shoulders relax, and you stand to greet her with the best bow you can muster, based on your limited observations so far. You realize, too late, that she has extended a hand to shake yours instead, and you quickly attempt to change course as she greets you with a tight-lipped smile. Well shit. You tried. But you shake off the awkwardness and prepare to follow her as she instructs you with a curt, “Right this way, please. I trust your trip was comfortable?” You try to hold your voice steady as you fight your rebellious suitcases once again to enable forward momentum and reply, “Yes. It was very comfortable. Thank you.”

She leads you down to the doors of an elevator across the lobby and holds the door open by pressing the elevator button while your suitcases assault your shins in every attempt to defy your wishes to enter the elevator car. You finally manage to get yourself and all of your belongings clear of the elevator doors, and the woman clicks her tongue, releases the button, swipes her ID card, and presses the button for the third floor.

You note, passively, that there are eight floors, and you can’t help but wonder what is located on each. The elevator speeds up and slows down rapidly; the sudden change in velocity causes your knees to protest, and you are suddenly aware that you haven’t eaten breakfast yet. You ignore this concern and follow the woman into an area that appears to be a large room lined with rows of cubicles and the resulting hallways formed between each.

The woman brings you to an empty cubicle and steps aside. “You may put your bags here while we take care of your orientation.” Seeing your hesitation, she adds, “The building is secure.” You can’t help wondering if this company is really that different from your previous employer, because you can think of several of your former coworkers who would have robbed you blind if you left all of your possessions unattended nearby. Since this appears to be a non-negotiable directive, though, you leave your bags in the empty cubicle and hope your luck holds out.

The woman looks you up and down and suggests that you also leave your jacket, so you begin to remove it. You see her perfect eyebrow flick upward in that familiarly judgy manner as she regards your clear sling bag. You cough in embarrassment and close your jacket back up and mutter, “It’s kind of cold in here.” Despite the growing flush in your cheeks. She nods at this and appears to agree with your decision. The woman turns on her heel and says, “Okay. This way,” as she takes off down the row of cubicles toward the next place on her list without even a glance to see if you are keeping up.

You are ushered into a small conference room at the end of a long row of cubicles. Another man and woman are waiting there for you with a laptop computer and several stacks of paper in a portfolio. The interview woman instructs you to take a seat, and you feel slightly guilty that you never bothered to learn her name, having assumed, naively, that you would never see her again. She takes the seat next to you as the man and woman greet you. You realize that the interview woman has remained in the room to translate, and the other two present you with all of the standard HR paperwork. They then ask for your physical signature on the NDA you had already signed digitally, exactly as you were informed to expect when you received the original paperwork following your acceptance of the position. The paperwork is largely standard, and the process breezes by relatively quickly. Suddenly, your phone begins blaring “Work Pt. 2,” which you have set as your warning alarm to get yourself on the road or face being late to work. Everyone in the room startles, and the interview woman does not even attempt to disguise her annoyed glare. You gasp audibly and nearly throw your phone across the table as you juggle it between your overzealous hands in a desperate attempt to shut it off.

When silence falls across the room, it is deafening, and all you can hear is your ragged breathing and your pulse pounding in your ears. You apologize and look back at your phone again to decisively shut off all alarms and pray to no one in particular that you don’t have any other ATEEZ booby traps set on it, waiting to humiliate you in public. There’s a little taste of that bad luck you were waiting for. You must look like such an idiot to these people. You chuckle nervously as you shove the phone back in your pocket and apologize again. Mercifully, it appears that you were almost done with this portion of the orientation process. The man collects the NDA papers, and the woman divides the stack she holds and passes some of the papers to him. He then bows to everyone and excuses himself from the room.

You feel yourself begin to prepare to stand and leave, too, when the woman shuffles to another page and turns the computer screen toward you. You relax back into your chair and fold your hands in your lap to show her that your attention is fully focused on her. She explains that there is a training video for you to watch, and the interview woman explains further that the video is about public behavior expectations and protocol for interacting with idols. Your heart begins to race, and you clutch your hands together tightly under the table while you return your focus to the video on the screen and hope you don’t black out and miss any important information because you’re freaking the fuck out, yet again, at the mention of interaction with idols.

The video details rules about ensuring that when you are in public with idols, you don’t obstruct the view of cameras or fans. You are expected to wear appropriate face coverings like sunglasses, masks, or hats when directed by your team leader or supervisor. Depending on the situation, you will receive instructions to wear dark-colored, simple clothing or company-issued uniforms, as appropriate. You are instructed not to speak unless spoken to, to keep your interactions friendly and professional, and to always look out for opportunities to make your services as unobtrusive to the idols as possible. Anticipatory service is encouraged—rather than reactive—and staff are expected to discuss their ideas with a superior first to ensure that any initiative taken is in the best interest of the idols.

The video appears to be coming to an end, but an additional clip cuts in, and it looks like it was filmed at a different time than the original training video and then tacked onto the old video. This portion of the video explicitly emphasizes appropriate clothing for staff and the protocol to never touch an idol in view of the public unless directed by a superior to do so. If you notice something out of place with the idol’s appearance, you are instructed to speak to your superior; if you are unable to do so, you must tell the idol about the issue directly and succinctly, so that they can determine whether to retreat out of public view or correct the situation themselves.

You suddenly flash to the memory of a recently publicized incident involving an unfortunate Stray Kids’ stylist who clearly lost sight of the “forest for the trees” of the situation and became hyperfixated on adjusting something with Felix’s belt buckle, causing public embarrassment as cameras captured her squatting down in obscenely high heels and a scandalously short skirt in direct line with his, ahem, family jewels. She had clearly lost her situational awareness and become so focused on the clothing that she forgot there was a whole-ass human being inside those clothes, not to mention that they were surrounded by a large number of actively filming cameras. The idol had awkwardly tried to continue walking until he finally stopped and rolled his eyes in embarrassment at her continued fussing with his waistband. You chuckle to yourself slightly, and the interview woman looks at you with disapproval, so you sheepishly say, “Felix?” but she gives you no response, aside from a tight-lipped smile that confirms your suspicions. You can’t suppress a self-satisfied smirk and decide that you’re not going to let her take away your small victory.

The next pile of papers that the woman produces appears related to benefits. She explains that you will be paid electronically and issued a debit card corresponding to the account from which your salary is issued. You are relieved as you realize you have no idea how to navigate international banking except that you can probably use a Visa card damn near anywhere. The woman also explains your health benefits and that there is a company physician and clinic located in the KQ offices building, which will provide basic medical care on an as-needed basis. You are also relieved at this because the idea of finding a doctor who accepts whatever insurance is provided and speaks your language is probably like finding a needle in a haystack. You are jolted from this line of thinking when the woman translating begins to stand and looks at you, in what appears to be annoyed expectation. You realize, to your chagrin, that you have blanked out the last thing she said, so you quickly say, “I’m sorry, what?” and she reluctantly repeats that you will need to go to the clinic now for a pre-employment physical. “Right now?” You can’t help feeling surprised and a little uncomfortable.

It was one thing to have access to a doctor whenever you needed, but you don’t want to be forced to see one. You also realize, with a slight feeling of dread, that you have no idea what Korea’s medical privacy protections are or if they have anything legal like HIPAA to protect your medical information from prying eyes. You also fear, based on the reputed god-like control of K-pop companies, that the rules may not apply to them due to some sort of legal loophole allowing them to justify completely controlling your personal information. You try to convert your fear to resolved acceptance because you recognize, helplessly, that you are clearly way too far into this situation to die on this proverbial hill. You steel yourself to make your peace with it and follow the interview woman from the room, turning quickly to bow and thank the other woman as it becomes clear that she will not be joining you in the next phase of your initiation.

The interview woman walks quickly back to the elevator with you trotting at her designer heels like a well-trained but out-of-shape puppy. She says nothing to you as you both step inside, and she presses the second-floor button after swiping her ID card. The doors close, and you realize, curiously, that there is no music playing in the elevator. That seems odd, given that this is a company built entirely on music.

The doors open onto the second floor, which looks like any other primary care clinic you have ever seen. A waiting area with generic chairs and old magazines leads up to a set of reception windows and two receptionists who only vaguely glance up. They seem to reserve their niceties until they know which of them you are approaching, while the unapproached individual resumes scrolling through their phone apathetically. The woman speaks to them briefly in Korean, and she is handed a clipboard with several sheets of paper on it. She gestures for you to sit in the waiting chairs, and you pick one that allows you to see the door opening into the exam area as well as the door to the elevators. She walks you through all of the forms, filling them out in Hangul according to your answers.

The forms appear to be standard medical history forms, and she keeps her face completely impassive until you reach the reproductive history portion of the forms. When she asks for the date of your last menstrual cycle, you respond, “I don’t know.” She looks up at you in surprise, and you see her wonder briefly if she has mistranslated or misunderstood. Your cheeks flush, and you say matter-of-factly, “Hysterectomy.” Which causes her own cheeks to pale slightly, and she purses her lips to avoid making any sort of reactive facial expression. She mutters, “Oh. I am sorry.” But you simply shrug nonchalantly and say, “It’s okay. It is what it is.” She looks, uncharacteristically, into your eyes, as if to see if you are truly okay with this knowledge, before she catches herself and turns her face back down to the form in her lap. Her expression returns to all business as she finishes the rest of the forms with your otherwise unremarkable responses.

Mercifully, you seem to be the only patient at the moment, and as soon as she stands with the clipboard to indicate that you have finished, the exam door opens, and a nurse calls your name to go back for the physical. You cringe slightly as the woman follows you after handing the clipboard to the nurse, and you shudder to think that you are going to have this unfriendly woman completely informed of all of your body and brain’s idiosyncrasies. You suppose it’s probably better than having it be someone who would think that all of this self-disclosure made you instant bosom-buddies. The thought gives you the ick, and you square your shoulders resolutely as you walk through the exam door. You go through the fresh humiliation of being weighed in front of both strangers, and are only slightly relieved that you don’t know what a good weight in kilograms should be. The women are both quite professional and do not react to the numbers on the scale, so you are unable to even begin to guess if this is acceptable or not. Your height is measured in centimeters, and you try not to giggle, thinking that it makes you seem quite tall, but really means nothing to you due to your relative ignorance of the metric system.

You are taken back to a clean, bright, spacious room that is set up as an exam and procedure room. You realize that this is the luxury of being a small, privately contracted clinic that only serves the employees of the company. After taking your temperature and blood pressure, the nurse leaves you with a hospital gown, and the woman translates instructions for you to remove all clothing but your underwear and sit on the table. Mercifully, she turns and leaves the room, instructing you to open the door when you are changed. Your mind begins to wander as you awkwardly fold your bra into your pants and attempt to put your clothing in a small, nondescript pile on the extra chair against the wall. You only have the rotate the hospital gown twice before deciding you had it on the correct way the first time and doing your best not to tie your hair into the strings of the gown. You can’t help but wonder if the idols use this same clinic or if there are other arrangements made for their basic medical care. Your heart stalls a little at the idea that you could walk out to the waiting room and find yourself face-to-face with Yeosang or any other member of ATEEZ. It’s only a small consolation at this point that you wouldn’t recognize any of Xikers, but nonetheless, you hope none of them would be out there either. A small knock on the door reminds you that you forgot to go and open the door when you were finished, and they are waiting for you, so you call out, “Okay. I’m ready.” A doctor and the translator enter the room; both wearing determined, professional expressions as their attention turns to you, swinging your now-bare legs awkwardly from the edge of the examination table.

The doctor bows slightly and greets you; you manage a nod, even though you know you ought to bend more than your head. You give yourself a pass because you feel out of sorts and vulnerable in this moment, and it doesn’t seem fair to place the additional burden of unfamiliar cultural practices on you on top of everything else. You do your best to sit up straight again and purse your lips to prepare for whatever further embarrassment this absurd ritual will entail. Thankfully, the examination appears to be a pretty standard physical with a basic assessment of all of your major systems and muscle groups, basic neurological screenings, and a physical examination. When you have squeezed his fingers, balanced on one foot, and done all of the other seemingly silly things to ensure that you haven’t had any major brain damage recently, the doctor instructs you to lie back on the exam table. The doctor speaks in a rough combination of your language and Korean. Whether this is because he is practicing his foreign language skills or acting in a misguided attempt to make you feel more comfortable, it’s anyone’s guess. The woman continues to translate for him anyway, as if realizing that his ability to speak your language renders her presence there unnecessary and inappropriate because her translations are no longer needed.

You’re actually a tiny bit relieved that she remains, as being alone with unfamiliar men—even doctors—tends to make you uncomfortable, and because you’re hoping for her to hear you to explain your answers on the forms, so she won’t look at you with pity or curiosity ever again. You selfishly hope you will be rid of her completely after this initial horror show, but you know you probably won’t be so lucky. As the doctor palpates your abdomen, he comes down to your belly and sees the scars from your laparoscopic procedure, and he pauses to turn back and review the papers your translator gave to the nurse. After flipping through them, he nods in understanding and what almost looks like relief before he catches himself and turns back to face you. “Hysterectomy? Why?” he asks you, and you take a deep breath because you knew this was coming. You explain your hypermobility issues, your suspicions about the genetic implications of your faulty connective tissue, and the resulting descent over time of your uterus from its tilted position to gradually moving closer to the outside of your body until you and your physician determined that it would be best if you were parted ways. You were graciously allowed to keep your ovaries, for whatever that was worth, but you were still glad that your uterus was no longer attempting to go on a walkabout or causing you to piss your pants if you laughed too hard. You hadn’t even had a pregnancy to justify this level of bullshittery from your baby factory, so you were happy to be rid of it. Honestly.

The doctor glances at the translator as she finishes giving him the rough translation of your struggles, and you imagine her pauses are due to her efforts to keep the phrasing professional due to her role. It almost makes you laugh, as you kind of want to throw in more profanity to watch her attempt to make your words more palatable to the professional ear when they come out of her mouth. It’s your medical history, after all. You shouldn’t have to sanitize it for either of their sakes, and let’s face it—some of it is just plain shitty. There’s a pause as the doctor jots down some notes on the paper and explains that he is documenting that you will not be given the standard offer of birth control, but he does want to do the standard blood work and gynecological exam. You almost gag at the idea; what in the fuck kind of workplace is this!? But you realize that this person is now your primary care doctor, regardless of the fact that he’s provided by your employer, and you figure this must just be how it rolls here at KQ. So, here you are, waiting for the two of them to reenter as you doff your drawers and hop back up onto the exam table and hope that the translator is kind enough to park her bony ass at the end of the room without a full view of your business. Be nice. You get testy when you’re nervous and feeling vulnerable. You are grateful this is probably nearing the end of this experience, and you also realize with relief that the language barrier keeps the awkward small talk between yourself and the strange man probing between your thighs to a bare minimum. Maybe that’s the only silver lining to this fucked up scenario, but you’ll take it as a win.

That’s a W.

You stifle a snort at your own joke.

The doctor removes his gloves and pats your knee, ensuring that the plastic tablecloth thing covering your “bathing suit area” is back in place, so that when he walks away, the gap between your thighs won’t be wide open to the rest of the room. As soon as he is clear, you swing your legs down and sit up, pulling the plastic tarp back over your lap self-consciously. The doctor returns from washing his hands and jots down a few more notes on one of your papers.

As he reviews the sheets again, he notes a couple of your medications listed and asks, through the translator, what they are taken for. You explain your diagnosis of inflammation, not unlike arthritis, and your ADHD. You hold your breath momentarily because you never checked to see if South Korea was one of those countries that denied the existence of conditions like ADHD due to the inherent stigma of mental disorders. You figure it probably isn’t because South Korea seems to have worked so hard to be up-to-date or ahead of wellness, and it certainly wouldn’t be helpful to anyone to deny the existence of your very real disorder. You realize you’re holding your breath after you say it because you really need him to react supportively to that diagnosis. The last thing you want to do is fight this man for your medication. Shit. You think darkly. If he refuses to fill my meds, I might as well just fuckin go home now because I won’t be able to do any of this shit without it. While you know this isn’t completely true, you went through all of your childhood and part of your adult life without knowing why everything was such a goddamn clusterfuck and why you were the family drama queen, having taken a lot longer to master the art of emotional regulation than your relatives or peers. You certainly do not want to go through anything like that here, in front of ATEEZ.

The translator makes another throat-clearing noise, and you look up to see the doctor smiling at you, holding out a piece of paper that looks, thank gods, like a prescription. The translator repeats what you missed and informs you that it is a prescription for your ADHD medication and another for your anti-inflammatories, but that the doctor would like to see you to talk about some alternatives to the anti-inflammatory medication once you are settled into your job. You breathe a huge sigh of relief and take it from him with a grateful smile. He looks a little surprised, but you don’t care; you know he probably has no idea that he literally just saved your life by not pitching you shit about your ADHD meds. This might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. You chuckle, and he returns your smile, looking pleased if not slightly confused. He instructs you, through the translator, that you may dress in your regular clothes and depart after the nurse comes in and takes your blood samples. You ask him what he’s testing for, and it seems like a full panel including nasty bloodborne pathogens, STIs—the full gamut of gross that may lurk, undetected, within unsuspecting humans and be easily transmitted to those in close proximity.

You stifle a giggle, wondering what are the absolutely dismal odds of you breaking a several year dry-spell by banging someone in Korea when you don’t know a soul or speak an intelligible word of Korean, and you’ll be spending the majority of your time around eight of the hottest humans alive who will have zero interest in you outside of your ability to bring them fresh towels and maybe whip them up a little snack after they perform a dozen hours of dances that your body could never coordinate even once if your life depended on it. Again, you find yourself with a weird smirk on your lips as you internally crack yourself up, and the doctor’s brow furrows with concern before you simply say, “Thank you.” And bow awkwardly from your perch atop the examination table, causing your poorly tied hospital gown to slip down and almost expose your unrestrained breasts. You gasp and clutch the fabric in place; the doctor’s eyes widen in alarm, and he bows quickly and excuses himself from the room. The translator rolls her eyes when you look back at her sheepishly.

You sit there staring at each other for a moment, waiting for the nurse to return to do your bloodwork. You desperately want to change the subject and are glad that you can’t resist asking the translator about a part of the interview you kept thinking about. You can't contain your curiosity, it seems, and you have been wondering why they hired an actor to say whatever things to you in Korean rather than just having a KQ employee do it. She explains to you that KQ is very conscientious, and they don't want any of their employees having to face you regularly after saying very derogatory things to you—even if you didn't understand. This answer gives you pause, and you try not to allow yourself too much of a warm, fuzzy feeling about this company you’ve just been introduced to. You have had too many corporate pep talks that aren’t backed up by the actual culture of the workplace, so you don’t want to get your hopes up (and your heart broken) again. The nurse returns to interrupt your contemplation and begins to set up to get your blood samples drawn. You try to force your entire body to turn slack as you know your track record for blood draws is a long and miserable record of losses: Uncooperative veins=1000, You=0.

After the nurse finishes poking you several times, in an attempt to find a vein that doesn’t leap out of the reach of her needle, she finally gets the blood required to run your unnecessarily thorough tests. You have always stayed on top of tests for your sexual health—getting tested before starting anything with a new partner and upon ending a relationship. Generally, your providers were supportive, and you were grateful that they did not pry about your reasoning or slut-shame you; they just accepted your request and ran the tests. You had some close calls over the years, but were lucky in the end.

So that’s where all my good luck went. You think to yourself while pulling your clothes back on and trying not to wonder what fresh level of humiliation they have lined up for you next. You’re getting fairly tired, and you are also pretty hungry, having forgotten all about breakfast by this point. You exit the exam area, and the woman gives you a quick once-over with her eyes before turning and summoning the elevator with her ID card. She probably wants to make sure I got my bra back on the inside of my shirt. You stifle a devious chuckle and join her in the elevator car as she swipes her ID card and presses the third-floor button.

You exit the elevator into cubicle country again, only this time, she turns and walks in the opposite direction from where you went earlier in the day. She walks rapidly down to a room at the opposite end of the cubicle rows, and you enter to find a counter with a setup not too dissimilar from the DMV back home. You cringe as you are certain that you are NOT camera-ready, but you aren’t about to make a fuss at this point. The translator glances at you again but does not say anything. Instead, she turns to the woman at the counter, says a few things which the woman appears to type into her computer, and waits expectantly for it to respond to the information. Once she is satisfied, she directs you to go stand by the wall, and your suspicions are confirmed that they are about to take an ID photo for you that will probably go down in history as one of the worst you’ve ever taken. You try not to look as devastated as you feel, and you sincerely hope that this will be more of a formality than anything else, and that, gods forbid, none of your idols will ever lay eyes on it or have to wonder why this ogre on your ID badge looks nothing like you. You are jolted from your thought spiral, as the translator exclaims for the second time, apparently, that you need to look straight at the camera. You manage a weak smile and look directly at the camera in time to be completely blinded by a flash.

The woman behind the counter looks unimpressed and turns the monitor to show the translator, but not you; the translator shrugs and approves the photo. The woman turns the monitor back, and you hear a machine whir to life behind her, where your completed badge of dishonor drops into the slot. She retrieves it gingerly, and you wonder if there is some residual heat from the process as she slips a lanyard onto it and hands it to you without making eye contact before turning back to her screen and clicking away rapidly. The translator makes a short declaration and turns to lead you out of the room. You don’t dare even turn the card over to glimpse the picture; you just hold it limply by your side as you follow her back past the place where your bags were left. A quick glance reassures you that it appears your bags are just how you left them earlier, and you thank your lucky stars that your belongings are unmolested—for now.

The translator instructs you again to follow her as she makes a surprise right turn down a different row of cubicles. She calls out for the attention of a stout, slightly older woman, who appears to have been waiting there for you. The translator steps between you and introduces you to Nam Ji-Yeon, your supervisor, and instructs you to refer to her as “Nam Timjangnim” or Team Leader Nam. The translator then explains that Nam Ji-Yeon does not speak your language, so you will need to pay close attention to what she tells you to do. The translator excuses herself as she has other duties for the day, and you are left standing bug-eyed in front of Nam Timjangnim, waiting for whatever comes next.

Nam Timjangnim groans slightly as she stands from the reclined position she had assumed while waiting in the cubicle for you. She looks you up and down and tuts before walking past you out of the cubicle and down another long row of cubicles before stopping in front of one that is set up with a countertop and some shelves behind it. You are issued three black polo shirts with the KQ logo embroidered on them, and then you are told to go to the cubicle next door to get work slacks. The woman looks you up and down before frowning and sucking air through her teeth with disdain. She turns and rifles through a pile but pauses and turns back, gesturing exaggeratedly for you to come in, while she grabs her measuring tape and unfurls it.  She directs you to do something in Korean before realizing that you don't understand her. She exclaims in exasperation and points again at your waist, grabs your arm firmly, and directs you to stand in front of her with your arms held up to the sides. Once she takes your waist measurement, she makes another irritated face before rifling through the pile again and grabbing two pairs from the bottom. She hands them to you with another click of her tongue, before tugging at your waistband and saying in your language, "Diet."

The woman shrugs and turns back to straighten her pile, so you quickly rush out to join your team leader and try to ignore the burning of your cheeks. Glancing at the tag on the pants she's given you, you can see right away that they're going to be several sizes too small and likely painful, if not impossible, to wear. You take a deep breath, steady yourself, and touch your team leader’s sleeve to halt her determined strides down the hallway. She looks at you quizzically, then nods in understanding as you turn to make your way back to the uniform woman. You swear you see the flicker of a smile across her eyes as you attempt to walk confidently back to the woman. She looks up at you disinterested without any pretense of helpfulness, and given how tired you are and overwhelmed at everything, you just can't be bothered.

You thrust the pants back into her hands as she looks at you, surprised at your audacity. You walk to the other side of the shelves and quickly scan the labels until you find your measurements on the shelf tag, and grab two pairs of slacks from a stack of men's slacks in the correct size. Her mouth drops open in shock, and you bow, thanking her in what is probably garbled Korean but your best effort at correct pronunciation of "thank you," before you dash back out of the cubicle to rejoin Nam Timjangnim. Nam Timjangnim looks at you blankly and gives the uniform woman a nod, and begins to power walk back down the rows toward your next destination. You feel your cheeks begin to return to normal, and a rush of pride that you reclaimed your power and probably saved yourself a whole lot of misery by taking men's slacks instead of the highly tapered, pleated women's slacks that would have made you look like a busted can of biscuits. Not to mention the bruising it would have probably caused to have to force yourself into them day after day. There's no way you're going to endure that level of humiliation at work, let alone in front of ATEEZ. Fuck that.

Having conquered the uniform situation, your supervisor speedwalks you back toward where your luggage still lies abandoned in the spare cubicle. She gestures to you to place the uniforms with your luggage and exclaims loudly in annoyance when you start to set your ID card on top of the pile of clothing. She grabs it and thrusts it back into your hand before turning and hauling off down cubicle row at top speed. You traipse along behind Nam Timjangnim toward the elevators before she presses the eighth-floor button and grabs your hand that is still absently clutching your ID card, causing you to look at her in surprise. She pulls your arm so that the machine scans your card to grant access to the eighth floor, and she looks only slightly less annoyed when the elevator doors close, and it begins to move toward the top floor.

The doors open on the eighth floor, and you are instantly greeted by delicious smells. You can’t suppress a hungry groan, and you walk out ahead of your supervisor before realizing your mistake and turning sheepishly to allow her to once again take the lead. She chuckles at you slightly and heads toward a set of doors just offset from the elevator, and you notice that there are two identical sets of doors set equidistant from the elevator. You are entering the left side, so you wonder if the right side is the exit or if it holds other delightful mysteries altogether. She looks back at you with slight annoyance at your gawking, and she gestures toward the door she is holding open for you. You realize that she is leading you into an employee dining room complete with a large buffet service, cozy nooks and tables, and a beautiful row of windows overlooking the rest of the city beyond. You note that you were correct about the right-side doors being an exit from the dining room, and you quickly hustle to follow her toward the beginning of the buffet line.

She pantomimes how to scan your card and shows you the balance of points you have available, which you assume are based on your individual meal plan, as it was explained to you in detail this morning. She wordlessly shows you how to make your selections and cash out at the end of the line. There are options for taking the meals in to-go containers or having a seat in the dining area, and she walks you over to a table where you both sit to eat your meal.

You are happy to finally have a full meal in you, and though she ate about half as much as you did, she finishes at about the same time because you ate like a person starved. In your defense, of course, that’s exactly what you were when you walked in. You’re thankful that you won’t faint in front of her later or have to beg someone to help you find food in this completely foreign city. You’re fairly confident you would struggle pretty badly if left to your own devices. You relax a little knowing that there is a consistent source of food readily available, if you are able to get to the KQ dining room on a fairly regular basis. You are jolted back to the present when you realize she is looking at you with what almost appears to be amusement, before she stands up and gestures for you to leave the table. You stand with a groan rivaling that of your elder supervisor, and she chuckles quietly. When you move to stand next to her, she pats you on the stomach and says with a smile, “Good eater.” You are surprised to hear she knows some of your language after what the translator led you to believe. You are also unsure how to take this compliment, but she looks genuinely pleased, so you turn and hurry to follow her back to the elevators, attempting to reach them in time to open the doors for her with your ID badge.

She looks straight ahead impassively as you swipe your card and doesn’t say a word when you hesitate over the buttons, realizing you have no idea where you are supposed to go next. A slight twinkle appears in her eyes as she glances at you, wondering what you are going to do next without her direction, so you punch the third-floor button and hope that the gamble pays off, as it seems most of your activities have occurred on that floor so far.

Nam Timjangnim looks almost pleased but holds her expression and tone neutral as she makes an approving noise. When you arrive at the third floor, you realize you’re holding your breath to see if it was correct or not. Mercifully, she exits the elevator and makes a beeline straight for the cubicle that holds your suitcases and new uniforms. You exhale sharply and dare to allow yourself the tiniest sliver of hope that you might soon be able to find out where you will be living for the foreseeable future. She gestures at your stuff and folds her arms across her chest expectantly while you quickly scramble to shove the uniforms inside the scant remaining space in one of your overstuffed suitcases. When you accomplish this, she turns without a word and heads back toward the elevator, leaving you teetering wildly as you try to get the suitcases to cooperate and roll behind you so that she doesn’t leave you in the dust. You swear and swerve erratically but eventually make it back to the elevator with a light sheen of perspiration beginning to line your forehead, owing partially to the exertion, fatigue, and the oversized portion of kimchi fried rice you inhaled at lunch.

You swear you see a flicker of amusement cross her features as she turns abruptly and enters the elevator. You honestly wonder if she’s going to hold the doors open for you, but you also are getting the sense that she doesn’t like her time wasted enough to let the elevator leave and force her to return for your slow ass. You thank your lucky stars that your assumption is correct, and you show your eagerness by fighting as quickly as you can to wrestle the suitcases into the elevator before the doors close, and you are certain now that you see a smile flash behind her stern features. She punches the first floor button, to your surprise, and you follow her, wide-eyed to the front desk where she has a brief discussion with the receptionist there before power walking out the front doors, barely giving the security guard time to open the doors for her and attempt a bow in her direction before realizing the futility of the gesture as her short legs are already carrying her well down the block. You suck in your breath as she gets further away, and you’re still lugging a hundred pounds of luggage—a disgusting number you are certain of as you watched them be weighed at the airline counter this morning in what seems like an entirely different lifetime ago.

A black car quickly comes into view just in front of her at the end of the block, and you gasp at the sudden view of the speeding car just next to where Nam Timjangnim is standing. You see the driver jump out, slightly red-faced, and bowing as he runs to open a door that she has already snatched from his hands and flung open. She clearly can’t be bothered with chivalry, and you kind of enjoy watching this older woman forcing these fit young men to scramble after her while she ruthlessly ignores them. You jog to catch up, only going as quickly as you dare, because too much speed will cause your suitcases to crash into each other, and you really don’t need to demonstrate the full extent of your clumsiness to your supervisor when it’s technically not even your first day yet.

When the befuddled driver offers to take your luggage, you glance toward the darkened backseat into which Nam Timjangnim has disappeared, and you politely refuse him. You stand waiting next to the trunk where he is looking at you, frozen, with wide eyes that clearly communicate his confusion at what is happening right now. So, you take a page out of your supervisor’s book and smack the trunk with your open palm twice, sharply, and look straight at him expectantly. After an agonizing moment, he clues in to your request and opens the hatch, and you cluck your tongue in approval and swing the large cases into the trunk yourself—an action which seems to hold his face frozen in wide-eyed astonishment just a fraction longer than is comfortable for either of you. You nod, satisfied, and turn to get into the back seat with your supervisor. She is reclined in the back and appears to be taking a nap, but upon hearing you begin to slide into the seat, she exclaims loudly and puts out her hand to shove you back toward the door, pointing at the front seat.

It's your turn now to make the wide-eyed buffoon face, and you know you are living up to the role as she closes one eye, leans her head back on the headrest, and watches you expectantly with the remaining eye to ensure you get a clue and get your ass into the front seat so she can stretch out. You quickly turn and jump into the front seat, which has a couple of books and some papers on it, and you jump back up as if the seat is electrified so that you can swipe your hand underneath your butt and remove the offending objects. The man looks positively horrified as he starts to reach out for the items, but withdraws his hands, realizing how close the items are to your backside. You laugh slightly and shift your weight to pry the last book free before turning and thrusting the books and papers toward him with a dramatic sigh and then buckling your shoulder belt without sparing him another glance. You swear you hear a chuckle from the darkness in the backseat. He coughs a little and sets them next to the center console before buckling his own seatbelt and putting the running vehicle into drive.

Much to your relief, the trip to the dorms is only a five-minute drive, which leads you to form several unflattering hypotheses about Nam Timjangnim’s backseat behavior. Your brain quickly closes out of ‘Sherlock-Mode’ when the car turns in front of a non-descript building and the driver opens a screen on his cellphone to push a button and a simple door begins to slide open in the wall of the building, revealing a ramp descending into what you can only assume is underground parking and an entrance to the dormitory itself. Your heart skips a beat, and you force several deep breaths through your nose as quietly as you possibly can and hope to gods that your supervisor is still feigning sleep in the backseat, not watching you desperately try to hold on to your sanity for dear life.

Holy fucking shitballs.

You are about to set foot inside THE DORMS.

Where you will LIVE.

Under the very same roof that ATEEZ calls home.

Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck.

You feel a bit of lunch trying to make its way back up your throat, and you curse your stupid, innocent self for taking so much food in the employee dining room without thinking ahead of how this exact moment was going to reorganize your insides.

You have to let it go because the driver has rolled up to park in front of a set of elevator doors and popped the trunk. As he gets out of the car, you leap out after him because you want to grab your bags yourself in case Nam Timjangnim is actually watching you this time, and you want that credibility with her.

You dash around the car and meet the driver at the same time as he begins to open the trunk. Siding up to him, you swing your full hips toward him to get in position to grab your suitcases, and he dashes out of your way to avoid colliding with your commanding caboose. Satisfied, you lug the bag over the lip of the trunk and bring it to the ground as soundlessly as your screaming biceps will allow you to lower it. You turn and do the same with the second bag, as you silently pray that you will get to just lie in your room after this because you’re pretty sure you’re at your limit emotionally, intellectually, and physically.

The driver sees that you have your situation handled and have no desire for any of his assistance, so he runs around toward the back door, and just as he goes to open it, you see the small foot attached to the solid leg of your supervisor kick the door open. The door flies out, almost taking out the poor man’s junk, and he jumps clear of the potential assault as Nam Timjangnim scoots her ass out the door with a chuckle and a smirk that quickly disappears when she sees you watching her curiously.

She seems to regain her composure almost instantly and gives a curt bow and nods to the driver to leave, as she turns and walks briskly toward the elevator beyond. She shows you how to swipe your card and input a code into the elevator panel, which opens, and you drag your bags into a sleek, black elevator with five floor buttons—including the garage floor. You hold your breath as she presses the button for the fourth floor and swipes her card once more for good measure. It’s all you can do not to hyperventilate, and you sincerely hope that the elevator is programmed to bypass certain floors if it is already occupied because you certainly are in no state to face any of the boys, and you’re pretty sure all of the day’s exertions have fully exceeded the limits of your medication at this point.

Your stomach replicates the elevator’s rapid acceleration and sudden stop, with an extra flip for good measure, and your knees wobble slightly as you dare to nervously watch what is revealed when the doors open onto the fourth floor. Nam Timjangnim appears completely unaware or unaffected by your trepidation and plows past you down the open hallway toward the first door on the left-hand side of the hallway directly across from the elevator doors, across the chic but simple tiled entrance. You notice two potted plants are flanking the elevator doors, and the deep gray walls are simple and understated with their black trim.

The door she stops in front of is also dark gray with a silver handle and a digital keypad above it. The keypad lights up with a beep when she presses a single round button before punching in a four-digit code. You hear the lock click, and she looks at you meaningfully before turning the handle to open the door. For good measure, she shows you again the four-digit sequence before pushing your door open in front of her. The room is largely dark, and you realize that the blackout curtains are closed, leaving the room in inky darkness until Nam Timjangnim flicks several light switches and utters something in Korean that sounds like a rebuke as she stalks over to the closed curtains. She swings them open and turns back to face you with her arms still outstretched as if presenting the room to you. You let out a little gasp at the simple but reasonably spacious room now illuminated by daylight.

Your room contains a bed that seems slightly larger than a twin size but not a queen size; you don’t know if anyone even makes full-sized beds anymore, but you’re grateful for the few extra inches if your perception is accurate. Directly across from the door is a desk with a laptop plugged in and a phone lying beside it. You notice, off to the left, a small closet. The doors to the closet are halfway open, and you see a few lonely hangers in it, and what looks to be, from your current vantage point, a plain white robe and house slippers below it. You turn back toward the bed on your left and see that there is a nightstand with a small lamp. Next to this is a small card that you cautiously retrieve and glance at before taking a more intentional look at the words written on it, as you have only just noticed they are in your language. The card welcomes you to the KQ team and recommends you call the number at the bottom if you are in need of any assistance. You assume that the name on the card is likely the translator with whom you spent most of the day, and you realize that this information may definitely come in handy at some point.

Nam Timjangnim allows you a moment to absorb the information—maybe even a little longer than you actually needed, and you hope she doesn’t think you are an idiot. She busies herself opening your other curtain, and you realize that you have a corner room with double sets of windows overlooking the beautifully manicured street below. There is another building next to yours, which appears to have a stately rooftop garden complete with a trellis, trailing vines, and a couple of impossibly large trees that you hope will shade your room from the late afternoon sun. Your supervisor breaks you from your reverie with a grunt as she pushes past you and back out your front door, leaving you trailing awkwardly behind her to see what on earth she’s up to next.

She leads you down the hallway, which illuminates as the two of you walk down it, and you realize that this part of the building (and probably most other areas) is set on an eco-friendly power setting with motion or sound detection to reduce unnecessary power consumption. This makes you a little prouder than it should, as you can’t really claim any intentions of working for a ‘green’ company; you know damn well this had nothing to do with your decision to apply at KQ. You shrug off your annoying thoughts and hustle to keep up with your juggernaut of a supervisor, whose legs are not any longer than yours, but she seems to be built for rapid bursts of speed, while you seem to be built for a leisurely stroll.

She brings you down to another room with a keypad and gestures between this door and the one next to it, indicating that they are the same, before putting in the same key code she used to open your room. The lock clicks open, and she swings the door wide to show you a bathroom with several toilet stalls and shower stalls. You remind yourself to pull open your translation app to try to figure out if there is a specific gender indicated on the tiny sign outside of each door. You also secretly vow to try to use it when no one else is around because, honestly, the idea of living in a shared bathroom situation with perfect strangers is part of your definition of hell. You turn to follow her as she has taken off again, moving further down the rapidly illuminating hallway. You suppress a chuckle as even the motion lights have trouble keeping up with her powerful strides.

At the end of the hallway, she punches in your code again to reveal a small laundry room, and you let out a sigh of relief that you won’t be forced to try to find a laundry facility nearby where you’d have to lug large bags of your dirty unmentionables down a street in an unfamiliar city with no vehicle and virtually no language skills. You look around and see that there is a refrigerator and a vending machine as well as an ice maker in the laundry area. You make a mental note to investigate more later, but Nam Timjangnim is rapidly trucking along back down toward your room and you hope that this means your day is over so that you can lay down for a minute and let all of today’s reality wash over your completely overwhelmed brain cells before you attempt to control the internal chaos by organizing your external belongings into your new living space.

She returns to your room and gestures to you to input the keycode to verify that you have, in fact, acquired the ability to let yourself into the room on your own. You unlock the door on the first try, wondering again if she thinks you are slow-witted for some reason, before she pushes past you into the room. She taps the clock on your bedside table and says, with some effort, “Eight thirty,” before pointing a hooked finger at the elevator door. You nod and repeat “Eight thirty,” and also point your finger at the lobby area in front of the elevators. She nods in satisfaction and turns to leave your room. She pauses in your doorway and looks you up and down one more time before clucking her tongue and shaking her head while she turns and leaves. You see her heading toward the elevators as your door automatically closes itself behind her. You turn around and flop across your bed on your back with a huge sigh before popping straight back up just as quickly when you realize you need to set your alarm to be up and ready by eight thirty tomorrow morning. You have no idea what mornings are like here or how many other employees share the bathrooms, so you set the alarm for six o’clock just in case, plug in your phone, and then collapse onto your bed and stare blankly at the ceiling, allowing yourself just a few precious moments with no thoughts whatsoever, before you start to try to catalog everything that has happened today.

Chapter Text

You didn’t have the energy to unpack last night fully, but you’re glad you could lay out your work clothes and toiletries for this morning. You don’t know whether your intense disorientation at the sound of your alarm going off was due to jet lag or the fact that you are just not a morning person. Still, the battle between incoherence and adrenaline begins almost as soon as your brain buzzes with the sudden realization of what life-altering events might happen to you today. You feel slightly greedy as you quickly shove your earbuds in and pull up your music player, knowing you’ll be without it for most of the day. 'Twilight' comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you smile at the warmth that fills you with each verse of the song. You try (and fail) to avoid thinking that you might actually meet the boys today, which sends a bolt of lightning through your spine, and you literally jump out of bed because your body is running on pure panic at this point. You have to remind yourself of the importance of oxygen at several different moments when you catch yourself nervously holding your breath.

You also double-check your phone to make sure that you actually sent the text to your bestie to tell her you are safe and settled; you vaguely recall doing that before you fell asleep last night with the lights on and the curtains open. It appears that you did, in fact, send that text—it wasn’t a dream—so you congratulate yourself on avoiding bestie’s murderous rampage, at least for one day. You’re also glad that you must have pulled out your charger, too, when you got your clothing and shower items ready to go for this morning. You recall your curiosity about the morning employee ‘rush’ in the showers on your residential floor and decide not to wait around to find out just how crowded it will be in the bathroom. You swing the provided robe over your shoulders, grab your clothes, cosmetics, and toiletries, and slip into your slippers to quickly shuffle down to the bathroom.

The lights in the hallway are illuminated all the way down to the laundry room, causing you to pause briefly to listen, and you silently hope that maybe they’re only on a motion detector at certain times of the day. But you realize this is much less likely than the rational explanation that someone has passed through recently. You walk to the door your supervisor showed you and punch in your code, hearing the lock click and beep with relief as you shove the door open and step into the bathroom. A blast of steamy, hot air hits you, and you feel slightly sorry for whoever was in here showering before six o’clock. You hurry to get showered and ready, cursing the poor ventilation system that fails to dispel the steam in the air and makes styling your hair almost impossible. You return to your room to try to finish there and find that the lack of indoor fog makes it much easier to create your trademark vintage ponytail and pompadour hairstyle. You do your makeup conservatively but carefully, not wanting to look like you’re trying too hard but wanting to look polished and professional.

You realize that you don’t know whether you will be going to KQ or to the boys’ floor (trigger five minutes of hyperventilation and begging for death or unconsciousness) this morning, and if you aren’t going to KQ, you are unsure whether you will have access to breakfast. To avoid the risk of fainting from lack of nourishment, you eat a protein bar from your carry-on and take your medication and vitamins with the room-temperature energy drink you found tucked in your bag from yesterday morning. The lukewarm carbonated beverage assaults your senses, but you soldier on and use it to wash down your medications and vitamins.

You glance at the clock and see it’s a quarter to eight, so you take some of your remaining time to unpack portions of your suitcases and hang things up in the closet. You dump some odds and ends out of your laptop bag, plug in your laptop, and load the bag with the phone and laptop KQ left for you in the room. Hopefully, someone will show you how to use them because you already checked, and the phone has a lock code you don’t know. Every few minutes, your thoughts remind you that you might be introduced to the boys today. This time, ‘Utopia’ comes on, and you have to just tell yourself don’t think, just move to continue making progress on unpacking and avoid the paralysis that threatens you every time your overtaxed nervous system hits its breaking point.

You muse to yourself that you don’t even know what the boys are up to lately as your attention has been monopolized by the whole ‘pack all your shit and move halfway around the planet’ concept. You consider checking Instagram to see if they’re even in South Korea right now, until you recall that you have deactivated all of your social media, including IG, as HR instructed you. You’ll just have to wait and see—just like you’ve been reminding yourself every thirty minutes since your eyes opened this morning.

You look around at your slightly improved living space: your sketchbooks and cookbooks are piled up on one corner of your desk, you have propped a photo on the other side of your family with bestie at Christmas when you were fifteen, and your parents took the four of you to Disneyland instead of giving everyone individual presents. You chuckle as you see Eeyore in the background, placing his head sadly against a fence because everyone had walked away to take a photo with Pooh Bear. Your mom’s favorite was always Eeyore, and it cracks you up because she really is too optimistic to identify with such a downtrodden character. Your brain jolts suddenly with guilt as you realize that you did not text your mom when you texted bestie last night, so you grab your phone and quickly fire off an “I’m okay. I’m safe. I’ll fill you in later.” Text and hold your breath that she isn’t terrified or pissed about the delay. Mercifully, she responds relatively quickly, and it seems like she expected the delay, so she wasn’t bothered.

A decisive knock at your door startles you from your thoughts of home, and you quickly put your phone into your pocket before going to answer the door. As you reach the door, you notice the clock reads ‘8:15 a.m.’ and you fail to conceal your annoyance when you open the door to reveal Nam Timjangnim standing there expectantly, tapping her foot and looking like she’s in a huge hurry. You hold up a finger to indicate that you’ll be right back and you silently congratulate yourself on being up and ready uncharacteristically early. You reluctantly return your earbuds to their charging case before you quickly grab your laptop bag and company phone, as well as your ID badge and a pack of gum which you slide into the pocket of your slacks. You take one last glance in the mirror on your closet door before flicking off the light switch and heading out the door to the elevators with your supervisor.

As you wait for the elevator to arrive, forcing your mind to remain blank, you watch Nam Timjangnim looking you over and pausing briefly as if trying to figure out what is going on with the collar of your work polo shirt which you have layered with another polo shirt in a contrasting color and popped the collar. You're silently glad that you selected a pair of pants just a little too long, and the hem almost completely covers your favorite lugged, chrome leather Converse. You realized, too late, that you hadn't brought any shoes that probably fit professional standards, and you certainly haven't had time to go get anything else. She glances down where you have tucked in part of the front of the shirt to display your studded leather belt and provide some much-needed shape and style to the extremely bland uniform look. You’re wearing a small pair of earrings made with stone beads carved into miniature skulls, several layered sterling silver necklaces with various personally meaningful pendants around your neck, and black, white and silver springy band fidget bracelets adorn your wrists. Your favorite rings are also layered on your fingers, and you secretly hope you haven’t overdone it, as daily dress code outside of the public eye was not explicitly discussed during your orientation yesterday. Nam Timjangnim lightly sucks air through her teeth as she brings her critical gaze back up to your face, but says nothing, so you figure there’s nothing officially wrong with your style; it just isn’t her cup of tea. You look at her nondescript work slacks and slightly faded, coral-colored button-up dress shirt with the KQ logo embroidered on the breast pocket and her lack of jewelry or styling, and figure that her opinion on your fashion doesn’t merit much. You’re going to be yourself, so long as you aren’t breaking actual company rules. You’ve also made sure to apply lotion to your arms so that the colors in your sleeve tattoo pop, standing out on your well-nourished skin. You realize you feel more like “yourself” than ever before.

When you get into the elevator, she grabs your badge from you to check that it works on this keypad, and you watch Nam Timjangnim like a hawk to see what floor she presses. To your surprise and curiosity, she presses the second-floor button, and you find yourself once again holding your breath and hearing only the dizzying rhythm of your heart pounding in your ears. Your badge works, and in what feels like a fraction of a second, the elevator doors open onto another entry way, not unlike the one on your floor, but your heart shudders and threatens to stop beating as the opening doors reveal a dim entryway. You look down at the landing to see what appears to be about eight pairs of house slippers laid out on the mat to the right of the door, with a larger basket of similar slippers against the wall beyond them. Looking across the entryway, you see a fairly small living room area with large windows that have partially closed curtains letting in some of the sunlight from the outside. In the dim light, you see there is a large, flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, a small coffee table, and several sofas positioned to provide conversational and entertaining space.

Nam Timjangnim tuts and walks forward decisively to flip a switch on the wall, and you flinch in the suddenly bright light. She chuckles lightly at your reaction and clears her throat as she moves further into the space. You notice the faintest ghost of nondescript cologne floating through the room, as if walking by a room that a lover has only left hours before. You take a couple of trembling steps forward as your supervisor charges ahead into the living room and begins shoving furniture around to get it aligned just so. She reaches out and sweeps the abandoned drink coasters on the coffee table back into a pile before turning and seeing you standing there hesitantly. She tuts and ensures she has your attention while she fluffs the pillows and runs her hand around the sofa cushions to capture any loose items that may have fallen down between them. Apparently, she wants you to watch what she does today, so you allow yourself to become fully engrossed in her movements to avoid the temptation to look or wander around elsewhere. When she has finished with the furniture and flung the curtains wide open, as she did in your bedroom, she turns and stalks past you to a room just around the corner to the left that runs parallel to the entryway. You follow closely at her heels, not wanting to be left alone in this place that simultaneously gives you the heebie-jeebies and makes you feel like your heart will explode at any moment.

She flips more switches, and you follow her into what is now a brightly illuminated galley kitchen. You look at the wide expanse of countertops, punctuated by various supplement powders, snack containers, and discarded plates. There is a nice, wide professional-style French door stainless steel fridge, a large double sink, and a gas range that piques your curiosity right away. You let slip a small squeal of delight as you dash past Nam Timjangnim toward the stove causing her to look up at you from gathering up the trash on the counter in surprise. Oblivious, you take in the details of the massive stove with four burners and a grill featured in the center, as well as a large convection oven below. You let out a low whistle, gingerly turning one of the knobs, and whisper, “Hello, sexy,” without thinking. You realize the movement behind you has ceased and you turn, self-consciously, to see Nam Timjangnim staring at you with her mouth agape. You chuckle nervously to yourself and turn to assist her in gathering up dirty dishes, empty containers, and wrappers from the countertop and depositing them in the sink, recycling, or trash can, respectively.

She leads you into the hallway, and your breath catches as you look down at the long line of closed doors. You almost faint when she goes straight to the first closed door and flings it open. You realize you flinched and closed your eyes when she did this, so when you hear nothing remarkable, you slowly peek through your squinted eyelids to see that it’s an unoccupied bedroom with an unmade bed and partially open curtains. Nam Timjangnim flings open the curtains, in what is rapidly becoming her trademark way, and she turns back, gesturing to you to help her strip the bed. It occurs to you, now, that had the boys actually been home, all of the rows of their house slippers would have been gone from the doorway. You are still too alarmed to laugh at your own stupidity. The two of you continue to work your way through the dormitory, cleaning and restocking the bathrooms, changing bed linens and making beds, picking up items, and starting fresh loads of laundry.

Nam Timjangnim leads you back to the kitchen to inventory the contents of the fridge before she pulls out her phone and shows you how to place an order for groceries. Mercifully, the app that the company uses offers a translation in your language so that you have a hope of knowing what the hell you’re ordering. Once your order is placed, she shows you where the app gives an estimated delivery time and countdown until your order arrives. She then gestures for you to follow her and goes to the elevator. The two of you take the elevator down to the first floor, which is an odd combination of a lobby and a security desk, and Nam Timjangnim introduces you to the staff in that area before pointing to the blacked out security doors and holding up her phone again with the screen set on the delivery app, to indicate that the order will be delivered to the first floor desk. You are glad that you won’t have to interact with a delivery driver, as you expect the staff here will quickly understand that you don’t speak the language. You hope your supervisor has already informed them that you’re not a complete dunce; you’re just unable to speak or understand Korean.

The two of you return to the second floor and she pulls out some cut vegetables and some kind of dip and begins snacking on it while standing at the kitchen counter. She gestures to offer some to you, and although your first instinct is to politely decline, you realize that you may not have much chance for fresh food today at the rate things are going. After several minutes of munching, you take a breath and get her attention by asking, “ATEEZ?” and gesturing around toward the rooms. She shakes her head and pulls up a calendar on her phone, showing you the square indicating today’s date, and pointing to one two days away. You take this to mean that the boys will be back in two days, but you are unsure where they are at the moment. Curiously, you go to your bag and grab your company phone to see if you have the same calendar. Shit. You cuss under your breath that it is still locked. You thrust it at her like a small child asking for help, and she looks at you blankly before punching in the very same four-digit code for your bedroom door. You smack your forehead and groan, feeling incredibly stupid that you didn’t think to try that, and you look up in surprise when she lets out a loud snort of laughter at your response. You snatch the phone back from her with a quick “thank you” and avoid her gaze before opening the calendar app. Well, thank fuck, you curse again in gratitude when you find the option to translate it to your language.

The characters transform into your familiar language, and you see, right away, that it is already connected to some sort of master schedule for the boys. You breathe a huge sigh of relief when you look at those two, glorious empty squares that mean that you’ll be able to get the lay of the land without an audience, and you turn back to Nam Timjangnim with a smile. She nods at you and clears her throat in approval, before clicking her tongue and opening a different app on her phone. She rapidly types in Hangul before pressing a button and translating the words into your language. She holds the phone up for you to see and it says:

I have a doctor appointment in one hour. I will be back in two hours.

I will bring us food for dinner. Pick up the delivery when it arrives and

fold the laundry when it is finished.

Send me a message with this app if you have any questions.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim.”

You smile broadly at the fact that this is significantly more communication from her than you’ve received in the whole eighteen hours you’ve known her combined. You feel much more relaxed knowing exactly what is expected of you, and you nod vigorously to show her that you understand the assignment. She turns on her heel and heads to the elevator while you stand motionless in the kitchen and finally allow your stomach to do the somersault it has been withholding at the fact that you are standing in the ATEEZ dormitory. Holy shit, this is weird. Your hand taps something hard in the pocket of your slacks, and you realize that you brought your earbuds out of habit despite being fairly certain you’d have no opportunity to use them. You smile at this lucky break and pop them in to hear your ATEEZ Complete playlist start up with the ‘Treasure- smoothing harmonies mix’, and you groove back toward the laundry room to check the status of the dryer. Setting the heavy sheets for a little extra time, you walk back toward the kitchen. The back of your neck prickles as you walk down the hallway, and you shudder slightly as you realize you are walking the same halls as ATEEZ do every day. It feels like you’re surrounded by ghosts, and you aren’t sure why this creeps you out so much because you know they are all alive and well.

You shrug off the unnerving vibe and turn left at the kitchen doorway. You stare blankly at the empty countertops for a moment before an idea hits you, and you suddenly become inspired. You rifle through the fridge to locate the key ingredients. You know the recipe by heart now since you made it with your dad so many times, even though your mother threatened him with divorce every time he brought the strong-smelling condiment in from the garage. You are happy to see that there is a decent supply of fresh vegetables in the fridge, so you assume ATEEZ can’t have been gone terribly long as you pull out the napa cabbage and begin checking the pantry cabinets for all of the other necessary ingredients. You quickly throw the chopped cabbage into a large bowl and toss it with kosher salt before pulling the carrots, daikon radish, scallions, garlic, and ginger from the fridge to chop. You peel a Korean pear and dice it into large chunks. You are impressed and relieved that this seems to be a fully stocked, nearly professional kitchen, and you bend down to retrieve the mandolin from where you saw it in the cupboard earlier. You chuckle to yourself as you make matchsticks out of the carrots and daikon but reserve the end of one carrot to slice a couple of small coin-shaped pieces off of it and toss them in with the rest of the vegetables. You throw a large handful of the leftover carrots into your mouth as the ‘Illusion-Chillin’ with BUDDY’ mix comes on in your ears, and you can’t resist the urge to dance around while you chew the carrots. You are dancing happily around the kitchen, earbuds blaring, chipmunk cheeks full of the leftover carrots you’re snacking on, when you think you see a shadow out of the corner of your eye. Jeez, this place really is haunted, you think. You turn, making the movement part of your slick dance moves, only to find yourself face-to-face with the man Wooyoung refers to as “Handsome Manager-Nim.”

You stare at him in wide-eyed horror before doing an awkward bow and whirling around to grab a paper towel. You are unsure what possesses you at this point, but it is purely a survival response. You bend down with your body facing away from him to discretely empty the carrots from your cheeks into the paper towel before turning back to greet him again with what you can only hope is a demure smile.

His sudden presence sets off all of your alarm bells because you logically assumed that he would be wherever the boys were. There’s no way to know why he stands before you now. You come to your senses, waiting to see if he addresses you. You reach up and quickly yank out your earbuds, as you just realize they are blaring ‘To The Beat’ directly into your addled brain. He gives you a courteous smile, which is so attractive despite his entirely professional demeanor that it would buckle the knees of all but the most stoic individuals. You hold his gaze (and your breath) while you await his instructions. He says nothing but reaches in smoothly and retrieves a barley tea from the refrigerator. He bows slightly again and leaves you standing there, frozen like an idiot, until you hear the elevator doors close again, and you dare to move.

You realize your hand is shaking slightly as you reach to put your earbuds back in, turning the music down just a little more out of caution. The playlist continued on while they were sitting on the counter because you didn’t bother to make sure it stopped—you were more focused on ridding your chipmunk cheeks of the copious amount of partially chewed-up carrots. You start to chuckle at yourself, and it turns into an explosion of nervous giggles. What the fuck just happened? What the fuck is wrong with you? You take several gasping breaths and retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge, hoping that several big gulps of it will bring you back to your senses.

You turn back to the project at hand and start going down the mental checklist of ingredients. You are relieved to have found a small food processor in the cupboard while you were searching for the fish sauce and coarse chili powder. You set aside the sauce ingredients and toss the salted cabbage again when your timer goes off. Your stomach seems to be timing its flip-flops to the same intervals, and you gasp involuntarily as you think about offering some of your creation to the boys when they return. You dig through the cupboards again, finding yourself skeptical that there seems to be no onggi or fermentation pot available before a brainwave strikes you, and you fling the fridge doors open wide and sweep your arms deep into the back corners, locating a neglected container of kimchi in the recesses of the fridge. You carefully pour the well-aged contents into a different container and return it to the fridge before tossing the fermentation container and its specialized lid into the dishwasher with all the other dishes you and Nam Timjangnim collected in your morning cleaning rounds.

You start the dishwasher and figure it will be finished at about the same time as your cabbage is ready to be rinsed and combined with the other vegetables and the sauce. Oh right. You remember that you haven’t yet made the porridge, so you grab a pot and fire up a burner on the gas range. The heat of the fire makes you feel physically and emotionally warm—unnamed fond memories arise like muscle memory. You throw some water and glutinous rice flour into a pot and allow your mind to go completely blank as you stir it, and it thickens over the heat. The warmth and the neutral smell soothe your jangled nerves while ‘White Love’ comes on from your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You shut off the burner when the mixture is thick enough and set it aside to cool.

Another wave of nervousness hits you as you realize it is almost time for the delivery to arrive. You put all the chopped vegetables into the fridge covered with a damp towel, toss the trimmings into the compost bin, and wash your hands quickly before heading down to the lobby. As the elevator descends, you check your watch and estimate that you have about forty-five minutes until Nam Timjangnim returns from her appointment. The elevator doors open to the lobby, where you can see a large pile of products stacked by the front desk. You are a little embarrassed that the delivery seems to have arrived earlier than you expected, and you hope the perishable items have not been sitting there long.

You quickly rifle through the bags and boxes and can tell that the chilled items still feel cold—much to your relief. You turn and thank the man at the desk before picking up a large portion of the stack and turning toward the elevator. The man calls out to you, and you don’t understand what he says, but look over your shoulder and see him hurrying out from behind the desk toward you. You start trying to shrug him off, worried that he is offering to help you, and you don’t want your supervisor—or anyone else, for that matter—thinking that you’re not fully capable of doing your job. Instead, he holds up his hand toward you, indicating for you to wait, and he rushes into a small room behind the desk, emerging almost at once with a metal cart that looks much like the ones you remember from your ill-fated office work days.

He quickly wheels the cart over to you and gestures between the cart and the pile. You nod at him and smile gratefully as you put your giant stack of items on top of the cart and bend down to fill the cart's bottom shelf with the remaining items. With slight embarrassment, you realize that you had the mindset of trying to wrangle your groceries up to your apartment in one trip, and you stifle a laugh at your stupidity. Of course, this is your job, not your house, and you are catering to the needs of eight grown men; it’s highly unsafe for you to attempt to carry all of their groceries to the residence without assistance. You finish loading the card and bow again to the man who has returned to his post behind the desk. He smiles at you kindly, and you rush back to the elevator despite the fact that you’ve seen no one else around who would potentially call the elevator back away from you.

When you arrive back on the second floor, you quickly put away all of the groceries, occasionally pausing to look up the names of particular items so that you can familiarize yourself with their uses. You glance at your watch and quickly empty the dishwasher, which finished its task while you were downstairs. It only takes you a little longer because you’re not sure where everything goes, but you feel pretty confident that you got everything in its rightful place.

You are back in your zone, and as soon as you finish, you realize it’s time to rinse the salt from the cabbage. You grab a colander from the lower cupboard and quickly rinse and drain the cabbage before combining the pureed sauce ingredients and tossing it all together with the matchstick vegetables. The mixture smells crisp and fresh; you marvel at how the sauce's deep, rusty shade of red combines with the pops of green, white, and orange from the vegetables. You quickly retrieve the fermentation container from the counter and press the mixture down inside it before lowering the gasketed inner lid firmly onto the mixture and locking the tabs on the outer lid. You quickly rinse the bowl, food processor, spoon, and cutting board you used before placing them into the dishwasher. You glance around for an unobtrusive place to put the container while it undergoes a few days’ fermentation. You see that the top of the fridge appears unobstructed, so you quickly dash to the dining room directly across from the kitchen and grab a chair to stand on so that you can reach the top of the tall appliance.

As you set the container lovingly onto the gentle warmth of the top of the fridge, you hear the elevator arrive. From your perch, you take a quick look down at the kitchen to ensure that you’ve completely removed all traces of your little project before you gingerly jump down from the chair and swiftly but silently move to carry the chair back to its place around the large table with what you assume must be no less than seven other chairs. You don’t want Nam Timjangnim to catch you standing on a chair because even though you aren’t familiar with Korea’s worker safety laws, you can imagine standing on a chair rather than an approved step stool is probably frowned upon. To avoid calling attention to your most recent activity, you turn back down the hall and dash into the laundry room to check the sheets. You note that they appear to be dry, and you pop your head around the doorframe when you anticipate that Nam Timjangnim will be rounding the corner from the entryway. She looks up, seeing your disembodied head peering from the doorway at her, and startles slightly, letting out an annoyed yell before clutching her chest dramatically and then walking toward you. You jump at her reaction, and you can’t suppress your nervous laughter as she stalks toward you and reaches wordlessly past you into the open dryer door to tug the large wad of clean sheets from its gaping maw.

You realize she’s being theatrical again, and it starts to dawn on you that you could have some fun with this if she has a sense of humor under that grumpy façade. But you still aren’t sure of her true nature, so you continue to watch and play ‘Sherlock’ in an attempt to ascertain what will win you her approval.

Chapter Text

After you and Nam Timjangnim finish remaking the beds and putting laundered towels into the cupboards that line the laundry room, you traipse along behind her back to the kitchen. She grabs a fabric shopping bag from the counter with a grunt before opening the refrigerator doors and fishing out a small resealable to-go container and two bottles of tea. She thrusts them at you, and you clumsily catch them before she pushes past you into the dining room. You follow her passively and watch to see what you’re supposed to do next.

She drops herself loudly into the chair you only recently used as an impromptu step ladder, heaving a deep sigh before beginning to busy herself with removing and opening various containers and then spreading them out on the table. She realizes that you’re standing there watching her awkwardly, still clutching the two bottles of tea, so she loosely gestures at the chair next to her and continues unpacking her shopping bag. She groans again as she gets up from her chair and stalks back to the kitchen with the to-go container, where she tosses its contents into a small saucepan and heats it up on the stove. She returns a few minutes later with the pot, a couple of plates, two sets of chopsticks and spoons, and a folded kitchen towel, which she tosses onto the table before placing the hot saucepan on top of it. She grunts again as she collapses back into her chair, and you wonder if she was going to the doctor for some sort of illness or if she perhaps walked the entire distance back to KQ and was simply fatigued from that. You are jolted out of your pondering when she begins to load items onto both plates before picking up a piece of what appears to be chicken, waving it toward you with her chopsticks, and then popping it into her mouth while nodding at you. You realize she’s telling you to eat what she has given you, and you marvel at the assortment of unfamiliar colors, shapes, and textures on the plate before you. While you recognize some of the vegetables, you are impressed by the amount of variety present in what appears to be a homemade spread laid out before you.

A sudden bell ringing in the kitchen causes her to jump and curse (you assume) in Korean before she rolls her eyes and gestures to you toward the kitchen, pushing at your shoulder to indicate that she wants you to go in and retrieve whatever has just rung the bell. You quickly slide out of your chair and dash into the kitchen to investigate, finding that the display on the rice maker is now flashing, so you carefully open it and move to retrieve the fresh, steaming rice she clearly started when she returned from her appointment. You return to the table and offer her the bowl of rice, which she takes from you and dishes up onto both of your plates. With a look of satisfaction, she hums and begins to dig into her meal with renewed vigor, and you quickly follow suit.

The rest of your day with Nam Timjangnim is largely unremarkable. The two of you clean up your dinner dishes, run the dishwasher again, and shut off all of the lights before heading into the elevator. You look up in surprise when she does not get off on the fourth floor with you but instead offers a wave and a phrase you recognize to mean “Goodbye” before she punches the garage level button and disappears. You laugh at your own ignorance as you realize, with a slight pang of shame, that she more than likely has her own home, and that’s where she prepared all of the food she just generously shared with you. Of course, a woman of her age would be expected to be the well-established matriarch of a family by now. You feel your cheeks grow hot when you compare your own timeline with this metric, and you quickly punch in your room code to escape from the entryway and your own thoughts.

The next day begins much like the previous, with Nam Timjangnim pounding at your door just before eight-thirty, and you’re ready as before to follow her around like a lost puppy. This time, however, she does not go to the second floor, but she takes you to the garage, where a driver and a car wait. You look closely at the driver to see if it is the same poor bastard from last time and wonder if he’s had nightmares about her, but this man does not appear to be jumpy around your supervisor, so you assume he’s either got nerves of steel, or he is a different driver. She calls you to sit in the back seat with her this time, and you can’t help but shake your head as you think that she probably was just fucking with you last time. As if hearing your thoughts, she looks at you blankly while you slide in next to her and buckle your seatbelt before turning to look out the window as the car pulls out of the garage.

The car pulls up at the KQ building five minutes later, and you’re grateful that you have arrived at the only other familiar building in Seoul and won’t have to make a whole new mental map of a new building or memorize new faces and names. You’re already feeling overwhelmed and raw from the amount of new information that has come at you in the past thirty-six hours, and you’re trying very hard not to feel terribly lonely at the fact that you haven’t met anyone besides the translator who you can talk to, and she did not seem like the type to become your new work bestie. The car stops at a gate before entering what appears to be another underground parking structure across the street from the building, and you watch in amazement as your car disappears into the dimly lit parking area. You wonder how you’ll get to the KQ building before the car turns right and continues deeper into the garage, forcing you to mentally calculate the distance across the street from the garage entrance. You figure that the car has probably just driven under the street toward what will probably be a secure entrance to the KQ building. Mesmerized, you catch sight of your own reflection in the dark car windows and quickly mute your face because you look like a child who’s just been introduced to Santa Claus.

The driver pulls up in front of a set of elevator doors like those you left two days ago from the lobby of KQ, and Nam Timjangnim groans and grunts her way out of the backseat before darting her tiny, powerful legs up to the keypad and you find yourself suddenly running to catch up. She glances up at you as you try to slow your breathing next to her before scanning her card and punching the elevator call button. The elevator looks similar to the one you remember from your last visit to KQ. She punches the third-floor button, and you suppress a disappointed sigh. You desperately want to avoid the unfriendly translator, and you find yourself sincerely hoping that you won’t be asked to watch any more awkward training videos.

When the doors open on the third floor, she takes off toward the uniform area again, and you find yourself holding your breath as you jog after her. Mercifully, she veers left just before reaching the area you know contains the rude pants lady. She leads you to another cubicle that is full of different boxes that appear to contain other items of clothing. She gestures around at the boxes and then at you, and at your look of utter confusion, she scoffs and rolls her eyes before grabbing out her phone and typing into her translator app:

“These are for staffs to take.

Extra shirts from tour.

Take what you want but don’t be greedy

because you have to carry it until we get

back to the dormitory.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim”

You almost laugh at the last phrase, thinking that it’s funny that she automatically puts that on her message, until it dawns on you that she must have made it her signature line intentionally, and you stop to wonder what that means about her as a person. She’s obviously proud of her role here at KQ, but she also put in, “Thank you.” This means that she expects to want to convey gratitude for your efforts in most of her messages. This gives you pause as you are unsure if it’s a politeness you don’t recognize due to your ignorance of the culture or if it is because she’s actually a thoughtful person. You stop trying to think so hard when you notice she has disappeared again. You can’t see her nearby, so you step forward and carefully look into the boxes around you before locating a box that appears to be extra-large t-shirts with the members’ faces on the front. You nonchalantly grab the top three shirts, trying to look as though you have no personal preference for whose stunning face adorns your chest, and you turn to see Nam Timjangnim coming toward you at her usual warp speed. She passes the cubicle you’re in, and you jump out and follow her down the hallway as quickly as your thick thighs can keep up.

She heads back to the elevators and smashes the 'up' button without a word. You try to catch her eye, holding up the stack of shirts in your hands and giving a slight bow, saying, “Thank you.” She turns and enters the elevator as the doors open, punches the seventh-floor button, and you hear her say, “감사합니다” (gam-sa-ham-ni-da) before she looks at you expectantly, and you repeat it back to her awkwardly. Thanks to ATEEZ, of course, you recognize “Thank you” when you hear it, and you’re slightly confused but grateful that she’s willing to try to teach you the right words. You cringe a little at the sound of it coming out of your mouth, and you hope in vain that your inexperienced voice is not as grating to her ears as it is to your own ears.

The elevator doors open on the seventh floor to reveal a surprising flurry of activity and Nam Timjangnim steps straight into the fray. There are people in chef coats hustling about, people in uniforms that look a lot like the custodial staff at your old workplace, women and men in smart suits and unsensible shoes, and a few people wearing the KQ polo shirts like yourself and your supervisor. She walks decisively up to an abandoned metal cart and swings it wildly around to head off in a predetermined direction, leaving you to follow wide-eyed in her wake. Somehow, the other staff seem to sense when she is coming through and step out of her way just in time to avoid being run over by this tiny battleaxe and her charging steel chariot. You chuckle to yourself and marvel at the fact that no one has been seriously injured yet, and your amusement almost costs you your dignity as you fail to see when she stops short, and as a result, you almost plow straight into her back. Mercifully, you have developed some impressively quick reflexes due to your lifetime of experience reacting to sudden stimuli appearing when your attention was misdirected elsewhere.

Your supervisor has stopped the cart at a room with a pass-through window, and she grabs the clipboard that rests on the shelf before scrawling something onto it that you do not understand. When you make an obvious move to look over her shoulder to see what she has written, she simply tuts and waves you off, returning the clipboard to its place and hollering something into the room behind the open window. A harried-looking older man comes around the corner and returns his reading glasses to rest upon his forehead before stepping forward and smiling at your supervisor—a move that surprises you, as you have yet to witness anyone smiling at her until now. The two of them begin chatting happily in Korean, and you stand awkwardly behind her, twiddling your thumbs, and trying to make yourself physically unobtrusive both to them and to those quickly dashing down the hallway just behind you.

After a moment, the man suddenly looks up over Nam Timjangnim and sees you standing there before he looks back at her and asks something in a questioning tone. She clucks her tongue and responds in Korean, but you hear your name included in the phrase. The man smiles kindly at you and steps forward to shake your hand while bowing slightly. You copy his gesture, as best you can, on the fly, and he turns his attention back to your supervisor, saying something briefly to her before he disappears into the back room. After several long minutes, he returns with a hand truck and several large boxes. Nam Timjangnim appears to start to protest his assistance before allowing him to load them onto your cart. When he finishes, he stands, and they both bow and smile at each other before she steps out into the hallway and gestures to you to push the cart and follow after her.

You hurry to keep up, aware now that stopping a loaded cart will take more time and muscle than an empty one, and you find yourself wishing in vain she would slow her breakneck pace. Nevertheless, you truck along behind her and try to ignore a few of the confused glances and double-takes that come from the other employees, who are probably very curious about who the obvious newcomer is and where you are from. She takes a sharp right at the end of the hallway and heads toward a huge room. You can see the bright lights and hear the noise of this room before you see the room itself.

When she turns and disappears into a wide doorway, you fight to slow down and turn before your speeding cart overshoots the mark and goes careening into the wall at the end of the hallway. You shake your head to clear this morbid fantasy and continue fighting to push the cart over the slight bump on the threshold of the doorway. When you finally wrangle the cart into the room and look up, you are hit by a variety of views and smells of food preparation that trigger an avalanche of long-suppressed memories, and you catch your breath as you feel tears rush to break free of your eyes. You gasp slightly and bite your lip before rushing forward to where Nam Timjangnim has stopped to chat with a woman wearing a chef’s coat and bonnet. You keep your eyes lowered in case the tears there are more visible than you’d like, and you only glance up briefly to steal a look around the room.

You appear to be in a huge food preparation room that has two long rows of stainless-steel tables, several large basin sinks, several handwashing stations, and a row of walk-in refrigerator and freezer doors along the far wall. Men and women in chef coats and aprons bustle around in a natural flurry of activity, not unlike a choreography, but with the fluid unpredictability of people who have worked together for some time and have an innate awareness of each others’ movements. Some of them are preparing vegetables and tossing them into large clear tubs, some are mixing what appear to be salads or other dishes in large metal bowls, several are chatting away while rolling dough into small balls and placing it onto the waiting trays of a rolling rack.

You realize you’re staring at all of the action longingly when Nam Timjangnim snaps in front of your face, a gesture which would normally send you into a rage, but your indignation is tempered by the fact that you are so fascinated at the moment. You look at her, and she clucks her tongue before turning to the woman apologetically and introducing you. She bows and smiles at you, and you return the gesture before Nam Timjangnim turns and heads toward one of the back walk-ins.

You trot along behind her dutifully pushing the cart and stop as she struggles to pull the large metal handle to open the walk-in door. She flinches, pulls back her hand, and swears, having apparently broken one of her fingernails. You suppress a chuckle and step forward, placing your left foot on the outside of the door frame before grasping the handle with both hands and giving a sharp tug, breaking free the suction of the door which had held the door shut since the last person recently closed the door with a kick. Your supervisor’s eyebrows fly up at you in surprise as she walks around you, standing there holding the door open for her. She tuts in faux irritation, and you see a smirk tug at her lips as she marches into the walk-in. You follow her, rolling the cart up the ramp and chuckling to yourself without attempting to hide your mirth.

She loads up several items from the refrigerator shelves before repeating the process along each of the doors on the wall and finishing in the walk-in freezer. You shiver while she digs through the stacks of boxes to locate the items she seeks and take them from her to balance them precariously on the cart that now appears much too small for this herculean load. She, too, glances at the teetering boxes on the cart with what you interpret as mild regret before plunging ahead to set you both free from this frozen oversized metal coffin. These types of freezers always gave you the willies, and you’re certain that your dysregulated breathing has nothing to do with the extremely cold temperature in there.

As you both stumble down the ramp and are free of the arctic chill, she gives another look over the overloaded cart and bites her lower lip before pulling out her phone and looking at a list of characters you can only assume is her prep list. She tuts again before reaching out and shifting some of the boxes in an expert way, which steadies the load and leaves the smallest space for a few more items. She takes you around a back corner past the refrigerators, and the room spreads into what appears to be a full-sized commercial kitchen. This time, she catches you because she’s watching your face when you gasp in appreciation of the cooks working over tall flames, bakers pulling huge trays of buns out of the large deck ovens, smaller colored cakes coming out of the steamers with vapor rising from them and blurring the action beyond where others are frying up items on large grills, woks, and stovetops. She stares at your face with a shrewd look of amusement, and you quickly retrain your features into a neutral, mild smile. She rolls her eyes at you, knowing that you’re not about to divulge any secrets, and she darts forward straight down the line. She marches right between all of these cooks without getting stepped on, burned, or stabbed, and you can’t help but shake your head in wonder.

She turns after making it down the line of danger and sees your hesitation as you do the math of this largely overladen cart, the fast-paced movement of the cooks, and all of the inherent hazards down the line. You swear you can hear her snort over the deafening roar of the kitchen, and you watch in fascinated horror as she repeats the journey coming back toward you without incident. Your brain kicks on to hit you with the chorus of “Work,” and you grimace as she rips the cart out of your hands and plows down the line without a word, narrowly avoiding any collisions and somehow without anyone screaming obscenities at her for throwing off their rhythm. You walk quickly behind her, keeping your body as close to hers as physically possible to try to sneak in under the cover of whatever kind of magic spell she has cast to make this perilous run three times in a row and remain in full possession of her life and limb.

You chuckle to yourself, and she turns to roll her eyes at you, but you see her smile as she turns back to lead you to the elevator. After struggling to get the cart to roll into the elevator car, the two of you stumble back against the wall and breathe heavily. You suddenly realize that you have your company phone with you, so you pull it out and open the translator app, turning it to translate your words into Korean before typing:

“What was that room??”

You realize that your punk ass is probably not being formal enough, and since this is basically going to be the first thing you’ve ever said to your supervisor, you hastily delete it and try again:

“Nam Timjangnim,

What was the place we just visited?

Do they cook for everyone?

Is that for the employee dining room?

Thank you. Caretaker Y/N.”

Satisfied, you hit [Translate] and watch as your message disappears, replaced with characters in Hangul. You hold up your phone for her to see, and she clucks her tongue before taking it from you. She nods while typing before punching the [Translate] button and handing it back to you:

“Company dry goods storage.

Food preparation kitchen.

Cold storage.

Hot kitchen and bakery.

For employee dining

and for executive and idol food preparation.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim”

She hands the phone back for you to read. You nod vigorously in understanding, and she grabs the phone back before adding, as an afterthought:

“We pick up order each week when idols are at home.

Sometimes we use the kitchens to make food or order it from the chefs when special menu is needed.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim”

You nod again and wonder how all of that works, but figure you’ll find out eventually, if it’s a duty that falls under your purview in the future. You slide your phone back into your slacks and wonder how much of the day has passed on this errand and what comes next.

The elevator doors open to the garage, and you are surprised to find a utility van waiting with the back doors open and a small ramp extended. Nam Timjangnim assists you, and you both work up a good sweat fighting to roll the cart up the ramp, and both swat away the driver’s offers of assistance. She catches your eye when you realize you both are fiercely independent to the point of obnoxiousness, and you both start cracking up a little, watching the driver skulk away as the cart relents and the wheels finally slide over the edge of the tailgate and into the back of the van without further protest. You watch carefully as she pulls several straps to secure the load and drops into a jump seat on the side of the van behind the driver, gesturing for you to sit in the seat across from her. You crawl over and buckle in while the perpetually confused driver shuts the van doors and gets back into the driver’s seat before carefully pulling the van out of the underground garage.

The rest of your day passes quickly, running well past dinner time as you carefully follow all of Nam Timjangnim’s instructions for putting away all of the items you picked up from KQ, cleaning, dusting, and vacuuming, as well as putting together some simple side dishes according to the recipes she pulled up on her phone and sent to you to put through the translation app. 불고기 (Bulgogi), 쌈장 (Ssamjang), and you realize that she might only trust you to mix up sauces at this point, but you’re better off with that than being given something you might actually fuck up because your boys are coming home tomorrow.

Fucking holy hell I’m gonna die

Jeebus fuck

Even your inner monologue is unable to properly form words at the thought. Your stomach has taken a dive that would make an Olympic medalist pale with jealousy. You are grateful for a distraction when she calls you over to the stove and shows you, step by step, how she makes what sounds like “Kongjorim” (콩조림), which appears to be a dish of braised soybeans, and you marvel at the sweet but salty flavor and chewy texture when she gives you a taste. You toss these side dishes and condiments into the fridge to join all of the containers of chopped vegetables and trimmed meats the two of you picked up from the prep kitchen at KQ before she leans against the countertop with a heavy sigh. You take the opportunity to take a generous swig of your water bottle, and you marvel at how you’ve survived thus far without access to your usual caffeine habit.

But you have to laugh because, obviously, it’s easier to prevent your ‘brain-to-mouth filter’ problems when you can’t speak the language well enough to offend anyone. Of course, you’re not naïve enough to think that you aren’t capable of offense just because you can’t piss someone off verbally; your powers of unintentional aggravation are legendary. You feel yourself shrinking inward slightly at the thought and are knocked, literally, from your negative self-talk when Nam Timjangnim bumps past you and heads toward the elevator. You turn as she’s about to turn off the lights in the dorm and take one last, long look at this space--which up till yesterday was just a mythical land--and think how, tomorrow, it will be inhabited by the living, breathing idols that fill your dreams and waking moments with more joy than you think you actually deserve.

Holy shit.

You hustle to the elevator doors, not wanting to be left in the dark, and follow your supervisor when she presses the fourth-floor button. You see in the dim light of the elevator that she has pulled out your company phone, and you sincerely hope she’s giving you more instructions about tomorrow’s schedule. This seems to be the case as she holds it up for you to read:

“ATEEZ arrival at 0730.

I pick you up at your room and we will meet the team and staff at the dormitory.

Wear confident shoes because we have a long way to go.

We will prepare meal for the members in afternoon.

They have a meeting schedule, so we will leave at 1715.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim”

Your brain cramps for a moment at the unfamiliar notation, but you realize that she is referencing a twenty-four-hour clock. Okay. You nod at her and hope your dilated pupils can be attributed to the dim light rather than actual primal fear.

You stumble blindly into your room as Nam Timjangnim heads down in the elevator to wherever it is that she goes at night. You remember that you still have the tour shirts you picked up at KQ rolled up under your arm, so you put on the one with your beloved Seonghwa’s face emblazoned across the front in hopes that his presence will comfort you and prevent you from losing your actual mind at the knowledge of what tomorrow holds. You curl up on your bed, exhausted on every level, and drift off to sleep with all of the lights on. You wake suddenly to the sound of a horn honking outside and press your palms into your eyes to try to clear them before recognizing that it’s the middle of the night. You get up and look out your window before realizing that you’re unable to see the street below from this angle. You recall, with a start, that you haven’t plugged in your phones or earbuds, so you fish them out of the pockets of the slacks you left on the floor, toss the slacks over the back of the desk chair, and grab the laptop out of your bag. You plug them in, all in a row across the desk, before stumbling to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Afterward, you fall back into bed and immediately return to a dreamless sleep.

What feels like a moment later, you pry your eyes open in the darkened room and realize a distant pounding that had invaded your dream was actually someone pounding—quite locally—on your bedroom door. Your heart leaps to your throat as you sit up in panic. You check quickly to make sure you are wearing sufficient clothing for modesty before you fling your door open to see Nam Timjangnim’s uncharacteristically excited face and notice her bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. You stare at her with your mouth hanging open in astonishment before regaining some awareness and clamping it shut tightly while waiting for her to explain herself. Her hand darts out quickly to pull on your sleeve before she says, “Come! Gaja! ATEEZ home! Let’s GO!” while continuing to jump in place. You stumble back slightly as your vision momentarily goes black, and your heart slams into your chest. When you look back at her maniacal expression, she holds your bewildered stare without a flicker of recognition as to what this news has just done to your sympathetic nervous system. You glance down at yourself, noting you are still wearing your oversized Seonghwa shirt and your favorite black cargo sweats that make you look a bit like a lumpy marshmallow. Your grimace draws her attention down to your attire, and she laughs heartily before patting you on the bicep and saying, “Get ready! Go!” and this seems to indicate that you have more time. She then abruptly turns and bounces back to the elevator and disappears from your astonished view.

You stand stock-still in your doorway for a moment, no breath coming, only the vague awareness of your heart hammering against your sternum. You stumble backward into your room and quickly swallow a gag before reaching out reflexively for your earbuds. You wait for your pounding heart to relent and lower your blood pressure enough that sight will fully return as your eyes are still partially blacked out around your peripheral vision. You try to synchronize your breaths as ‘Don’t Stop’ begins on your ATEEZ Faves playlist. You nervously wheeze out a chuckle, as this is what you exactly need to do at this moment because you have no idea how much time Nam Timjangnim will leave you to get ready, and you think,

Holy shit, this is actually happening.

This is THE moment.

Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just move.

You honestly can’t even decide if you’ve been looking forward to this or dreading this moment. A sudden fear grips you that this may go horribly awry and ruin all of your perceptions of ATEEZ or, worse, their perception of you. You clutch at your pounding chest as you think that what happens next may crush your deepest held beliefs about them and, regardless, you are about to have a head-on collision with cold, hard reality. You contemplate momentarily running out of the building and never looking back to avoid this, but for the first time ever, your brain gremlins seem to be on your side as they growl at you to get your shit together and get moving. You resolve to embrace their suggestion that not knowing would truly be worse than knowing something that hurts your carefully constructed fantasy world.

You force yourself to flip on all of the lights in your room to try to fully wake up your brain, and you look over at the clock on your bedside table. A noise of disgust and irritation rips from your throat as you see that it is barely ten minutes after six o’clock. No wonder you are not fully awake; your alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. You growl at no one in particular as you shuffle through your pile of clean clothing to locate another contrasting-colored polo shirt to layer with your last clean KQ shirt, grab your belt and black work slacks, your favorite compression socks that have skull and crossbones on them, your jewelry and toiletry bag before dashing to the showers.

Mercifully, there appears to be no one stirring this morning, and it strikes you as surprising, given the fact that the boys are back. You shrug it off and take the fastest shower you can without compromising cleanliness. You make sure you put on a generous amount of deodorant and you dab a bit of cologne under your breasts and on your wrists and neck. You quickly style your hair and are grateful that it seems unwilling to rebel against you today. You roll it into a vintage style and pile your ponytail up high so that it swings a little when you walk. You take a little extra time to ensure that you blend your makeup properly, knowing that, unlike most men on this planet, these boys will know if your makeup is shit because they know what good makeup looks like. You secretly hope that they are too tired to really look at you, even though you are working hard to be flawless, just in case. You put in the funky, stamped silver earrings your old art teacher made for you and take one last glance in the mirror with surprised satisfaction. You are quickly gathering your things to head back to your room when you notice a strange spot in the mirror, down by your thigh.

You glance down, and a cry of frustration escapes your mouth and echoes around the large, empty bathroom. You realize, with horror, that you somehow spilled foundation onto your work slacks. This is not the kind of stain you can just wipe off; this situation is only redeemable through extensive laundering, and you do NOT have time. It hits you next that you do not have another clean pair because the ones you were wearing yesterday got a bunch of things spilled on them while you were prepping with Nam Timjangnim. Your stomach drops, and you grab the bathroom counter to steady yourself before looking in the mirror into your own eyes.

Your face stares back at you, foundation perfectly masking what is probably a blotchy landscape of absolute terror, and you can see the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. You quickly grab a tissue and dab them away, and take a shuddering breath.

Okay. This sucks.

Okay. Not ideal.

Think. What can I wear?

It comes to you that you have exactly zero options that will pass for the uniform-issue slacks. But you do have a couple of pairs of pants that will look decent without hopefully drawing too much attention. You gather up your things again, more carefully this time, and dash back to your room, leaping past Nam Timjangnim, who appeared to have just walked out of the elevator to collect you. You run into your room without explanation or bothering to hold the door open for her. Quickly, you pull out your charcoal-colored y2k pants that have cargo pockets and flared legs which will also cover your lack of black work shoes.

It’s not ideal, but it’s going to have to work, you think to yourself as you pull them on. As if on cue, you hear the pounding knock at your door again, and you take a deep breath before tucking the hem of your polo into the waistband, checking the alignment of your studded leather belt, and turning back toward the door. It suddenly occurs to you that being startled by the door didn’t release any adrenaline, and you wonder if someone could actually run out of adrenaline from all of the stress you’ve been under this past week. You try not to laugh at the absurdity of this thought when you open the door to see Nam Timjangnim once again bouncing and grabbing at you to get moving. You smile at her irrepressible joy, which seems to come from out of the blue, and timidly follow her back to the elevator, swallowing hard to try to keep your stomach from leaping out of your throat.

The ride down to the second floor is short and now feels like a fraction of a second before the doors open into the entryway of ATEEZ’s dormitory. Your breath catches in your throat, and you focus your eyes exclusively on the back of Nam Timjangnim’s head as you follow her into the room. The lights are on in the living room, though the sun has barely risen enough outside to offer any additional illumination through the large windows. You happen to glance down and notice, in confusion, that the eight pairs of house slippers are still in their place by the elevator door. Your heart skips a beat, and your steps falter as you look up toward the living room in alarm. Nam Timjangnim seems unbothered, so you follow her into the kitchen, where she has several trays spread out in the process of laying out snacks and beverages to welcome the boys home.

You squeeze your nails into your palms, take a deep breath, and position yourself in front of the refrigerator in order to catch her eye so that she remembers you are there and gives you something to do. You know if you can just get into the rhythm of a task, you’ll feel better. Better than just standing there like a post, at least. You figure she’s not leaving you out on purpose, but she’s excited and very independent, so she’s probably forgotten that she is training you and not just doing everything herself this time. As predicted, she looks up at you, almost startled, and points at a tray on the counter before thrusting a container of sliced fruit into your hands. You grab some gloves from a box on the counter and begin to lay out the slices in an appealing, if not artistic, presentation. She leans past you to see your work and clears her throat in approval before handing you several more containers of fruit and various berries. The two of you work quickly in silence, and you enjoy the cadence of your rhythms as you step around each other wordlessly and pass the items back and forth between you. When the trays are finished, she looks up at you, and her eyes seem to be sparkling a little, but you aren’t sure if that’s residual excitement or something else, so you smile back at her warmly and pick up the tray to follow her out to the living room and lay the spread out on the coffee table. You return to the kitchen to remove your gloves and wash your hands when she suddenly dashes in and tugs at your sleeve, causing your heart to race and your breath to stop, your pupils are likely the size of olives, and you think you’ve just answered the question about running out of adrenaline with a resounding ‘NOPE.’

You shut off the faucet and realize that it had covered the sound of the elevator opening and ten pairs of designer shoes stepping into the entryway. You suddenly cue in to the sound of them exchanging their shoes for house slippers and chatting away about things you can’t decipher. You nervously lick your lips and struggle to breathe, suddenly remembering the gum you transferred to your pocket; you grab a piece, chew it up quickly, and tuck it into your cheek to avoid appearing unprofessional. Nam Timjangnim pokes her head around the corner toward the elevator, and you hear one of the boys exclaim something toward her. You’re pretty sure it’s Yeosang’s voice, but your heart is pounding in your ears so hard you can’t be certain.

She reaches back to summon you, and you feel like you’re floating as you struggle to keep your soul in your body. You walk carefully behind her, focusing again on the back of her head before she plants you just at the edge of the entryway before the hallway ends and the living room starts, and you realize that the boys will literally have to walk around you to go anywhere out of the entryway. You fight every urge to jog across to the other side where they would have no obligation to interact with you in any way, and you’re thinking that would be your preference in this moment. You know you don’t have to speak Korean, but you’re pretty sure you’re unable to speak any language coherently just now; thanks.

She giggles as she watches them teeter and slide on their slippers or remove their jackets and drape them over their arms. You see several of them look up at her and smile warmly, but you’re not even sure who is who at this point because your vision is failing you, and you’re unable to look at them for more than a split second before fearing for your blood pressure. You think to yourself that it would be funny if it wasn’t so alarming just how little control you have over your body. You are brought firmly into reality when San finishes swapping out his shoes, adjusts the jacket over his forearm, and runs a hand over his hair coquettishly before looking at Nam Timjangnim with a dimpled grin and watching as the woman literally squeals like a schoolgirl. He dashes over and picks her up like she weighs nothing at all and spins her around the room, almost toppling Jongho, who is still working on his shoes and has bent over without watching what San is up to. You stare at them and can’t seem to make your face do anything as the look on your face is pure, unadulterated shock at this point. You think you just see their two managers leaving as the elevator doors close in front of them.

San and your supervisor laugh, and he puts her down, where she pretends to be dizzy and swoons onto Yeosang’s arm, who exclaims and pretends to catch her in mock surprise. Nam Timjangnim teeters back toward you on exaggeratedly unsteady legs before bumping into you and drawing the boys’ attention. San looks at you with a big smile and, seeing you clearly for the first time, asks her, “Who’s this?”

At the sound of his voice and your language, your heart falters, and you look up at him, your look of shock finally melting into one of happy surprise. Nam Timjangnim introduces you, and San steps forward to shake your hand with a slight bow. Your supervisor makes a sound of protest, so he turns and grabs her hand, stroking it tenderly with his other hand before kissing it and bowing with a wild flourish. She squeals again, and you can’t stop yourself before you roll your eyes. Your eyeballs return to earth and you suddenly see Yeosang holding your gaze; you look down and blush fiercely in embarrassment that he saw your juvenile reaction. But his gentle smile remains impassive, and he steps forward to also shake your hand and give you a small bow. You marvel at the way your name sounds in his voice, and you wish that you could record the moment for posterity, just so you could replay that sound any time you want to. You are jostled from your distracting thoughts as he turns and heads down the hallway, calling out something back to Wooyoung, who is still by the elevator.

Wooyoung dashes toward him, almost running past you before he stops very quickly, regards you curiously, says, “Hi!” and dashes after Yeosang. You feel slightly dizzy. San is still flirting with Nam Timjangnim, and you look over to see that Jongho, too, is teasing her a bit. She turns San by his expansive shoulders and pushes him toward the living room with a tut, and he feigns resistance before sauntering out of the room. Jongho says something quietly that makes Nam Timjangnim chuckle fiendishly before he gingerly walks toward you and offers a simple “Hello.” With his handshake and bow. Yunho and Seonghwa appear to be discussing something, and when they see that the others have largely cleared out, they turn and greet Nam Timjangnim fondly, you think you hear her repeat your name, which Seonghwa attempts, and you gently correct him despite the fact that speaking to him makes your face feel like it will actually catch fire. He chuckles and repeats your name more accurately and looks at you with big eyes through his bangs when he gives you a handshake and bow. He smiles sweetly and bows again slightly before slipping around the corner out of sight. Yunho is on Seonghwa’s heels and gives a better attempt at pronouncing your name as he’s just heard Seonghwa butcher it before giving you a quick handshake and bow, saying, “Welcome.” Before he, too, slips around the corner, you hear him calling out something down the hall as the bedroom doors open and shut loudly, and the men’s voices carry up the hall.

You fight off a feeling of unreality as the voices are so familiar to you, but you’ve never heard them in the same actual room as you and certainly have never heard them utter the collection of syllables that make up your name. You gasp slightly as you realize that Mingi is standing in front of you, he must have been messing with something on his phone as his air pods are in and he towers over you and Nam Timjangnim. She looks up at him and practically jumps up to swipe one of the pods out of his ear as she yells again to say hello and tells him your name. He blushes and bows repeatedly with a wide grin like a child being scolded, and she smiles at him fondly as she pushes him over to say hi to you. You cringe because you certainly don’t want her making such a fuss over you.

 They honestly don’t even need to know my name.

you think. Because you are here purely for their convenience.

They can call me literally whatever they want. Don’t make it a big deal.

You swallow thickly and put all of your effort into returning Mingi’s attention with a reassuring smile. He chuckles before patting Nam Timjangnim on the head fondly, causing her to yell at him in mock annoyance. He chuckles and runs around the corner down the hallway with her still yelling. You catch yourself cringing again before you look up and see Hongjoong watching you curiously. He was doing something on his phone, with his air pods in, but for some reason, you suspect that they weren’t playing anything and that he tends to do that to observe what is going on around him without being forced to interact. His phone now stowed in his pocket, he walks toward Nam Timjangnim and says something brief in Korean. Her tone changes quickly and she suddenly sounds much more professional as she greets him. He asks her a question, to which she gives a short response, and he nods. He then turns to you, then back to her, and asks a question. She repeats your name for him, and he says perfectly in your language, “Hello. I’m so glad you’re here.” before making his way toward the hallway.

“I like your style,” Hongjoong says kindly as he walks by you, his hands clutched casually in front of him. “Your tattoo is beautiful.” He adds as he glances at your sleeve approvingly and continues walking away without breaking stride. You watch him saunter away down the hallway. A moment later, you realize you’re still staring at that unique walk you know by heart, so you quickly shake yourself before turning back to Nam Timjangnim for further instructions.

You hear a door in the far distance close quietly, and you’re pretty sure Hongjoong has reentered his room alone at the end of the hall. The other members seem to largely have paired off, and you hear loud discussions coming from closed doors along the halls. Nam Timjangnim leads you back into the kitchen and sets you to preparing several basic items for the team’s meeting this afternoon. You place some steak into the marinade you made yesterday, and she sets you to making some chive pancakes (부추전, “Buchujeon” ) while she prepares some kind of soup and then works on prepping a pile of meat to grill.

At one point, Yunho pops his head around the corner, causing you to jump. He notices you startle and holds out his hand and utters something apologetic before saying something to Nam Timjangnim that makes her clear her throat and respond with a smirk. He grabs a couple of bottles of tea from the fridge before giving you a smile and a nod and disappearing from sight again. Yeosang comes by and rifles through the cupboards before finding some tea and taking the steaming teapot with him to the living room where he groans loudly and puts his feet up on the coffee table. Nam Timjangnim, with something rivaling a sixth sense, yells at him without turning to look and he sits up with a jerk, dropping his feet to the floor and laughing heartily. She sucks air through her teeth and turns to look at him with a fond smile. He reaches forward and starts picking through the fruit on the platter and helping himself.

As you watch the swirling soup and allow yourself to be briefly hypnotized by the colors, you hear a small shuffling sound and look up to see Seonghwa inching toward the living room while gazing into the kitchen at you curiously. You catch his large round eyes, and everything within you seems to momentarily freeze. He offers a small bow and a shy chuckle, which startles you enough to allow you to smile back before bowing and looking back into the soup vortex and wishing it would swallow you whole.

The morning fades into afternoon, much like this. The boys come and go, seeking beverages or snacks, and Nam Timjangnim teases or serves them according to their apparent relationships to her. She hustles around fussing over details for the late afternoon meal and team meeting and you realize you actually are not sure how all of this is supposed to go, and you struggle again to calm your nerves at facing a situation grossly underinformed.

When you finish your tasks, you watch her and take mental notes as she works. Occasionally, you ask her what she is making, and she says the name, which means nothing to you until a lightbulb goes off in your head, and you grab your phone, open the translator app, and set it to record the audio before asking her to repeat herself. She says the name of the recipe, and the app automatically displays what she said. You show it to her to verify its accuracy, and she nods in approval. Bingo. This will be a great way to learn things that you need to know, and you don’t even have to make an ass out of yourself to do it. You continue doing your best to be observant but stay out of the way as she pirouettes around the kitchen between platters, pots, and pans.

As she begins to put things into their respective serving dishes, she reaches into the refrigerator and pulls her hand back with a grumble. You look over at her inquisitively, and she’s holding the old kimchi in her hands with a look of disgust. Your heart stops for a moment because you wonder if you are going to be in trouble for transferring the containers. But as you watch her, she doesn’t seem concerned by the container so much as by the quality of the food within it. She sniffs it, puts one leaf into her mouth, and smacks it around before spitting it into the trash and tossing the contents of the container in after it, causing you to jump back to avoid being splattered. She grumbles some more and lets out a long sigh before standing for a moment with her hands on the counter. She appears to be thinking of what to do next, so you turn and dash into the pantry, where the larger dry goods are stored at the back of the galley kitchen. You had seen a folding step ladder in there when you were putting away items from KQ yesterday, so you grab it and head toward the fridge. She looks up at you curiously and doesn’t even attempt to disguise her disbelief when you pull the fermentation container down from the top of the fridge.

You hop down the last step of the ladder and hand it to her with a smile before turning back to fold up the step ladder and put it away. When you emerge from the pantry, she has opened the container, and you see her thoughtfully chewing something, but her face is turned away from you toward the fridge. You stop and wait for her to turn, which she does, after an agonizing amount of time, and the look on her face is inscrutable. There is a hint of suspicion but also a sparkle of something… pride, perhaps? She clears her throat and wipes her hands on a nearby towel before grabbing her phone and typing in:

“You?

Made this?

When?

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim”

You nod when you see her message, but take the phone from her when you see the last question:

“When you were at the doctor.”

She looks up at you in surprise, and her eyebrows look like they are going to fly off her head. She slowly lowers them, begins to smile, and looks you over, head-to-foot, in an exaggerated demonstration of new interest. She takes another bite, thoughtfully smacking her lips and apparently evaluating your work with approval. You laugh and pat her arm bravely, and she instantly looks at you sternly, causing you to withdraw your hand in fright. She bursts into laughter again, and you just about pass out from your panic but manage to wheeze out a weak laugh to join her. She happily returns to your kimchi before piling it into a bowl, and suddenly, she exclaims in a noise that sounds quite like irritation again. You freeze with a nervous smile on your face, and she turns to hold up the bowl under your nose, where you can just see with your crossed eyes the round carrot ‘coin’ in the piled-up kimchi. “Eh?” she inquires, and you grab your phone to explain:

“My dad and I used to make mak kimchi often when I was a child.

It was his tradition to put a lucky carrot coin in at the end.

Whoever got the coin would have good luck.”

You hold your breath before hitting [Translate]. When you pass the phone to her, she looks at you warmly, but her look quickly dissolves to a look of exaggerated annoyance, and she grabs the carrot coin out and tosses it into her mouth, crunching it loudly while looking you dead in the eye. You can’t contain your laughter at this point, as she definitely enjoys being ridiculous. You feel like you might be starting to understand her sense of humor, which almost seems as devious as your own. You hope with all your might that this is true because if it is, you’re really going to love this job.

Your thoughts are interrupted again by the ding of the rice maker bell. Nam Timjangnim goes out to the living room to retrieve the picked-over trays of fruit and hands them to you to put whatever is salvageable into containers and then wash the trays. She fires up the grill, and while it heats, she sets out the side dishes, salads, and bowls for soup in a line on the countertop. You realize, with fascination, that she’s setting up a sort of buffet when she reaches under the countertop and flips a switch you hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly the wall that partitions the kitchen from the entryway begins to fold in an accordion-style as it moves out of the way, leaving a sort of pass-through for food and utensils to be placed out like a buffet. You marvel at the technology as you hadn’t noticed anything to indicate that it wasn't a solid wall.

When the wall is open, she lays out all of the food items along the top of the counter and turns back to the grill to check if it is sufficiently preheated yet. You follow along after her, carefully moving and straightening the items she has tossed up onto the counter and placing serving spoons out with the bowls in anticipation of the members’ needs. She clucks her tongue in approval when she catches you out of the corner of her eye before calling out “Hey” to catch your attention as she begins to toss the meat onto the grill.

You watch carefully as she shows you how to properly grill the meat. It seems like the process is pretty standard from what you expect, but you are taken aback when you watch her pull the meat off the grill with the tongs and begin cutting it with a pair of heavy-handled, curved scissors. Suddenly, you recall watching the boys in one of their variety shows, and you try not to crack up at this culturally different approach to both using scissors and cutting meat. Where you’re from, the bigger your steak, the bigger your knife. Or whatever euphemism is appropriate there. You stifle a snort and watch her finish the process with all of the meat and put the lid on the soup pot before putting it onto the ‘buffet’ on a trivet.

She claps her hands once and looks at you with a satisfied smile before turning back to the spread with a slightly devious grin. She reaches up with a nearby set of chopsticks and snatches a piece of meat that she has just grilled from the platter and shoves it toward your mouth with a loud “Ah!” Reflexively, you accept the meat as she shoves it in your mouth, and your surprise at the sudden food in your mouth is quickly replaced by the surprise at how freakin’ delicious it is. You laugh and smile, nodding vigorously at her, and she gives you a look of smug satisfaction. She reaches up, almost tenderly, to brush a small crumb from your lip, making you self-conscious, so you quickly swipe at your mouth with a paper towel. She turns and starts to walk from the kitchen and snaps her fingers in your direction so you quickly follow her. She struts down the hallway before arriving at the last door and knocking gently. When there is no response, she knocks a little louder, but nothing happens. She continues to knock while slowly opening the door, and you hold your breath and step back, embarrassed that she seems to be heading into one of the members’ rooms uninvited. She calls out, and you recognize “Hongjoong” in her words and hear a familiar warm, raspy voice respond; he sounds so sleepy, you think. She says something else to him, and you hear him groan and the bed creak as he rolls upward and shuffles out toward the hallway. Poor guy must have been sleeping. You regret that your supervisor has roused him and wish he could have had the rest he so clearly needed.

But at that moment, you remember that there was something about a team meeting, and you shake your head sadly, knowing that this is probably just how it goes for Hongjoong and probably the rest of the boys, too. Nam Timjangnim walks down the hallway with him, knocking on doors loudly as they go and hollering something probably pertaining to dinner and the team meeting. Once she is satisfied that they’re all making their way to the living room, she gestures for you to return to the kitchen with her where the two of you begin cleaning up. You would almost regret missing dinner until you realize that you’ve pretty much had a full meal. She’s been giving you bites of everything she’s made so that you can taste how it is when it’s made properly. The boys shuffle down the hall, but San gives a yell when he sees the buffet, and they all divert to grab food before they start their discussion. You can’t help but chuckle at their exuberance when it comes to food. Their joy is infectious, and you love watching them dish up the nourishing food you helped make with your own two hands. A tightness in your throat catches you off guard, so you busy yourself with clearing away all of the prep dishes. You hear Nam Timjangnim chattering away with the boys, probably asking them about their travels or recent events or how they ate while they were away. You freeze for a moment when you hear your name, and you’re pretty sure she says something about kimchi in relation to whatever she said about you because you glance up, and Seonghwa has paused in dishing himself up some of your creation and is now gazing at you with curiously fond eyes. You silently hope to gods that he likes it; you’ve never tried it made by anyone other than yourself or your dad, so your confidence falters for a moment as you wonder how bad you could possibly fuck up what is basically the national dish of Korea. Your face burns to rival the gochugaru chili flakes, and you find yourself wishing for the power of invisibility once again.

You continue to tidy up with your supervisor while you hear the loud voices of the boys go relatively quiet as the sounds of utensils hitting ceramic dinnerware increase. Several exclamations sound like they relate to the food, so you peek your head around the corner to glance into the living room and realize your mistake. They appear to be talking about something important and perhaps taking a vote. All but Yeosang are raising their hands, and everyone is looking at him expectantly. He looks slightly sheepish, and they lower their hands and continue taking turns talking. It seems like they are trying to agree on some sort of issue, but you’re not sure if you’re reading the situation right. You duck your head back in and get back to cleaning up so that things are not a complete disaster tomorrow when you come down.

Once the boys have finished eating and meeting, the dishwasher is humming happily full of all of the afternoon’s dishes, and the ‘buffet’ has been cleared, Nam Timjangnim lets out a contented sigh before she looks at you and smiles. She pulls out her phone and types in your schedule for tomorrow, and you, too, breathe a contented sigh. You made it through THE day. D-day. The big day where you finally got to meet the boys, and you somehow managed to live through it without doing anything weird. Holy shit. There goes all your good luck for the foreseeable future. You can’t imagine that you haven’t just used up every ounce of good luck allotted to you for the rest of your life. But your supervisor is thrusting her phone back at you, so you break free of your pessimistic thoughts and check what she has written:

“Tomorrow, 0730.

Members breakfast.

Pack Lunch.

Plan menu / housekeeping

Off at 1530.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim”

You realize, almost sadly, that they apparently do not need you to make them dinner, as wherever they are going with the packed lunch, they will be getting dinner as well. But you’ve been on your feet for the better part of the last three days, and your body is honestly in need of the break, so you’re silently thankful that you’re getting done early tomorrow.

You nod at Nam Timjangnim, who puts a hand on your shoulder, flips the switch to turn off the kitchen lights, and guides you toward the elevator to go ‘home’ for the night.

Chapter Text

You trudge into your room and try to wrap your head around everything you’ve seen and done today. The boys were wonderful, and you’re so glad that they seemed to like the food you made with Nam Timjangnim. You toss yourself across your bed and do a quick mental scan over your body to figure out all of the places your muscles are tired or sore and make an effort to relax anything that is overly tense. You start to feel like your eyelids are impossibly heavy, but the image of your foundation-splotched work pants pops into your head and you force yourself to roll out of bed to take those and your other laundry down to the laundry room before you pass out.

Once you’ve deposited all of your dirty clothes in the machine, you curiously meander to the vending machines and inspect the unfamiliar products inside. There are two relatively small windows in the laundry room, and you wander lazily over to look out at the sunset over the city below. The view through the small window is surprisingly pretty, and you pull out your phone to see if you can get a decent photo of it to send to your mom and bestie. You know they are probably both eagerly waiting for news, for completely different reasons, but for some reason, you don’t feel ready to dish about everything you’ve been through in the past few days. You are still processing the actual experience of meeting the boys, so you’re not going to share that yet, either. You figure it’s probably safest to send them a few pictures and some vague messages that you’ve got your room set up and they’re keeping you really busy with training—which is definitely true.

You look at the photo you attempted to take through the window and suddenly become aware of all of the dirty spots on the window. It looks like the majority of them are on the outside, so there’s nothing to be done about it. You shrug it off and contemplate going for a walk, but you’re honestly not sure how you’d get back into the building if you left, and you just don’t have the energy to go through all of the steps it would take to find out. You sit at a small table by the other window and look down over the city until the orange glow of the sunset starts to burn your retinas, and you finally turn back to check the time left on the washer. The washer appears to be nearly done, and you wonder what the rules are about leaving unattended clothing in the laundry area. Since you still haven’t seen a soul, you don’t know how much competition there is for the laundry machines. You shudder as you recall the experiences of college laundry facilities where people were ruthless about removing unattended clothing and more than once, you found a dripping pile of your wet clothes on the table outside of the washer because someone had run out of patience waiting for you to come back and move them into the dryer. You send up a quick curse that those people’s toast will always fall butter-side down when dropped and shrug off the unpleasant memory.

 You decide to do the mature thing and not leave it up to chance to find out what type of people you share this living space with. You transfer your items to the dryer after a few minutes and decide to go back to your room to relax while they finish drying. You snap a picture of the cool entryway and then key into your door and throw one of your suitcases away from the desk and windows before snapping a picture of that side of your room. You then toss the suitcase back in front of the wardrobe before fluffing your comforter and snapping a picture of your bed that looks freshly made. You edit the photos to put some grey hearts around the outside of the frame and add text to say “Home Sweet Home” before sending the pictures to your mom and bestie with a brief text that just says:

“Sleepy. Nite nite. Love you tons! ❤ ️😘😴❤️ ”

You hope that this will placate them for the time being, while you try to come to terms with everything you’ve seen and experienced so far. You plug the phone in and toss it onto your desk before falling backward across your bed and staring back up at the ceiling. You restart your body scan exercise again until you hear a quiet buzzing on the desk and realize that someone has probably just responded to your picture message. You groan and roll back up to check. You would have bet it was your bestie, but to your surprise, it was your mom. Your face breaks into a huge grin when you see that she has sent you a short video of her silly little dog running around outside chasing birds and barking like a tiny, crazed tyrant. You send your mom back a barrage of heart emojis and set your phone back on the desk. You can’t help but think that it’s a very surreal feeling to be so lonely and yet not want to reach out to anyone. You chalk it up to fatigue and decide to head back to the laundry room to avoid accidentally becoming distracted and leaving your clothes in the dryer and inadvertently in someone’s way.

When the dryer finishes, you head back to your room and lay out the slacks and polos to avoid wrinkles before throwing the rest on top of your suitcase and curling up in your bed, exhaustion and overwhelm finally reaching an unsustainable level. You close your eyes, and a moment later your alarm goes off to wake you—or so it seems—as you must have slept like the dead.

Your alarm blares “Work Part 2” at six o’clock, and you find yourself practically jumping out of bed and racing to the shower. Again, there is evidence that someone has recently been in there, but you don’t see anyone around. You hustle through your morning routine, pausing to put in just a tiny bit of extra effort into your makeup and hair, as well as carefully curating your accessories. You choke down your protein bar and realize you only have one left, and you hope that you will have a chance to go somewhere to get some more of them because it seems realistic to assume that you won’t have time for other forms of breakfast until you get your routine down better.

You grab your laptop bag, phone, earbuds, and badge and check the clock before getting ready to swing the door open at seven-fifteen on a hunch. You can’t control the roguish grin taking over your face as you watch the clock and swing the door open quickly right at seven-fifteen. As you do, you just see Nam Timjangnim raising her fist to bang on your door, and she lets out a yelp when your door flies out of her reach without warning. You gasp and choke with laughter as she stands there cursing uncontrollably. She can’t seem to stop until her adrenaline calms down, and you laugh until your stomach hurts as she tries to glare holes through your head. She finally gives up on waiting for you to stop laughing hysterically, and you have to get up to get a tissue and dry your eyes before the tears from your deranged laughter ruin your carefully applied makeup. She stomps back toward the elevator, letting your door swing shut as you quickly fix your face and dash out after her.

You are still giggling, threatening to lose control again, as you catch up to her heading into the elevator. She gives you a wicked side-eye that sends you over the edge again, clutching your sides and exclaiming in pain between peals of laughter. You stop immediately as the doors open, and you realize you are staring into the silent second-floor entryway that likely leads to where your ATEEZ are probably sleeping peacefully inside. You choke a little and nearly gag on a hiccup as your body slams the brakes on your giggle fit. Nam Timjangnim rolls her eyes at you again, but you see a tiny flash of empathy in her eyes as she hands you a bottle of water. You watch her preheat the oven while you try to get ahold of yourself.

The morning flies by in a whirlwind of boys coming in and out of the kitchen, Nam Timjangnim making omelets or porridge to order. She also teaches you how to make San and Mingi’s protein shakes with the blender and the proper mixture of coconut water. San playfully picks up Nam Timjangnim and attempts to carry her off with his shake; Mingi accepts his groggily on their way to the gym before the group’s scheduled departure. When the breakfast eaters of the group have been served, Nam Timjangnim shows you how to prepare the dosirak (도시락), or boxed lunches, which are all a little different and lovingly layered with fried or boiled eggs, rice, vegetables, kimchi, leftover side dishes from the previous night’s dinner. You’re not surprised to notice that Hongjoong skips breakfast. You roll up a small omelet with rice, chopped leftover beef, and a little Ssamjang (쌈장) and set it aside for him, just in case.

When the managers arrive to collect the group for their afternoon schedule, they are all cleaned up and ready to head out for makeup before going to work on their upcoming seasonal photobook. You smile at them as they pass the kitchen, fresh-faced and chattering excitedly. You hand off the large cooler bags with the dosirak boxes to the managers before turning to watch the boys leave in the elevator. You must have been staring, but you didn’t realize your mistake until Wooyoung locks eyes with you as the elevator doors close. He stares back at you, unflinching and you can’t quite read his expression. You know he’s well-known for his resting bitch face, so maybe that’s all it was. You shrug it off and get to work on the regular housekeeping duties now that the floor is empty. You revel in the fact that Nam Timjangnim is busy cleaning and prepping in the kitchen, so you sneak your earbuds from your deep cargo pockets and ‘Everything’ by Jongho comes on to freshly break your heart in the best way.

When you’ve finished remaking the beds, stocking bathrooms, and generally straightening the rooms, Nam Timjangnim calls you out to the dining room to go over the menu for the next week. She shows you a tab in the shared calendar on your phone, and you realize that this contains all of the schedule information she had previously shared with you in the translator app. Another tab displays the upcoming menu information, which is extremely helpful as you’ll want to learn more about the recipes before you attempt to make them, so you plan to use some of your time later in the day to look things up since you’re getting off early.

You’re pondering what else you might do with your time later today, when Nam Timjangnim begins typing rapidly into her phone before showing you the translation:

“Thank you for your hard work today.

Tomorrow start at 0830.

I am off on Monday.

I will show you tomorrow what to do when I am gone.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim.”

You look at her in surprise and remember to breathe. She smiles at you reassuringly and shrugs. You hope that Monday will not be a complicated day. You can’t imagine they’d leave you to your own devices if there were a lot of demanding or difficult tasks, but you don’t feel like you’ve had enough experience yet to determine what is or isn’t reasonable to the company. You smile back, if not slightly sheepishly, and echo her shrug. The two of you walk through the rooms to ensure that things are set right for when the boys return, and you leave a couple of lights in the living room on in case it is dark by the time they get home. You’re surprised that your heart aches a little, having had so little time with them today.

You head back up to your room, pull out your Korean cookbooks, and then open the calendar on your company phone to see what is listed for next week’s menu. As you wait for it to translate, you look out the window and see a dark line of clouds along the horizon. You cringe a little and hope that the boys are nowhere near what appears to be a nasty pending storm. But you look down to where you can see down to the street a couple blocks away, and you see several vans come around the corner. The sight causes your heart to leap in your chest. You feel relieved and sit there basking in the floaty feeling of knowing that your boys are home and safe. You let this new feeling linger a moment before you turn back to learn some new recipes so that Nam Timjangnim doesn’t whoop your ass tomorrow. You start to chuckle again as you think about how you caught her trying to knock on your door this morning, and you know you won’t be able to pull off a stunt like that again for a long time. You’re going to have to be on your game, you think as you flip through the cookbook to look up the first recipe on your list.

You finish reviewing the recipes for the next three days and figure that will help you stay ahead on prep before a flash illuminates the room and you look up to see rain pelting your windows. You’ve got ‘Say My Name-Flavor of Latin with Juwon Park’ in your earbuds, so you didn’t hear any of the changing weather. You yawn and stretch and think how nice it would be to go to bed a little early and listen to the storm as you fall asleep. You bustle down to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. When you enter the big empty bathroom, you startle for a moment as there is actually someone in there at this time. A young woman glances up at you, and she seems equally startled to see you there. You don’t have your phone with you, so you simply say, “Hello!” and give a small bow. The woman looks at you, face immobilized in the startled look, and you wonder if it may be a huge cultural faux pas to say anything to someone in a bathroom. As you’re starting to think you may have blundered yet again into being rude by accident, she seems to come to her senses. She returns your bow and says, “안녕하세요,” (annyeonghaseyo), which you recognize as “Hello.” She quickly finishes drying her hands and leaves the room. You have many questions, but you figure in any culture, meeting in the bathroom is less than ideal, so you finish your bedtime routine and head back to your room. Hopefully, you’ll see her again at a more convenient time.

You don’t know what it is about storms, but you always sleep well when the temperature drops and rain falls in waves during summer storms. You wake up a half hour before your alarm is set to go off, and you feel like you finally got enough sleep. It’s rare for you to wake up refreshed, and you find yourself humming along to your ATEEZ Faves playlist as ‘Guerrilla-Flag Version’ comes on. You feel the electricity of the beat, the fan chant from the tour this summer echoes in your memory, and you feel excited about what today may hold. You decide to ditch your work slacks in favor of a more stylish pair of pants that you reformed by embroidering a bold, white geometric design on the knees since no one said anything the other day about your oversized y2k pants. Things feel really good today, and you’re ready to spend any little bit of time with your boys that you can get. You want to know more about them and find ways to make them smile; you want a little bit of that spark that Nam Timjangnim has with them, though you have no idea how to go about it.

You wonder, now that you’re ready, if you have to wait for Nam Timjangnim to come retrieve you or if you can go down on your own. It seems like a silly question now, but she’s always picked you up at your door. It would be awkward if she came to collect you and you weren’t there. But it also seems like a waste of time when your badge allows you access, so you could just go down to the dorms. You start to think about leaving a note for her and just heading down, but when you run the scenario in your head, you realize you’d have to walk into their home by yourself, and then you’d be there standing around until gods know when… Fuck no, thank you. That sounds awful. To kill time while you wait for Nam Timjangnim, you grab your Korean cookbooks and start thumbing through the pages, looking at the different presentations of the foods you’re learning about.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wait long as she is becoming predictable in her habit of arriving early. You pretend to be surprised to see her, and the two of you make your way down to the second floor in comfortable silence. You know the routine now, so you follow her in and go to the living room to pick up leftover dishes or trash, fluff the couch cushions, and turn on a couple of lamps to give the space a gentle glow. When you’ve finished, you join Nam Timjangnim in the kitchen to begin pulling out items for breakfast preparation. She busies herself whipping something with the mixer, and you work on a couple of new banchan (반찬) recipes, which are vegetable side dishes, while you wait for your sleepy boys to start filing in. Your supervisor looks over at your work and clucks her tongue in approval before sliding a frothy glass of Dalgona coffee over to you. You look up and see her eyes sparkling mischievously as she smiles and waits for you to try a sip. You hesitantly stir it up, not wanting to ruin the pretty layered effect, but sensing, instinctively, if you just drink the coffee foam from the top, you might keel over because you can smell the strong coffee right away. She tuts in mock dismay when you stir it, and you chuckle a little before taking a sip. You hum appreciatively and set the glass down before licking a little foam off your upper lip. Nam Timjangnim nods and then looks surprised and a little worried.

You look back at her with a completely straight face, knowing full well you’ve got a dollop of foam on the end of your nose. She looks almost hesitant to tell you of this, and you continue to stare at her deadpan while she looks for a towel. You start to laugh before she can locate some means of assistance. Then, wipe the foam off with your hand before heading to the sink to wash your hands. She chuckles and slaps at your arm playfully before turning back to her coffee project. You hear a small sigh and quickly turn to the kitchen doorway to see Seonghwa standing there, smiling sleepily while watching the two of you. You have no idea how long he’s been standing there, and a fearsome blush claims your cheeks. He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything, so you’re a little relieved, and you smile kindly at him before stepping out of the way as Nam Timjangnim hands him his own Dalgona coffee—the sight of which spreads a delighted and appreciative grin across his beautiful face. He holds the coffee like a precious gift and shuffles off back down the hallway out of sight.  

Chapter Text

The boys seem to be waking up slowly this morning. The shared calendar doesn’t show any schedules, so you try to observe them nonchalantly to see what each member is up to. You figure even when there isn’t a schedule, there are FROMM messages to write, pop lives to run, workouts, lessons, and production to do. You try to slip around them to get as much housekeeping out of the way as you can. You’re hoping to have some time to plan for how you will tackle things by yourself tomorrow when Nam Timjangnim has her day off. Nam Timjangnim shows you a clever way to make Dalgona coffee for the members who need additional fuel for their workout: she blends the milk layer with vanilla protein powder instead of sugar before topping it with the frothy coffee. San, Jongho, and Wooyoung grab theirs from her with big smiles before heading out the door to jog to the gym. You aren’t sure yet which room belongs to which member, so you are hesitant to try to sneak in to make the beds or tidy up. You are able to get the bathrooms cleaned and check the laundry room for any new items in need of washing or folding. You find yourself ducking your head when walking down the hallway to try to respect their privacy in case any members’ doors are open.

Unfortunately for you, Mingi walks virtually silently for such a big man. He also has a tendency to get absorbed in things he is watching on his phone with his AirPods in. You walk out of the laundry room while looking down at the basket of sheets under your arm and collide headfirst into his massive chest. He looks up in surprise, realizes there’s nothing there, and then tilts his head to look down at you, which is when he realizes he’s just crashed into someone much shorter than himself. You can’t help but start to giggle, nervously, wondering if he’s more accustomed to running into people his own height. He sees you are okay and laughing about it, so he, too, begins to laugh. He sees your basket and tries to pick it up, but it is too far behind you, and he nearly knocks you over in his haste. His cheeks are so red, and he seems to be apologizing over and over. You know you are just as much at fault, and you don’t know how to convey to him that you’re okay and he doesn’t need to be sorry. Your heart melts at the sight of him trying desperately to apologize; you suddenly find yourself just jumping up to hug him tightly and saying, “It’s okay! It’s all good!” which startles him into stunned silence, but you bury your face in his chest and feel him relax as he wraps his long arms around you and plants a chaste kiss on the top of your head. You continue giggling slightly and glance up at him as you back away, your embarrassed blush rivaling his. Mingi gives you another shy bow and apologetic grin before turning and dashing away back toward his room.

You are still cracking up when you head back into the kitchen to check in with Nam Timjangnim. She shows you the menu for the rest of the day; most of the boys will be out during the afternoon, so lunch is prepared in more dosirak-style boxes for them to choose from at their leisure. You see that dinner is planned to include haemul sundubu-jjigae (해물순두부찌개), a spicy tofu stew made with seafood. Nam Timjangnim starts by teaching you how to make myeolchi-dasima-gukmul (멸치다시마육수), which is an anchovy-kelp stock to make the stew base. You say goodbye to Seonghwa who is heading out to his vocal coach and language lessons, Yunho doesn’t say much when he leaves but leaves with his coffee and several slices of toast topped with sliced strawberries. Yeosang says something that makes Nam Timjangnim blush profusely before he heads to the gym. The dorm seems strangely quiet all of a sudden, and you realize you have not seen Hongjoong yet today.

While the stock simmers on the stove, Nam Timjangnim grabs the basket of linens you folded and starts heading into members’ rooms to make the beds. You can’t help but hold your breath every time she whips a bedroom door open, but she really seems to have some sort of sixth sense when it comes to the boys because, somehow, none of them are there. You lost track of Mingi after you t-boned him in the hallway, and when you and Nam Timjangnim arrive at Hongjoong’s room at the end of the hall you see his still-made bed and realize why you haven’t seen him this morning. It appears that he hasn’t slept in his bed, and when you look at her quizzically, she just shrugs. You find it hard to believe that she doesn’t know where he was, but you’re not about to pry.

You finish tidying the rooms with her and return to the kitchen, where she also goes over the menu for tomorrow’s schedule. The boys have a full schedule. You will make a light breakfast and then prepare dinner later in the evening. The menu provided has galbi-jjim (갈비찜), which is braised beef short ribs, with a note to create your own banchan side dishes based on the available vegetables. You have noticed the weather is starting to shift toward fall, and you’re looking forward to changing to heartier recipes as well. You can think of several wonderful recipes with bok choy or squash that would go well with the braised meat. You resolve to check your cookbooks tonight to make your final decision. You also want to check your recipes for steamed buns to use up some of the leftover rice and kongjorim with a little diced carrot and Vermont curry sauce. You are really looking forward to the opportunity to create some dishes on your own and see what the members respond best to. You use your app to translate, “Please tell me what you most like to eat so I can learn,” and write it on a piece of paper, checking with Nam Timjangnim to ensure that the translation makes sense before taping it to the fridge. You hope that the members will see this and feel comfortable approaching you with special requests or feedback. For now, though, you figure you’ll stick pretty close to the menu to be safe until you can see their reactions and know their preferences. When the anchovy stock is finished simmering, you help Nam Timjangnim make the stew. While she is putting the finishing touches on the stew, you quickly whip up some toasted sesame crackers with lemon, ginger, and ricotta crème to serve as a garnish and offer some contrast to the spicy soup. She looks at you skeptically but humors you anyway, figuring she’ll let the brutal honesty of the members sort you out if you’re wrong about this hunch. The boys come in, loud and rowdy as ever, and you can start to see how they have the energy to perform as they do—they just seem to run at a higher octane than the rest of us. They chatter with each other, alternating between sharing stories, exchanging jibes, and arguing good-naturedly. The haemul sundubu jjigae goes over well, and the crackers mysteriously disappear without a trace. When glancing into the dining room to check on their progress, you notice Hongjoong sits at the head of the table and thoughtfully nibbles a cracker. The juxtaposition of his slight frame and quiet contemplation with the larger-than-life members surrounding him makes him seem like an island to himself. You think about how you’d give your right arm for five minutes behind his eyeballs to know what he’s thinking and feeling sometimes.

When the dishes are cleared and clean, the leftovers put away, and Nam Timjangnim feels confident that you understand what to do tomorrow in her absence, the two of you make your way to the elevators. Several of the boys have parked on the sofa, and after some heated negotiation, it appears they have decided on a K-drama to watch. You pause to see what they are watching and don’t realize you’re hovering until San reaches up and pats you on the forearm with a smile. You startle and ask, “What are you watching?” he smiles wider as he says, “Queen of Tears. Again.” looking up at you with a dimpled chuckle. You smile back and nod before saying, “Well, have fun. Goodnight.” He catches your hand as you start to turn away and says, “Thank you.” You realize he’s looking deep into your eyes, and you turn away quickly and rush to catch up to Nam Timjangnim. She gives you a funny look before calling out her goodbyes to the boys from the elevator, and they all turn and wave and call back to her. She looks again at you, with a confusingly neutral expression when the doors close, and you quickly type into your app, “Have a nice day off.” before you slip out on the fourth floor and head to your room.

As the door of your room closes behind you, you start to notice that you’re feeling energized. You aren’t sure why you aren’t more tired after such a long day—maybe the boys’ energy is contagious, or you’re just getting comfortable with the pace of the days, or maybe you’re finally adjusting to the time change. Either way, you are not nearly as exhausted as you have been the past few days. You grab your treasured Le Cordon Bleu cookbook and begin thumbing through it, looking for some sort of unique treat that you can make for the boys tomorrow when you’re on your own. You know that not all of the members like sweets, and you certainly don’t want to make something that is unhealthy or risks setting them back in their fitness goals. But surely there is something they could enjoy after a day’s hard work. You flip past recipes for souffles, tartlets, and sponge cakes. A photograph of a pretty fruit cream in a fluted melon bowl catches your eye. The recipe says fresh fruit is pureed and folded into whipped cream or soft cheese to create a simple mousse-like dessert. You think of the leftover fruit from the trays that you made with Nam Timjangnim a few days ago. You could make a couple of flavors of fruit puree and then pair them with something crunchy like a nougat shell. You recall seeing pinenuts and pistachios in the pantry and will have to see which pairs the best with the leftover fruits. Closing your Le Cordon Bleu book, you lay back on your bed and look out the window. The only thing you can see from this angle is the garden area on the neighboring building’s rooftop. You pop in your earbuds, and ‘Forevermore’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist; you listen to the swelling melodies as you watch the leaves of the neighboring trees wave gently in the wind.

You awaken with a start when your ATEEZ Work Part 2 alarm sounds, and you don’t know when you fell asleep. You jump out of bed and try to catch your breath and calm your violent heartbeat. Glancing at the clock, you see that it’s already 7:05 a.m., and your heart sinks a little. You had hoped to get downstairs by 7:30a.m., but it looks like that is not going to happen. Nam Timjangnim wanted you to be down at 8:30 a.m., so you know you are okay, but you were hoping to be early so that you could work on your extra projects. You sigh heavily, jam your earbuds in to start up your ATEEZ Faves playlist to pump you up and grab your clothes before dashing to the bathroom to try to regain some lost time.

As you burst from your room to head to the shower, you notice several doors down the hallway are open based on the amount of light coming from them. You attempt to glance in as you run, trying not to make your curiosity obvious, but you can’t help wanting to catch a glimpse of whoever may live there seeing as you have only seen one person since you moved in, and that interaction was short if not slightly strained. You’re disappointed, however, to see that the doors appear to be propped open and the last door you pass before reaching the bathroom appears to contain a cleaning cart. You start to punch in the keycode when the door is wrenched open out of your reach, and you look up in confusion to see the startled eyes of the woman you’d seen in the bathroom before. She bows and apologizes profusely before dashing back down the hallway to the room next to yours. You stand, open-mouthed, watching her go until remembering your own haste and pushing the door back open just before it closes and locks once again.

You manage to get through your morning shower routine quickly and are feeling confident and comfortable in your KQ polo shirt with another turquoise polo shirt underneath it, popped collars, and several of your favorite hoop earrings in decreasing sizes going up your earlobes. ‘Birthday’ comes on your ATEEZ Faves playlist, and you can’t resist a giddy giggle as you bop around the bathroom, gathering up all of your toiletries. You dab a little extra plumping lip gloss over your neutral lip stain and look in the mirror with satisfaction. No one seems to care about your shoes or pants, and you assume that this is because your position is relatively low-visibility, “behind-the-scenes," so you’re only interacting with the idols in a very informal environment. You wonder if there will ever be occasion to worry about being more formal, but you shake the thought as you’re pretty sure you’d be happiest for things to continue just how they are so far.

You slip into the boys’ dormitory as quietly as possible, setting your Le Cordon Bleu cookbook on the countertop and starting the kettle to brew some tea. You’re finding as your nerves settle, day by day, that your body is starting to cry out for caffeine again. You have missed the delicious little buzz it gives you, so you’re happy to oblige now. You make a double-strength matcha tea and add some vanilla protein powder to the milk for a more nutritious beverage before opening the fridge to gather the morning’s breakfast options. Little by little, you start to hear the sounds of stirring around the dormitory as the boys force themselves to start their day. Seonghwa seems to be a reluctant early riser; you wonder if he prefers to have the extra time to get ready despite not being a natural ‘morning person.’ Yeosang appears to be ambivalent about the time of day, consistent with his easy-going personality. Wooyoung, Yunho, Jongho, Mingi, and Hongjoong are definitely not big fans of early morning wake-up calls. The wild bedhead and bleary looks cause you to fight for life at the urge to chuckle because their grumpy or clueless attitudes and appearances are completely adorable as they attempt to defiantly sleepwalk into their schedule.

After everyone has been fed or at least provided the opportunity for food or beverage, the boys are more alert and agreeable. They are milling about the dining room, living room, and entryway, waiting for the managers to come to retrieve them for the day’s lessons, executive meeting, and choreography instruction. You busy yourself with cleaning up the dishes and making organized piles for the things you will be making later on in the day. You try to keep moving to avoid accidentally staring at them in awe when you forget to keep your expression professional and passive. At times, your brain slips back into complete disbelief at the fact that you are standing right there, in the midst of them, and not being slide-tackled by security or something for being too close. It is almost too much to believe that you are also getting paid for this; you honestly believe KQ could have offered you a position with literally nothing in return for your efforts, and you would have taken it without hesitation. Of course, that would render your mask of carefully constructed professionalism completely irrelevant, and that makes the ‘slide tackle by security’ moment seem much more plausible. You shudder to think how completely deranged you would be if you fully allowed yourself to slip into absolute amazement at your current situation. If someone had told you a month ago where you would be right now, you’d have laughed them off the sidewalk and straight into oncoming traffic.

You see movement out of the corner of your eye and look up to see that the managers have arrived and the boys are making their way to elevators to leave in the vans waiting for them in the garage below. You return your attention to cleaning and sanitizing your work surfaces and then begin checking over your stacks of ingredients to see what you need to prep first. The prep for the galbi-jjim will require you to learn some new skills like peeling chestnuts and ginkgo nuts. You put the shiitake mushrooms into beef broth to soak and try to find a video on YouTube to teach you how to peel chestnuts. When you’ve done a passable job at peeling the chestnuts, pitting the jujubes, and frying and peeling the ginkgo nuts, you set them into the fridge to work on the steamed buns. These particular steamed buns are a fusion recipe of unknown origins that your family loved when you pulled together from small servings of leftover meats, vegetables, and rice tossed with some mild curry sauce and honey for sweetness. The dough needs time for the yeast to do its thing and cause it to rise, so you get it started and put it in your new favorite warm spot on top of the fridge to ferment.

You enjoy working in the quiet of the kitchen. You’re so focused on preparing the evening meal that you don’t even realize you have no music on. But as soon as you become aware of it, the silence is deafening. You are almost paralyzed by the empty and alone feeling. You are facing the day without the encouragement or feedback from Nam Timjangnim, and despite your relative successes so far, you start to feel nervous that things will go wrong.

Instinctively, you pull out your earbuds and hit [Play] on your ATEEZ Faves playlist, and ‘Fireworks (I’m the One)’ comes on. You let it flood your senses before turning back to the refrigerator to investigate the leftover fruit and vegetables for your special projects. You want to get the fruit pureed so that it can set up in the soft cheese like a mousse before the boys’ return. You’re excited to see that some of the honeydew melon and cantaloupe are both left, and would make nicely coordinating flavors for the simple fruit mousses. You start whipping the cream cheese in the mixer while you work to remove the rind from the melon slices and puree them in the blender. After you’ve added the powdered sugar and mixed each puree with a portion of the cheese, you spread them into a pan to chill for the rest of the day.

You turn to a well-loved page in your Le Cordon Bleu cookbook to glance at the nougat recipe. You know this one well but have never tried making it with pinenuts, so you are curious how it will turn out. You think that it will be a nice complement in flavor and texture to the melons, and you are excited to test out your theory. After the nougat is set to cool, you begin chopping the vegetables for your steamed buns and clamber up the step ladder to check the progress of your dough. The yeast appears to be gettin’ busy as the ball of dough has nearly doubled, so you work quickly to stir up the curry and honey with a little bit of salt and cinnamon before tossing the carrots, rice, radish, chopped pork, and a handful of slivered almonds, and stir it up until the sticky mixture starts to form into a cohesive ball. When you measure and roll out the dough to gently tuck the dough around the filling, you find yourself swaying along to ‘ROCKY-Boxers Version’ and smile as you imagine the boys returning victorious from the day’s activities to the delicious food you are working on.

After the buns are made, you tuck them into the fridge to wait until it’s closer to the time you expect the boys to be home. They gave you a rough one-hour window between six and seven o’clock, but you know that things could easily go differently depending on the day. Luckily, these types of recipes can be kept warm for a while if they end up getting home later. You wonder if that was the reason Nam Timjangnim selected the galbi-jjim or if it was just a coincidence. Nonetheless, you find yourself starting to feel nervous about the cooking time of the unfamiliar items, and you decide to go ahead and cook the steamed buns first before wrapping them and holding them in a warm oven. You begin preparing in earnest at about five fifteen; the beef needs to be blanched before you braise it with the prepared vegetables and chestnuts. You also remember to hit start on the rice maker. You know at some point you are going to forget the rice but decide firmly that Today. Is. Not. That. Day.

The rhythm of cooking soothes your nerves and takes away the discomfort of waiting, so once you have all of the items simmering or baking away, you decide to work on some preparations for breakfast so that Nam Timjangnim won’t have to do much in the morning. You feel good seeing the prepared vegetables and a couple of simple sauces and figure that if the ribs don’t get completely devoured tonight, she’ll have some lovely meat to work within the morning.

At about six fifteen, the food is done, the dining table is set, the ice water in the pitchers is dripping condensation onto the table, and you’ve been done cooking for so long that you have stopped sweating and are starting to feel a slight chill as you look for something to do while you wait. You anticipate the boys will be famished when they return, so you keep the ribs hot, and the rice maker holds the rice at the perfect temperature. You double-check that your steamed buns aren’t drying out in the oven, and throw a damp towel over them for good measure. You flip through your cookbook while ‘Work Part 3’ pounds away in your head, and a fear strikes you as you run through a morbid fantasy in your head of one of the boys catching on to what you’re listening to, so you quickly tuck away your earbuds and shut off your phone for good measure.

You’re trying not to watch the clock as you try to figure out the pronunciations of unfamiliar French desserts when you finally hear the whoosh of the elevator doors opening and the sound of bags being dropped, clothing rustling, and shoes being removed. It becomes instantly noticeable that one sound is missing: the excited chatter of the boys. It sounds as though most, if not all, of them are home, but they are not talking. You think you hear several grunts or groans of someone struggling with a heavy bag or a tightly laced boot before the sound of movement shifts, and you begin to hear people coming down the hallway.

You are completely unsure what to do next as you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, looking into the well-prepared dining room, and you look up as Jongho stalks by you wordlessly, looking sweaty, disheveled, and irritable. Mingi and Yunho follow, sharing glances but looking equally spent and somber. Wooyoung practically bounces as he runs by on his toes, his light steps in complete contrast to the look of absolute murder on his face; Yeosang trails after him looking like he wants to say something but remaining silent. Seonghwa offers you a weary smile as he passes by, and San pats your shoulder with an apologetic “Hi.” You are unsure what to expect next when you realize Hongjoong is approaching you directly. Or he’s trying to get into the kitchen, and you’re just standing there in the way. You apologize and bow while backing up to get out of his way when he gives a small laugh and holds up his hand to indicate that he was trying to approach you. His eyes betray his fatigue and you think you detect a slight increase in the raspy quality of his voice. He looks like he’s struggling to find a word, so you hold out your company phone and open the translation app before offering it to him. He looks reluctant, as you know he prides himself on speaking your language, and while you don’t want to rush him, you desperately want to make sure they know that their dinner is ready. You know it’s not getting any fresher at this point, so it feels a little urgent to hopefully make sure at least your small contribution to their day goes right.

You pull the phone back and type into it “Dinner’s ready. When would you like me to serve you?” before hitting [Translate] and passing it back to him. He looks up at you gratefully and you try to smile patiently and convey with your eyes that the timing is entirely up to them. He nods and says, “Yes. That would be good. I will get them now.” before he turns and goes down the hall, door by door. You hear quiet knocks and even quieter voices as it sounds like some of the members are debating whether to come out for dinner or not. You think you hear a shower running, so you know that someone has opted out, and your heart sinks a little. But you try to square your shoulders, knowing that you did your very best to prepare them a good meal, and you hope that those who partake will enjoy it and maybe talk it up to those who decide to skip it.

Yunho, Mingi, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, San, and Yeosang emerge from the hall to sit at the table. Seonghwa grabs a few bottled beverages from the fridge and offers them around the table quietly. You rush to get the ribs, rice, and vegetables on the table with the banchan. The boys murmur appreciatively, and the relative silence of the dishes being passed kind of breaks your heart. You suddenly remember the steamed buns and turn back to grab them. You retrieve them from the oven and place them gently into a serving bowl, topped with a towel to keep them warm while they are passed. Yunho lifts the towel curiously and seems to forget himself, exclaiming loudly with a big smile on his face. Everyone at the table looks up at him, surprised, and he smiles even wider, showing them the contents of the bowl. All of them seem to perk up at this and begin passing the bowl around, taking small bites of the steamed buns and giving their enthusiastic approval. After everyone at the table has taken one, Yunho gets up from the table and sprints down the hall, you think you catch sight of a bun in his fist and you hear a heavy knock and a door open without waiting for acknowledgement. Yunho says something excitedly and there is a slight pause before Jongho stalks out of his room and you hear another door open as they make their way back to the table.

Yunho gives you a knowing nod as he returns to his seat, smiling, and Jongho gives you a small apologetic smile before taking a seat. seeing that Yeosang has already dished up his plate for him, he simply takes a steamed bun and rips into it with his teeth. As he experiences the rush of flavor and hot, sticky texture from the bun, he leans his head back, closes his eyes, and groans happily. The rest of the table, having paused to watch and evaluate his reaction, begin to dig into their dinner with renewed gusto. You smile to yourself and look back to head into the kitchen when you see Wooyoung coming down the hallway, still drying his hair from the shower, with an irritated look on his face. You step out of his way and turn back to the kitchen to begin cleaning up while silently crossing your fingers that he will enjoy the food as much as the others have.

After dinner, the mood in the dorm is much lighter and it seems that whatever stood between the boys was much improved now that they weren’t hangry anymore. Several of them take turns showering, and Jongho and Yunho are parked on the couch, surfing through the channels to find something to watch. Even Hongjoong is out, scrolling his phone, but present with the members, and you figure it’s as good a time as any to pull out your last surprise.

You carefully scoop one rounded ball of each flavor of melon mousse into a small bowl and top it with several healthy chunks of nougat and a tiny dash of diced-up melon that you saved when you were pureeing the bulk of the leftover fruit. You wordlessly slip out of the kitchen and place the bowls on the coffee table to the excited shouts of Yunho and Mingi, who snatch the bowls up and begin investigating the contents immediately. Hongjoong looks up at you with a tired, grateful smile, and you hope with all your might that he will try it and maybe even like it. But you see him go back to his phone, so you return to put out the rest of the servings to ensure you have given every member the opportunity to try it.

The boys spend the rest of the evening relaxing and laughing at the television program, and you make sure you get everything completely cleaned up before you leave for the evening. You barely have the energy to remove your shoes before you sprawl across your bed and fall almost instantly asleep.

You awaken to the sound of your alarm and grumble audibly at the fact that you clearly forgot to turn it off last night before bed. You make sure that it won’t go off next Tuesday on your day off before you roll over and feel the waistband of your pants digging into your gut and realize you are still wearing yesterday’s work clothes. You roll your eyes to the ceiling and quickly rip them off and throw them across the room before curling deeper into your covers and dozing back off to sleep. When you awaken again, you feel stiff from lack of movement, and you’re pretty sure there is dried drool on your face. Great. Super sexy. You groan as you roll over and sit up, glancing at the clock. It’s after ten o’clock, and your empty stomach growls loudly before you realize that you failed to plan what you were going to do for food today. You get a small bolt of adrenaline as you also realize that Nam Timjangnim has probably been in your kitchen for at least the past two hours, and you hope to gods that she is happy with your performance yesterday. You realize you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

You slide out of bed and look out the window to see an overcast day, which suits you just fine as you’re thinking about walking around to find some local cafe or something and maybe a place to pick up some simple clothing staples to add to your work uniform rotation, now that you’re fairly certain no one gives a fuck what you wear. You throw on a pair of distressed jeans, your favorite feminist manifesto t-shirt, a funky cardigan, and your favorite choker necklace before forcing yesterday’s hairstyle back into submission and stumbling down to brush your teeth. You definitely need food soon, so you’re going to skip the formalities and just boldly head out to find sustenance.

You grab your wallet and badge before popping into the elevator to head to the first floor. You realize you’d better grab your company phone, both as a means of identification and also for the use of the translation app, and you dash back into your room to make sure you have it. You also think it would be smart to bring your own shopping bag, something you usually forgot at home, but people here seem to be more well-practiced in the methods of conserving resources, and you want to avoid sticking out as much as possible, though you know that’s a tall order given your awkward, well, you-ness.

The man behind the desk on the first floor smiles professionally and bows when he sees you. You use the app to ask him about nearby shops or restaurants and he tells you of a small cafe just a few blocks from there that has very good pastries and americanos. You thank him and nearly forget to ask him how you get back into the building when you leave on foot, but you turn back, and he walks you to the blacked-out doors to show you the keypad on the outside of the building. You laugh a little sheepishly because, of course, that makes perfect sense. You’re grateful that there appears to be a way back inside that is within your control. You thank him again and take a deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping outside onto the manicured sidewalk to explore Seoul.

Chapter Text

You head out into the bright, cloudy day and pull out your company phone. You punch in the name of the cafe that the man from the front desk recommended and see that you’ll need to walk about ten blocks. Out of curiosity, you throw in the address of KQ and see that the cafe is on the way there. You tuck that knowledge away for later and march forward into the city. 

The walk is refreshing as you take in the sights and sounds of the city. The architecture seems to be at odds with itself. You marvel at the mix of modern, opulent buildings interspersed with casual corner shops, convenience stores, and high-rise buildings.  You keep an eye out for any shops you might want to visit later, but you make a beeline for the cafe because you worry the sounds of your empty stomach will escalate to a volume detectable by innocent bystanders if you don’t eat something very soon.  

You have counted nearly ten blocks so far, but you smell the cafe long before you see it. You round the corner as directed by the GPS, and the sight takes your breath away.  People are gathered in small groups all around a beautiful cafe built in an old style with layers of logs, a steeply inclined roof, and exposed wood beams. There are long counters of baked goods, and small children dart in and out of the long line that wraps almost all the way around the block. You curse under your breath and turn to go to what you’re pretty sure is the end of the line. You realize the benefit of this position is that you will have plenty of time to decide what you will want. You aren’t sure if the employees will be comfortable with your reliance on the translation app, but you know you have no other viable options at this point.  

The line seems to move fairly quickly, and you enjoy watching the children playing around until they are called by their parents to come and eat their pastries. You opt for the decadent pandoro cake and an iced americano before finding a spot on the steps to eat while you watch the locals interact. The cafe seems to be a social hub, and those who you observe spending time here with friends or family seem to be in no hurry to leave. A small pang of longing hits you as you think of your bestie and your mom. Both of them would delight in all of the pastries (of course) and in the people-watching opportunities this place offers.  

You finish your coffee and make sure you don’t have powdered sugar all over yourself before getting up to do a little more exploring. You decide to walk the rest of the way to KQ to see what else is on the way there. You hear a bustling area up ahead and check your GPS to see that you’re approaching Hongdae shopping street, and you hesitate a little, unsure if you want the potential sensory overload of a crowded tourist area. But you figure it’s at least worth a look, so you forge ahead and try to remember to take some pictures to send home since you are once again reminded that you can’t put them on Instagram. You do your best to comprehend all of the colorful stalls, busy shoppers sounds and smells around you. You see a couple of clothing stalls with the potential to have something you can layer with your work polos, but you start to buzz with overstimulation as the caffeine and sugar you just consumed fully hit your bloodstream. You decide to just keep your visit to a quick walk around and vow to go back later when you’re feeling less stressed. You chuckle to yourself at being immersed in a new place, a new culture, so far from your norm, and yet the problems that you faced before are still inherent in being in a busy city surrounded by people. Yet another universal reality of human life, you suppose. It’s hard not to feel like you’re wasting precious opportunities for new experiences, but at the same time, you know that forcing yourself to experience something out of obligation rarely pays off. You enjoy seeing some new sights and figure that you’ll dive in headfirst when you’re in the mood to do so another time. 

Feeling like you’ve gotten some good pictures and seen plenty of new things, you decide to trek the rest of the way to KQ to get dinner from the employee dining room before heading home. It makes sense to take advantage of your dining plan and save some money when you can. You find yourself wishing for a second that you could also go back and watch the line cooks in the big kitchen, but you know that it would probably not be appropriate. So you slip in the front doors at KQ and hold your badge out conspicuously as you walk to the elevator. You realize you’re holding your breath as you wait for the elevator; you half expect someone to see you in your funky clothes and stop you because you might look just a little too much like an overzealous fan. But you figure your situation is also pretty memorable to the employees there, judging by all of the weird stares you got when you were getting your orientation, that hopefully people will recognize you even in your street clothes.  

You make it to the employee dining room without incident and get your to-go container loaded up with some new things to try, as well as some of the more familiar items you like. You grab a couple of protein bars, though you’re really rolling the dice on those because you can’t read the Hangul descriptions on the wrappers. For whatever reason, this entertains you slightly, like the time when you went camping with your parents, and there was a leak in the box that held the canned goods, so all of the labels peeled off the cans. The three of you had made it a game to select and open cans at random and decide what to make with the surprise ingredients. You head down to the front doors and are about to start your trek back to the dorms when the woman at the front desk startles you by calling out your name. You turn and gawk at her like she is from outer space; you can’t help it; you had no idea she knew your name.  

You turn and go back to see what she wants when she waves someone over from behind you. You suddenly wonder if you’ve done something wrong and you are wracking your brain to try to think of what you may have done or if you’re not allowed to be in the building on your day off or something ridiculous like that. You turn and see the translator striding up to you on her impractically high stilettos. The front desk woman says something to her in Hangul, and she turns to you and states, “The receptionist is wondering if you would like her to arrange a driver to take you back to your residence.” You look at her, slack-jawed, and imagine that she is probably convinced you are unintelligent if she ever suspected that before. “Am I not supposed to be here on my day off?” you manage to squeak out self-consciously. 

The translator’s expression shifts dramatically to a placating, if not slightly condescending, look, as if you are a small child in need of reassurance, “Oh, no, you’re welcome to use the facilities whenever you wish. She saw that you have packages and did not want you to have to walk so far. Unless you want to walk, of course.” She adds, turning a little rosy in the face. “I would love a ride home,” you say, relieved. Honestly, you’ve been on your feet so much these past days that you’re getting used to it, but it’s different being in your comfortable kitchen cooking for your precious boys versus walking down a hard sidewalk in an unfamiliar place, navigating traffic, other humans, and any other hazards that may arise. You have to admit, you’re ready for a nap at this point. You gratefully wait for a driver to become available, and you relish the five-minute drive over what would have been a much longer walk. You hop in the elevator, stop by the laundry room to put your dinner in the fridge and go back to your room to enjoy a decadent, if not well-deserved, midday nap. 

When you wake, it’s a little after seven thirty, and you can’t help wonder again how Nam Timjangnim’s day went without you. You feel a nervous jolt in your stomach and try to stuff down your concerns because it won’t be long until you can ask her what you can do differently in the future. You know that your willingness to seek feedback and your approachable attitude is one of your personal strengths. For all of the boneheaded shit you do, you at least are willing to try to do better when you find out you’ve let someone down. You hope against all hope, though, that there isn’t anything too “constructive” to hear. 

You shake it off and decide to heat up your meal and get your laptop out to watch a K-drama. You aren’t sure what to watch but figure you’ll make a decision based on what you can find on your streaming service. As you head to the laundry room, you notice again that the lights are illuminated all the way down the hall. The doors that were previously opened are closed, and you can’t see any light underneath. But the laundry room door is propped open and you head inside and see your next-door neighbor there, getting something out of the vending machine. She looks tired and a little frazzled. She’s wearing a conservative suit jacket, skirt, and heels. Her hair has started to loosen itself from her bun, and you can imagine it was well-coiffed when she left this morning. Your heart goes out to her as she seems to have had a long day and is now getting a late dinner from the vending machine. You catch her eye and give her a sympathetic smile before putting your food in the microwave.  

She smiles back, and you realize that, for once, you have your phone on you, so you get it out and open the translation app. You point at her vending machine purchase and say, “Dinner?” with a sad face emoji. She nods and chuckles, seeming embarrassed. You quickly type in “I think I’m your next-door neighbor.” She nods again enthusiastically. You decide to take a chance and hopefully make a friend, “I’m going to take my meal in my room and watch Queen of Tears. Would you like to join me? I can’t eat it all by myself.” She looks up at you, clearly touched by the offer, and you can see her turning the idea over in her head. So you add, “I can put the translations on for me. I prefer the original audio. And you can change into comfortable clothes because I am going to do that too before I get too tired.” You smile at her reassuringly and she seems to decide it’s worth taking a chance.  

The microwave dings and you type, “I will go get changed. Please knock on my door when you are ready. I will wait to start the show.”  She nods enthusiastically, and you head down to the room to avoid making her try to walk quickly in her heels with an audience.  

The two of you laugh and cry at the show, and you share the food from the containers between you. Occasionally you type something in to speak to her directly, but you find that enjoying the food and the show are two activities that require very little speaking. You manage to learn that her name is Jeong Su-bin, and she is twenty-four and fresh out of university. You are able to learn that she works as a resource manager for the boys. Whatever is needed when they travel or do photo or video shoots, she organizes what is needed, how it gets there, how it is accounted for, and where it is stored. Her job sounds kind of boring, but she seems stressed, so you can only imagine how high the stakes can be when it comes to the boys and all of their needs. You wonder if she’s responsible for the lack of shirts at Coachella, but you aren’t sure the joke would translate well, so you don't ask. 

After the food is gone and the second episode ends, she politely thanks you and excuses herself to go to bed. You quickly type into your app that you should do this again sometime, and you hold your breath as she reads your translated message. You’d really love to make a friend, and it seems only too convenient that you are right next door to each other. After an agonizing moment, she types in, “Definitely. Next time, let’s watch a creepy horror show instead.” She bites her lip as if considering her message before hitting the translation and passing it back to you. You laugh and nod enthusiastically and type in, “Okay. You pick the show, I’ll pick up dinner. Next Tuesday?” And she nods and smiles as she slips from the room. 

You shut off and plug in your laptop, make sure your phones are charging, and set your alarm for six o’clock after making sure you have a clean outfit to wear tomorrow. You lay back on your bed, satisfied from your adventures and the warm fuzzy feeling of having made a potential friend, and you slip into colorful dreams of shops and pastries that devolve into getting into the wrong taxi, getting lost in a creepy part of town, and having to buy your way out of being kidnapped and involuntarily enrolled in clown school. You wake up with a start when the head clown professor is trying to tie a bow tie around your neck just a little too tight.  

You gasp and stare around your room in the dim early morning light. You press your palm to your eyes to try and blank out the images.

No more spicy food before bed, for fuck’s sake.

You chide yourself.  It’s a little after five o’clock, so you try to go back to sleep. When the alarm goes off at six, you are groggy and angry. But you suddenly remember that you will get to talk to Nam Timjangnim about Monday, and the voltage of the thought brings all of your mental faculties online instantly. You run through your morning routine efficiently, and ‘The Real-Heung Version’ comes on from your ATEEZ Faves playlist. you turn it up just past a comfortable volume because it perfectly sums up how you’re feeling right now. 

Nam Timjangnim comes to the door at eight-fifteen, and she seems happy to see you, if not a little subdued from her silly moods of late. You hope this isn’t a sign of something but follow her dutifully without question down to the second floor. She uses her app to thank you for the extra fruits and vegetables you had left prepared for her to use yesterday, and she tells you that your galbi-jjim appeared to have been properly cooked. You can’t help but feel like these comments are less enthusiastic than you would have liked or possibly even deserved if you dared to appraise your own efforts. But you don’t know what took place yesterday, and you wonder if the members’ bad moods on Monday night may have influenced any reviews they gave about your performance.  

Nam Timjangnim types into the app that the two of you are going to KQ for an appointment with HR after breakfast, and your heart falters. You can’t imagine what you would have done to deserve a visit to HR, and it’s all you can do not to cry. It’s too soon since you last went through the corporate woodchipper; you really can’t imagine how you’d handle it here—especially since you can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve done so wrong. 

You fight back tears through breakfast, try to remain cordial to the members, and anticipate Nam Timjangnim’s needs throughout the morning. You do this so well that she turns around after handing out the last member’s protein shake, and she seems surprised to see that the dishes are already done, the dishwasher is running, and the kitchen is spotless. She doesn’t even attempt to conceal her surprise, but you can’t help but think she looks a little sad. She goes to put a load of laundry in and then types to you that it’s time to go to the car. You feel yourself shrink at this and try to keep your wits about you as you get into the car.  

When you arrive at KQ, the two of you head to the third floor and she leads you to the conference room where you watched the awkward training videos before. You are becoming accustomed to seeing the translator and are unsurprised to see her sitting there looking irritatingly neutral. Your shaky legs lower you into the chair she directs you to, and Nam Timjangnim sits down across the table from you, which feels a little impersonal and kind of hurts your feelings, if you’re honest. The translator, sensing some unspoken tension and apparently possessing more empathy than you thought her to be capable of, begins speaking as soon as the contract man enters and shuts the door behind him.  

“Good morning. I assume Team Leader Nam informed you of the purpose of this meeting today?” “No.” You reply, unable to conceal your rising panic. The translator shoots a withering look across the table at your supervisor, who has inexplicably returned to her favorite passive expression. “We asked for this meeting because we have received extensive feedback about your performance so far, and we need to discuss your contract.” You swear you can hear an audible squelch as your heart hits your shoes. 

She continues, “We have received extensive positive feedback about your performance, and we wish to modify your contract terms to include a higher salary rate, and we will be reducing the required training period from three weeks to the time you have already worked. Your training period and the reduced salary as a trainee will be discontinued as of tomorrow. Team Leader Nam will return to her full-time position as the head of the Xikers’ dormitory, and you will be named head of the ATEEZ dormitory.” 

You stare at her dumbfounded. Probably turning blue from lack of oxygen. 

You force yourself to take a steadying breath. 

“You will still receive meal planning and ordering support from Team Leader Nam until you feel confident to fully take over planning and ordering for your own menus. Does that sound acceptable to you?” 

You swallow hard and can’t resist casting a sidelong glare at Nam Timjangnim before turning to direct your attention to the translator. “Yes. I would love that. Thank you very much.” Nam Timjangnim sniffles a little across the table, and you look up at her in alarm. The translator tuts at her and says something in Korean before passing a box of tissues to the woman whose sudden display of emotion frankly terrifies you. 

The Translator looks back to you and explains, “Nam Ji-Yeon is very fond of you as well. Naturally, she was looking forward to the full extent of your training period.” She casts another reproachful look at your supervisor. You can’t help wonder if Nam Timjangnim isn’t also bummed out to not be with ATEEZ, but you don’t honestly know and wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t have similarly positive relationships with the Xikers boys.  

You look again at Nam Timjangnim and can’t hide your smile. She looks pathetic with her watering eyes and reddening nose, and you have had so much fun with her this past week. You know you will actually miss her too. But the truth of your impromptu performance review is starting to sink in, and you feel yourself sitting a little taller in your seat. This is great news, and it means you really are doing as well as you thought you’ve been doing. For once, a performance review that seems to match your perception. What a fuckin’ relief.  You thank the translator, sign the new document that the man has brought in for you, and turn to leave when the meeting is over. Outside of the immense satisfaction you feel that your efforts are appreciated, you can’t help fantasize about how you’re going to fuck with Nam Timjangnim today for making you think you were about to get fired. Holy shit. This calls for the mother of all pranks in payback. The amount of relief that floods you now blocks your mind from accessing the necessary areas of your brain for revenge, and the two of you ride back to the dorm in silence. You're going to have to say something to one another at some point, but you don't know who is going to cave first. You want to call her out but you also can't wrap your head around her emotional reaction, and until you know the motivation behind her outburst,  you're not super inclined to be harsh with her yet. You also sincerely hope she doesn't start crying in front of your boys because you'd be mortified if they thought it was your fault for making her cry.

So you ride in silence and follow her to the elevator without a word, waiting for her to communicate in some way. You're not sure why, but this feels like some kind of battle of wills and whoever speaks first loses. So you busy yourself shuffling things around, getting rid of old items in the fridge, consolidating containers and setting aside some vegetables to prep for a fresh veggie broth that could be used for lunch. Nam Timjangnim still refuses to look at you, and you contemplate doing something deliberately stupid so that she would be forced to correct you, but you figure she's unlikely to fall for something so obvious. You continue to putter around until you can't stand it anymore and finally just stop and stand in the center of the kitchen, staring her down until she acknowledges you. She only looks at you out of the side of her vision, but she pulls out her phone and begins typing something in. You're holding your breath again until she hands her phone to you without making eye contact,

"I'm very proud of you. I know you will take good care of our ATEEZ.

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim."

You type a response to her and hit [Translate]:

"I will miss you too.

Thank you. Caretaker Y/N."

She looks at you directly now and doesn't disguise her tears before grabbing you in a hug and rocking you back and forth like your mom does when she feels overly emotional. You chuckle softly at her before grabbing the phone back and typing in, 

"What's for lunch?"

Chapter Text

Nam Timjangnim manages to control her emotions for the rest of what suddenly seems to be your last day of working together. You see her cast a few longing glances at the boys as they wolf down their dinner, but you catch just as many of these glances that appear to be aimed in your direction. You wonder if the translator was actually doing you a kindness by telling you the truth, not what Nam Timjangnim would have wanted her to say about your progress and her affection for you. You kind of wonder if your tsundere supervisor would have wanted you to know explicitly that she will miss working directly with you. But you’re glad you know either way, and you’re glad that she will still be helping you with menu planning and ordering because you haven’t seen enough of the routines and different types of schedules to feel confident in trying to anticipate and plan to that degree. 

You manage to get a few more lessons from her about the calendar and the ordering system, and enjoy watching the boys swoon over the pair of you when you present them with another round of steamed buns with leftover rib meat and sauce inside. Nam Timjangnim manages to get through the day without crying again, for which you’re incredibly grateful because between the two of you lately, you realize you would just as soon never cry or be cried over ever again for as long as you live. Not your most realistic life goal, admittedly, but you can dream. Nam Timjangnim takes the elevator with you to the fourth floor and makes absolutely sure that you understand that she expects you to message her if you have any questions, and she shows you where she has set a reminder in your calendar that she will pick you up in two days to go pick up the weekly orders at KQ. You tell her, through the app and your huge smile, that you’re looking forward to it.

Time passes, and you settle into a routine with the boys. You have your list of daily duties: stocking linens in the bathrooms, cleaning and stocking the fridge, doing dishes, and tidying up. You relish the opportunities to fulfill any of their personal requests and find that this is your favorite part of the job. You’ve learned how to bow properly and feel fairly confident that you now know when and how much to bow to people. You’ve even made eye contact with nearly all of them at least once without fainting or running away in terror. It seems they have adjusted to your presence, and all of them have developed ways of communicating with you that are as unique as their personalities.  

Mingi approaches you with a wide grin and engages in a lot of pantomime when he makes a request. He almost always has you both cracking up by the time you figure out what he wants you to do. He seems intent on making you laugh every time, which also removes the awkwardness he seems to feel about asking you to do things for him. Jongho prefers to use a translator app on his phone and does not stick around long to engage with you once he knows you’ve understood his request. He’s always polite and kind, but it is apparent that becoming overly familiar with you is a boundary that he is not interested in crossing. The ever-patient Yeosang has been helping you learn Korean, so he presents you with small notes written in Hangul and watches expectantly while you painfully sound out the syllables and glance up at him for reassurance. He corrects your pronunciation in that velvety, rich voice of his, and if you weren’t already so bad at it, you’d consider mispronouncing things on purpose just to hear him talk to you more. He beams proudly and claps for you when you get a small phrase right, and even more so when you show him that you understand the meaning of the words. These small moments warm your heart immensely because you know he has better things to do than tutor you in Korean. Yunho hasn’t asked you for anything yet, but occasionally gives you small, reassuring smiles from across the room when you meet his eyes. San speaks to you in your language while enthusiastically gesturing or pointing to ensure that you comprehend what he is saying. It always makes you smile because his command of the language is impressive and more than proficient enough that it renders all the theatrical hand movements unnecessary. Seonghwa approaches you softly and always ensures that he has your attention before he begins speaking to you. He must have noticed that the others have startled you multiple times, and he seems to be very mindful of your jumpy countenance. His reassuring smile and gentle voice make you nearly melt into the warmth that radiates from your chest; you struggle to comprehend how he is truly every bit the kind, compassionate human he seems to be in all of his videos.  

Hongjoong speaks to you in your language and seems to enjoy practicing his conversation skills with you, at least superficially. You unconsciously corrected him once when he used the wrong form of a verb and immediately clapped your hand over your mouth in horror, bowing and apologizing to him repeatedly. Hongjoong laughed good-naturedly at your embarrassment and held both hands up to reassure you while he repeated, “It’s okay!” over and over until you stopped folding yourself in half. He is also the one who makes requests to you on behalf of the group, and you thank your lucky stars that this arrangement gives you just a fraction more time to gaze at his precious face. You wonder, though, when your heart will stop leaping from your chest when you hear your own name coming from his lips in that absolutely unique voice of his. Still, your interactions with him remain strictly professional. 

Occasionally, the playful side of the boys comes out when you’re around. It seems that you’ve become familiar enough that your presence does not inhibit their regular bonding behaviors anymore. One day, as you walk through the living room with your basket, collecting loose items and empty dishes, San dashes past you and steals the hat that you wear to cover your messy hair while you work. He runs around the other sofa with a devilish grin and a chuckle. You freeze in horror, with your head down, avoiding eye contact, when you hear nearly-silent running from behind you and look up just in time to see Seonghwa leap—momentarily airborne, like an actual bird or angel or something—toward San. San’s face seems to morph, in slow motion, from mischievous glee to surprise to mock terror as Seonghwa soars toward him over the back of the couch. San lets out a yelp as Seonghwa’s body collides with him, both of them landing on the floor with a synchronized grunt. He rips the hat from San’s hands. Seonghwa rises from where the two of them crashed to the floor, intentionally using his elbow in San’s gut to push himself up to standing while San groans and laughs, rolling into a ball on the floor. Seonghwa dusts himself off dramatically, straightens your crumpled hat, and looks up at you tenderly through the hair that has fallen across his face in the tussle. He smiles sheepishly, brushes his bangs aside, and bows, saying quietly, “Sorry,” before looking over his shoulder and saying to San, “Idiot.” Clearly, for your benefit, he says it in your language. You hurriedly set down your basket to accept the proffered hat from him, bowing quickly and replacing the hat over your disheveled hair. You murmur, “Gamsahabnida. Thank you,” before picking up your basket and rushing to the relative safety of the laundry room. As you run away, you swear you hear a smack and San yelps again behind you while sharp words in Korean rush from Seonghwa. You smile a little to yourself because no harm was done, and honestly, the fact that San is comfortable enough to tease you means that you are becoming liked and trusted around the dorm. Your heart warms even further at the thought of Mother Hwa defending your honor and chastising his child for mistreating you. 

Wooyoung, however, seems to want nothing to do with you. He has never spoken to you directly, and he generally leaves the room when you enter or stops his conversation as soon as he sees your presence. His RBF is in full force whenever you hazard a glance at his chiseled features. You wonder if this has to do with his deep mistrust toward overzealous fans or his general personal boundaries and traditional beliefs about social hierarchy. You can’t help but admit that it hurts your feelings a bit, but you had anticipated this could go either way with him. If he liked you right away, he’d be playful and touchy, but if he had any misgivings about you, it would take you a long time to earn his respect and trust. It seems that he’s aware of your prior ATINY status, and as such, he doesn’t think you belong anywhere near his personal life. You give him a wide berth, being careful to anticipate his needs and avoid placing him in a position to need to request anything from you. At the very least, you don’t want to give him any reason to claim you are incompetent. Still, he doesn’t know that you are the master of the “slow-to-trust” game. 

Your time working in your mother’s daycare has taught you infinite patience with standoffish small children who mistrust unfamiliar people and desperately miss their mothers. Of course, in this case, you won’t lead him to a blanket fort with a trail of goldfish crackers, but you’ll find a way to slowly prove that you are a safe, loving person who only wants the best for him. So, you continue to observe and make mental notes of the things he likes, such as what he orders from takeout places and the recipes he cooks for himself and others. You also watch to ensure that his favorite clothing items are laundered first and often, in hopes that his physical comfort will spread into his psychological comfort over time. 

The irony, of course, is that with ATEEZ’s meteoric rise to further international popularity over the past year, the number of people who identify as ATINY will only grow exponentially. Wooyoung will have to accept that people love them, and he may have to reconsider his hard boundary about fans. He’ll have a hard time finding employees if he limits his trust to people who don’t know ATEEZ or are unfamiliar with their immense talent, because that number is dwindling by the day with every event, award show, interview, and stage they conquer. 

 For all of the ways you expected to get your feelings hurt in this scenario: living in close proximity with and serving eight of the most gorgeous, talented humans on the planet, Wooyoung’s indifference is a surprisingly deep knife twisting pain. His joyful persona that is presented to the world in interviews, behind-the-scenes clips, and variety shows… even his quiet contemplation when he is following his passion behind his camera—you thought you had seen a bit of a kindred spirit in this impulsive, loud, silly man who never seemed to take anything too seriously. But you remember darkly that there has been a subtle change in him over the past year, if your instincts are correct.  

He has seen too many ATINY pushing boundaries and violating the group’s personal space and sense of safety. The inner guard dog inside of Wooyoung far eclipses the feisty cat he is portrayed as, and those who know him well know that he would be terrifying to face if he caught you out doing anything that might harm his members. This deep mistrust has settled into him to the point where he is almost antagonistic toward you, and he seems hell bent on driving you to give up and go home. When you greet the boys as they return from practice with a thoughtfully arranged presentation of their favorite healthy snacks and beverages on the kitchen countertop buffet, he walks by it without stopping—his lips curling into an actual sneer of disgust, and he heads straight to the bathroom to shower. At the sound of the bathroom door slamming, Seonghwa looks up at you briefly, pausing his happy survey of your provisions. His face morphs into an apologetic smile, and he glances down the hall, concern briefly flickering across his face before he turns back to the buffet and loads up his arms with the goodies. The rest of the members stop by in turns and thank you politely before making their selections and departing for their respective rooms.  

Hongjoong wanders by last, distracted by something on his phone, and you look in alarm at the crumbs and empty containers now largely covering the counters. A sudden inspiration seizes you as you hold up a finger to him, indicating that he should wait. You dash to the fridge and grab the fresh lemon curd, vanilla kefir, and homemade Greek yogurt you have been straining from the top shelf. A second look in and you quickly grab a fresh lemon from the drawer before turning to grab the blender. Hongjoong is still milling about, largely distracted by his phone, so you work as quickly and silently as possible to fill the blender with all of these items and toss in a handful of frozen diced mangoes from the freezer. You wince when he jumps at the sound of the blender starting, and he looks up at you, his eyes wide with surprise. He tries to wave you off, muttering “No, this is fine,” as he fumbles in search of something edible left on the countertop. You smile knowingly at him and shake your head, again holding up a single finger to let him know that it will only be another minute longer, and you are happy to finish the task. He smiles, almost apologetically, because he knows refusing you at this point will only create more work for you to clean up, and he leans in to rest his hip against the counter as he returns to his phone. When the blender has worked its magic and a beautiful lemon smoothie swirls like soft ice cream around the inside of the pitcher, you shut it off and grab a large glass.

Presenting Hongjoong with the personalized treat and sliding a large straw into the glass, you hold your breath and watch for what seems like forever until he glances up at you and reaches for the glass with reserved gratitude. You both gasp a little and look away when your fingers accidentally meet as he takes the smoothie from you shyly. To avoid seeing if the instant blush you’re experiencing is also shared by Hongjoong, you turn away quickly and begin wiping down the blender base and countertop. Hongjoong takes an audible breath, and you hear him start to walk away, so it is a little shocking when his voice softly comes from directly behind you, “Thank you very much. This is so nice.” You jump slightly and startle the both of you, and he begins to chuckle apologetically. You join him as you both laugh at your collective weirdness before you manage to say, “Goodnight, Captain,” and turn away quickly again, before the fiery blush on your cheeks betrays your attempts at being cool and professional. 

While you clean up the carnage of the after-practice snack attack, you hear voices carrying from down the hallway. They sound either angry or maybe excited: a lower tone that is alternating between somewhat placating and sort of pleading, and a higher timbre which escalates in intensity and volume. The words are unknown to you, but the tone of voice becomes unmistakable as you recognize San’s and Wooyoung’s voices. You put your head down and try to quickly finish cleaning up your mess before a single word stops you cold. You are nearly positive you heard your name in the pleading tones of San before a punctuated explosion of words from Wooyoung is followed by an enduring silence. You hear San murmur something more before a door softly opens and closes, and you are embarrassed that you haven’t finished and left the building by now. You hope, in vain, that it is San, and he will go down the hall to his room rather than coming to you. You also realize that there are hot tears spilling down your cheeks as you think wearily how much Wooyoung’s rejection has hurt you. Logically, you know that you have done nothing to warrant it, but your heart hurts under the collective guilt as an ATINY that others of your fandom have created this anger in him, and you can seem to do nothing to soothe or reverse the change in him.  

You jump, again, as you realize San’s footsteps are getting nearer, and you swipe at the unwelcome wetness on your cheeks. He rounds the corner as though he is looking specifically for you and stops dead in his tracks when he sees your red, moist cheeks and puffy eyes. His brows raise in sympathy, and he looks unsurprised but overcome by tenderness at your inability to separate your emotions from your work performance. You look down, ashamed, and chuckle slightly as you say, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” but you trail off as he steps toward you and reaches his hand out over yours. He gently taps your hand until you release the dishcloth you are still clutching tightly. As he steps closer to you, his other arm reaches behind you and comes to rest gently across your shoulders. You let out an involuntary shuddering sigh and lean into him; you can feel the slight dampness of his t-shirt and smell the scent of his sweat from the long day’s exertions mingling with what you presume to be his deodorant and the group’s regular laundry detergent fragrance. An unbidden tingling starts to warm between your legs, and you shift slightly as you feel your nipples begin to harden. He sighs heavily, murmuring something apologetic as his other arm enfolds you and he pulls you in to rest his chin atop your head. The explosion of electricity that shoots up your spine nearly causes your knees to buckle, but you suppress a shudder and try desperately not to notice how all of the strong angles of his muscles apply delicious pressure against your soft curves. He holds the embrace a little longer, so you allow yourself to lean in just a little more, his incredibly muscular arms easily holding you up while you sniffle and try to keep your wits about you. 

He shifts suddenly and begins to gently guide you over to the couch, stepping back from you to gesture at it, questioning if you would like to sit with him. You realize he’s not speaking, but it’s more likely related to the desire to remain undetected by the dorm’s other inhabitants than out of any form of language barrier. You nod at him gratefully and swipe a tissue from the box you keep diligently stocked near the sofa for when the more tender-hearted members watch their K-dramas and need to mop up their own tears. San sits on the far cushion with one arm draped languidly on the armrest before patting the side of the cushion closest to him and gesturing to you to come sit. As you turn and lower yourself into the seat he has indicated, you feel both of his arms reach up to your waist and gently guide you back down to the couch, pulling you closer to him than you would have dared to seat yourself if left to your own devices. He rocks you gently back toward him and begins to stroke the hair away from your temple as you lean your head onto his muscular chest and take in his solid heartbeat. Instinctively, you pull your knees up to your own chest until you are curled into a ball with his arms around you and your hair shielding your eyes from the rest of the room. Your shuddering breaths begin to calm as he strokes the flesh of your arm from your elbow up until his fingertips slide under the sleeve of your t-shirt. The aroused feeling that had overtaken you is gradually replaced by an all-over warm and fuzzy feeling of safety, as your initial shock and panic softens to gratitude. You can’t help but think what a grand gesture this is, and how kind he is being, at the risk of alienating his own members.

But you also realize that the only one who would be likely to frown upon his generosity is Wooyoung, who is also responsible for all of your pain and, therefore, responsible for San’s natural desire to soothe your undeserved wounds. Still, a sense of propriety seizes you, and you feel awkward because your job description is to provide for the members’ needs, not for them to provide for yours. San shifts slightly as he feels you stiffen, and you straighten your legs out as you make to stand. “It’s okay.” He says softly, looking up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging you to be healed of your hurt. You shake your hair out of your eyes and look at him with a slightly sad smile, and sniffle, before saying, “I know. Thank you. I need to go finish cleaning up.” He reaches out and holds onto your hand, looking you over as if to appraise whether he is sufficiently satisfied with his ability to comfort you.

You try harder to smile a little more genuinely, and he sighs a little before dropping your hand and leaning back onto the couch without breaking eye contact. “He is such an asshole sometimes.” He says, almost more to himself than to you. “He doesn’t mean it. I’ll try to talk to him when he calms down.” San pauses to look at you even more deeply. “I really appreciate you, and I’m glad you’re here with us.” He says, before finally dropping the intense eye contact and glancing down at the coffee table self-consciously. “Thank you.” You manage to say again, quietly, before you add almost inaudibly, “I’m glad I am here too.” He looks up at you, relief flooding over his chiseled features and the hint of his dimples beginning to appear. He slaps his thighs with finality as he says, “Well, good. We’ll figure it out then. Good job today. You’re awesome.” And he stands, giving you an awkward thumbs up before sauntering back down the hallway to his room. You chuckle as you swear you hear him singing a little tune to himself, and you rush to go finish cleaning up the mess in the kitchen before anyone else drops by unannounced.  

You would have probably cried yourself to sleep that night; the hot, angry tears and saliva soak your pillow where your painfully angry sobs were stifled into the delicate pillowcase you had brought from home. But thanks to San’s kindness, you were spared this routine that typically occurred multiple nights a week, whenever Wooyoung lacked the impulse control to just ignore you or if you failed to get yourself gone before he came home and met your gaze with an expression that you recognized as far beyond the typical RBF from your days as the high school weirdo and bully magnet. When you were in high school together, your bestie had been your only shield from such looks, and some days she was busy, off doing sports or studying for her AP classes or whatever and you were left at lunch to stare into your tater tots alone to avoid the sideways glances and rude comments from the meaner members of your class, you began to take extra opportunities to go spend lunch in the art room, where your teacher played classic rock and told bizarre stories of her youth that everyone wondered how much were true. But here, in the dorm, you have no escape from the looks of contempt and throat-clearing coughs that remind you of your status as an employee only and cue your hastened departure from the space.  

You wonder if part of the pain of the situation is the unanticipated nature of his disdain. Wooyoung still isn't interested in anything you have to offer. He treats you as if you were invisible. Honestly, you thought he'd be the first to touch you, casually, given his purported clingy, friendly, handsy nature. But he is careful to never even bump you in passing in the kitchen. It's very strange. Wooyoung says things in Hangul that make the others cringe, and he sounds irritated. You eventually have to assume that he doesn't believe that you don't speak or at least understand the language. You don't know if he thinks you're trying to spy on them for the company or for your own selfish reasons. He won't give you a chance to prove yourself. He despises you for being a fan because he doesn't believe that any ATINY should ever cross that boundary of propriety and familiarity that you've easily been ushered across by the others. You remember his rant about respect and honorifics once during an interview, and shrug to yourself, realizing you've had a whole conversation in your head but probably made all of the gestures and corresponding facial expressions out loud. You cringe at yourself and continue scrubbing the counter before tossing the dishcloth in the sink and turning out the light. 

As you walk to the elevator doors, you think over all of the other members’ responses to your thoughtful service, and San’s unbelievably kind effort to soothe your hurt feelings, and you’re overcome by the largely positive experience this job has been so far. Your mouth curves into a smile and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you picture Hongjoong’s eyebrows raise as he tastes the delicious lemon yogurt and mango smoothie you busted out for him, as though perfectly reading his mind. Nothing brings you more joy than the surprised delight on someone’s face when they taste how delicious your food is and know, instinctively, how much love you pour into everything you do. Your attempts at authentic Korean recipes and the occasional Japanese treat, based on the members' excited ramblings about past meals, travel delicacies, or shared family traditions, have been met with enthusiastic gratitude and awe. The members can’t believe that you’re taking such detailed mental notes and that you’re capable of creating the dishes with such accuracy. A warm, fuzzy feeling that washes over you as you catalog all of your successes so far only serves to call up your trademark stubborn streak as you think again of Wooyoung. You will win this battle. He’s legendary for his tenacity, but no one yet knows that you, too, are a force to be reckoned with. You have won over the most challenging toddlers (and their parents), and you only have time on your hands to continue to try to find Wooyoung’s kryptonite. You selfishly hope that you can also be the one to restore his faith in ATINY, because honestly, the thought of his mistrust running so deep truly breaks your heart into a million pieces. 

Chapter Text

ATEEZ are gearing up for their next big comeback, and you know shit’s about to get hectic. You have continued to find your own balance in following company protocol, like how you still wear the KQ polo shirt, but you largely avoid other seemingly unnecessary formalities that make it more awkward for you when you’re trying to take care of the boys’ needs. It seems that they are more comfortable coexisting with you when you learn to just be yourself, like Nam Timjangnim did, without cowing to them or overemphasizing the power dynamic. You still know how to keep your interactions appropriate, but you take care of them and their home like it was your own family, and this seems to make it easier for them to ask you for things because they now trust that you love to help them. San has started calling you “Kkulbeol (꿀벌),” which means ‘honeybee,’ because he thinks you’re hardworking and sweet. Your heart melts every time you hear it.

Every day, they seem to be more comfortable having you around. Occasionally, when some of the members are out, the remaining members will ask if you want to join them at the table or around the TV. Seonghwa has started offering you the seat next to him when they are all watching their shows, and if you’re done with all of your work for the day, you’ll often take it. You find yourself working hard to get everything cleaned up after dinner quickly on the nights when they are home, just in case. You recall, with a blush, how you sat down on the couch with Hwa, started to put your feet up on the coffee table out of habit, and he gasped when he noticed your shiny chrome Converse peeking out under your wide-legged pants. He reached down shyly to pull back your pant leg to get a better look before clicking his tongue and patting your leg with a huge smile. Jongho let out a barking laugh when he saw your skeleton socks above your silver shoes. They seem to get a kick out of your quirky fashion choices. 

Another perk is that you’ve been getting some really good recommendations for K-dramas to watch from Jongho, and he loves to hear back if you and Su-bin give the show two thumbs up or not. He keeps saying he wants to meet her, but you’re fairly convinced that if you introduced them, you’ll have to have an ambulance on stand-by because of what a nervous person she is. You mentioned the idea of meeting Jongho to her one night when she was over watching ‘Death’s Game,’ and she couldn’t speak or respond for a full five minutes. Still, you insist that at some point she should at least meet the boys, considering how much her work helps them be successful. It seems unfair for them to continue to pass like ships in the night. 

You’re becoming more independent in your position as head of the ATEEZ dormitory; you are finally feeling confident about creating your own weekly menus and orders. Last week’s menu was a bit of a nightmare. Nam Timjangnim had geoducks on the menu for stew, and you nearly died laughing when you saw the size of these absurdly phallic sea creatures. In a moment of weakness, you sent a photograph of one to your bestie, laid out on the countertop in all its glory, with the caption, “And they say diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” You’d only just managed to stop laughing when she video-called you fifteen minutes later, shrieking with laughter and telling you that she opened the picture message at work, yelled in horror, and threw her phone across the hallway right outside of the boardroom. She didn’t know what it was right away, and what she thought it was made her involuntarily scream, and the phone flew out of her hand. She didn't even stop to see if there was a meeting in the boardroom at the time; she just ran. Between her frantic storytelling and the hilarity of the well-proportioned critter, you both laughed until you cried.

One morning, you head down to the dorms early to prepare the dosirak and snacks for the practices and rehearsals for their upcoming appearances on M Countdown and Music Bank. You happen to get on the elevator at the same time as Su-bin. She surprises you by pressing the third-floor button; you’ve never thought to ask her where her office is located because you’d just assumed she worked at the KQ offices. When the doors open to the third floor, you catch a glimpse of a long hallway with many doors, not unlike the residential floor, but with less stylish décor. She waves as she heads down the hallway, and you can’t help but wonder what else is in that hallway since you’ve never seen anyone else enter or leave the third floor. You vow later to ask Su-bin about it.

The managers aren’t secretive anymore about the schedules because you’ve proven yourself to be trustworthy, and it helps for you to know what they’re up to because you can often anticipate unidentified needs or prevent problems before they arise. There was a near-miss incident where the boys were heading to do some outdoor video shoot and were planning to take the packed lunch and do a picnic concept, but you looked at the weather report and changed your menu to include several more chilled and frozen items due to the intense, uncharacteristic heat wave that was about to roll through the area. If you had followed the original menu, the boys would have had hot meals on the hottest day of the year, and it would have been miserable. They came back happy, and they got some really cute video of a popsicle fight for the OSOS series. 

Last night, the boys were out late filming an interview for an upcoming promo appearance on a talk show. As you head down at 8:30 a.m., you find yourself hoping that they went straight to bed when they got home. When you arrive on the second floor, you notice that the lights are on, and you see eight pairs of chunky, fashionable shoes scattered across the entryway where their house slippers were. The sight makes your heart flutter and still gives you goosebumps because you love knowing that they are all home safe, and you can’t get over having the chance to be part of their daily life. Since everyone is still sleeping, you head into the kitchen to start your prep, but you don’t start breakfast right away because you know they probably didn’t go to bed until it was nearly dawn. You do your best to work quietly and get most of the prep done before they start rolling out of bed and grumbling down the halls. You gather up the shoes in your basket and make sure they’re clean and in good condition before placing them carefully outside each member’s door; you’re getting good at recognizing whose shoes are whose based on size and style.  

As you set down the last pair and tiptoe back toward the kitchen, you hear a door behind you open, but you don’t immediately turn because you want to give whoever it is the opportunity for privacy. Instead, you turn into the kitchen, stealing a quick glance down the hall as you round the doorway, and you nearly scream when you realize you are looking right at San, six inches from your face, because he decided to take the opportunity to sneak up on you.  

He sees your terrified face as you fight the urge to scream or punch him in the jaw. He moves swiftly and covers your mouth with one hand while he sweeps the other around your back and guides you backward into the kitchen, away from the doors of the other sleeping members. You stare up at him, wide-eyed as your fright turns to fiery anger, but he is apologizing profusely and grinning ridiculously, and all you can think about is what kind of audacity is this that he comes in your kitchen with that goddamn stupid smile and stupid dimples and fuckin’ ridiculous muscles and.... Your brain short-circuits due to the chemical overload of fear, and whatever the other thing is going on there because 

Holy fuck.

He looks amazing in that t-shirt, and he’s so close you can smell his skin and yesterday’s cologne that lingers there.

And now he’s looking down at you with that twinkle in his eye and his huge hand over your mouth and one arm pinned behind your back.  

What the fuck is happening?

You can’t move, even if you wanted to, which you’re not entirely sure about at the moment, but it’s his turn to jump in fright when you both hear a deep but gentle cough and turn to see Yeosang standing in the kitchen doorway. He looks over the situation before him with an unreadable expression, but San immediately jumps back from you and places his hands behind him like a child hiding stolen candy. San’s expression conveys much more than it should; he looks guilty of much more than what actually happened, and you can’t help but wonder what devious thoughts were going through his mind when he snuck up on you like that.  

Yeosang coughs again, chuckles slightly, and steps back from the doorway to allow San barely enough room to dash out of the kitchen, where he retreats quickly down the hall. Yeosang turns back to you, so you quickly grab your phone and open the translation app, and set it to pick up audio. “Are you okay?” He asks, his expression concerned and kind. You hold the phone to translate your words into Korean before handing Yeosang the phone.  “Yeah. Of course. He just tried to startle me as a joke, but I almost screamed, so I think he was trying to keep me from waking everyone up.”  

Yeosang looks at you with an unreadable look on his statuesque features. You can’t figure out what he is thinking, so you add with a grimace of exaggerated horror, “I almost punched him in the face!” This cracks Yeosang’s poker face, and he begins to laugh heartily at the mental image of your small fist connecting with San’s jaw. You realize that it’s probably unrealistic to think you’d actually land a punch on him, given his third-degree black belt reflexes, but you still cringe a little at the idea that you could have given him a black eye or something right before comeback.  

Yeosang still seems disturbed by what he witnessed, so you do your best to assure him that you’re okay and that it was a harmless prank that you highly doubt San will ever try again. Yeosang seems to agree with your assessment, but before he leaves the kitchen to go shower, he makes a point to lean close to you and say, “If you ever have a problem, talk to me. Please.” His angelic face seems to radiate concern. You smile weakly at him, and he nods solemnly before heading back down the hall. You breathe a heavy sigh and try to remember what in the world you were about to do before you got derailed.  

Also, what on earth was San up to? Why did he look so guilty?

What did Yeosang see or perceive that you didn’t? 

You stand there blinking stupidly before you shake your head hard and decide to go make sure the bathrooms have sufficient towels for all of the members if they decide to shower this morning. You head down to the laundry room and load up a basket with fresh towels. You pile clean towels on the shelf in the first bathroom, and as you head toward the second bathroom, you are pretty sure you hear the shower running, but head a little closer to be sure. You hear a sudden sharp sound like skin sliding on porcelain, kind of like someone slipping in the shower, followed by the slamming sound of a hand hitting the glass shower door and trying to find a grip.

You stop, panicked, and hold your breath as you wait to make sure you don’t hear any sounds that would indicate that someone actually fell in the tub. Suddenly, you hear a low moan that causes a rising panic and constricting pain in your throat until the next sound reaches your ears. You hear a second, slightly higher moan, a simultaneous slam on the glass shower door and the wall at the same time, followed by a sudden rhythmic smacking combined with the repetitive rattling of the glass shower door. You stand there, frozen, staring at the closed door, unable to move, but you’re beginning to recognize the sounds of panting, gasping, and the slapping of wet, naked skin, and you realize you should probably get the fuck away from the door before someone sees you there listening in.

Chapter Text

You shake off the awkwardness of what you have mentally cataloged as “The Bathroom Incident.” It only takes a day or so to find that you’re comfortable meeting Yeosang’s gaze once again. San, however, tends to give you more space and seems to struggle more than you do at attempting eye contact. He still calls you “Kkulbeol,” though his tone is almost placating rather than playful. You are still at a loss as to why he’s acting like a complete weirdo, and you can’t figure out what on earth he feels so guilty about that is making him avoid you. After several days of this bizarre behavior, you finally decide you’ve had enough and begin flirting aggressively with him to put an end to the awkwardness.   

You purposely crash your full hips into him in the hallway or find ways to brush up against him when he is unable to physically avoid you, you smile devilishly every time he looks your way, and you even cross your eyes or pout exaggeratedly when you catch him looking at you. His face breaks into a silly grin, and the blush that overcomes his cheeks completely melts your heart. After these little interactions, you sometimes catch Yeosang casting San a reproachful glance before San looks down into his lap or excuses himself from the room. You decide you can’t bear this confusing dance any longer and start flirting and acting like a complete fool with Yeosang, too, until the two of them begin to act almost normally with you again. Thankfully, they’re both quite smart, and it doesn’t take long because that shit is exhausting.  

You laugh to yourself at how funny and somewhat delicate the peace is in the dorms because the members all have their own dynamics, and it’s hard to figure out sometimes what is going on. You suppose that’s why the company hired someone who would be completely oblivious to the language, because you’re only going on instincts and nonverbal observations at this point. This definitely gives the members their own privacy if they want it because you have no way of knowing what is going on unless they decide to tell you.   

Still, one afternoon before the peace was restored, you “got yours”, so to speak, when you were able to jump-scare the living daylights out of San by popping out of the pantry when he’d just finished making his protein shake. You jumped out so suddenly—with rice flour coating your face to make it completely white—that he screamed like a little girl as the pitcher from the blender flew out of his hand onto the floor. The resulting explosion of gooey, slightly frozen protein shake coated the ceiling, the cupboards, San’s hair and shoulders, your hair, and the floor. When the initial shock of the range of his projectile shake wore off, the two of you collapsed into a heap of hysterical giggles on the floor before beginning to smear it around over each other in mock aggression and throw globs of it back at each other with shrieks of laughter. This seemed to fully reset San to his former self, and you were grateful to have your relationship with him restored. 

You continue to have a standing Tuesday night K-drama date with Su-bin, and she, too, has become more comfortable communicating with you through the translation app. She uses one on her company phone to message you or speak through when you are together, and occasionally she even sends you random texts of funny things throughout the day or pictures of the boys’ costumes for the tour to make surprisingly witty comments about the styles or lack of coverage of some of the fits. You’re grateful that she has such a fun personality because you really had no way of knowing before you approached her. She always seemed so afraid of you that you realize, with a shudder, that she could have been a complete dud as a friend. But Su-bin has some spunk to her, and you greatly enjoy watching creepy shows with her and gabbing about the work of the day or whatever is going on lately around the fourth floor.   

You feel like you’re still mostly alone on your floor, as you rarely seem to run into anyone despite having seen the rooms recently cleaned and restocked. Su-bin has informed you that several boxes arrived on the third floor that appear to be addressed to people who will be joining soon and might be the ones who the rooms were prepared for. She also tells you that she has planned an upcoming vacation and will be gone next week to go home and see her family. Su-bin hasn’t spent time with them since she started the job at KQ, just a few months before you, and she’s looking forward to spending time with her little brother, Seo-jun, who is still in elementary school. He occasionally sends her letters with his own illustrations, and she shares the best ones with you because she’s clearly proud of his talents. You were so impressed by a picture he drew of Su-bin and you, based on her descriptions in a letter she sent him, that she let you have it, and it now hangs proudly on the wall above your desk. Su-bin is really excited that she’s planning to take Seo-jun to see the lions at the zoo because they are his favorite. She tells you that she’s a little worried about the weather because there’s supposed to be a fairly large storm coming, and she really doesn’t want it to ruin her plans. You secretly think to yourself that you’ll plan to introduce her to Jongho to cheer her up if the weather crashes her plans and she comes back sad from her trip.  

Jongho always recommends the best shows to watch. You and Seonghwa have become very close and are often his preferred test audience to see if others agree with his selections. You find that you are able to sit with Seonghwa and read or do relatively nothing at all, and it is the most peaceful part of your day. When the two of you watch scary shows, he reaches his arm across you like a seatbelt and seems to hold your hand for your comfort more than for his own. He has recently asked your opinion on some of his fashion purchases, and you’re quite flattered to have the opportunity to encourage him to find his own story and style his wardrobe in a way that helps him feel most authentic.  

Hongjoong and Yeosang sometimes join in the TV nights; Yunho and Mingi seem to prefer gaming in Yunho’s room, based on the amount of shouting you hear coming down the hall from their room. When Hongjoong watches TV, he often seems to be lost in his own thoughts or looking at his phone, but enjoying being around everyone else even if he’s not really interacting much. Seonghwa has his own way of communicating with you during the shows and will sometimes make little comments or faces at you when interesting things happen in the plot lines. You almost always find that one of you is touching the other in some way, innocently but sweetly, like crossing ankles, leaning on each other, or playing with each other’s hair. 

One night while watching the latest K-drama in the living room with Jongho, Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Seonghwa, you notice that Seonghwa is absentmindedly staring at your sleeve tattoo. When you look at him, and he realizes what he’s doing, he asks you if he can touch it. His full lips form the perfect “O” when he feels you smooth your skin is, despite the swirling colors all over it. Seonghwa begins to stroke your arm, amazed at how velvety your arm is. You giggle at his “petting” and look up to see Hongjoong is watching the two of you. You swear you see a look that seems almost like longing haunt his eyes for only a fraction of a second before he looks away awkwardly and starts scrolling feverishly on his phone.  You can’t help but wonder if maybe Hongjoong wishes he were sitting by Seonghwa and receiving all of his adorable attention. You turn back to Hwa and offer him the fleshy softness at the back of your arm and tell him that you are basically a human Squishmallow. He curiously but tenderly squeezes it with delight dancing in his big boba eyes, his tongue lightly poking out between his luscious lips. You both giggle, and he pats you gently and seems to snuggle slightly closer to you before turning his attention back to the TV.  

Wooyoung is still in his zone of alternately ignoring or aggressing toward you, and you are just as bewildered as ever about how to solve this problem. You never would have imagined, by this stage in your life, that you’d have so much trouble hashing it out with someone. You’ve grown over time to have the courage to confront people, but there’s something about the situation with Wooyoung, his seeming unwillingness to give you a chance to clear the air, and then with the language barrier, you can’t just lose your shit and shout at him until he stops and talks to you. So, you carry on trying to keep him happy or avoid him, and it is not nearly as successful as you’d like.  

One day, Wooyoung is in one of his usual moods as you are cleaning the kitchen. He comes in to grab something to drink from the fridge and freezes when he sees you standing there, wiping down the counter. He doesn’t stop speaking, though, and whatever he says is sharp, audibly punctuated, and he looks directly at you while he says it. All you can make out is “Xikers” before he turns to walk away, coughs, and then spits directly into the sink without rinsing it down. He pauses a moment to look you dead in the eye, and without thinking, you hock loudly and spit, defiantly, nailing the back of the sink with a splat from where you stand about six feet away, and without breaking eye contact. You’re weirdly grateful, in that moment, that your bestie’s gross older brothers taught you a thing or two, as you know you could have made that shot from even further away with no problem. Wooyoung’s eyebrows fly up in surprise—clearly against his will—and you swear you see the flicker of an impressed smile cross his lips before he presses them together firmly, turns, and stalks from the kitchen. You practically die trying to hold in your laughter until you hear the elevator doors close behind him because you suddenly realize what you did, and you can’t even believe your audacity. You find yourself selfishly hoping that he will be gone for a while because your job is so much more peaceful when he isn’t around staring daggers into you.  

Your wish comes true, and it turns out Wooyoung is out for the rest of the afternoon. When you finish your chores and prepping some side dishes for dinner, Seonghwa beckons you to the couch to sit with him in the dappled afternoon sunlight. You grab a couple of bottles of water and a bowl of frosty grapes and slide onto the couch next to him; where you take turns popping grapes into each other’s mouths and giggling at the stupid faces, you can make with grapes showing behind your teeth. Seonghwa captures a couple of selfies and the two of you bump your heads together to get a photograph of your silly grape smiles and poke each other’s cheeks.  

When the grapes are gone, the two of you relax into a comfortable silence and you lean against his shoulder, playing with his long, graceful fingers and humming softly to yourself. You suddenly want to know what the hell Wooyoung said about you today. So, you take a deep breath and shift away from Seonghwa so you can see his face as you ask, “Wooyoung… today, Xikers?” and Seonghwa appears to know immediately what you are getting at. He takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling, trying to find the words in your language. He hesitantly speaks and, through some trial and error, eventually is able to explain to you that you were originally hired to become Xikers’ full-time housekeeper, to be trained by Nam Timjangnim, but one of the Xikers guys has night terrors and they’d gotten so bad that he got his roommate—the group’s rapper—into a headlock, nearly choking him to death before Nam Timjangnim heard the commotion and came in. She was the only one who could bring him out of it, and it became apparent that her voice would bring him back to his senses much faster than anyone else, so it was unanimously decided that she should remain as their housekeeper and train you to become the full-time caretaker for ATEEZ instead. So, Wooyoung’s outburst today was something referring to the fact that you weren’t initially even supposed to be here.  

Hearing this makes your stomach drop sickeningly, even though you know that seven out of eight of them all want you here, and all of the feedback you’ve received from them, their managers, and Nam Timjangnim has been positive. It still feels gross to think that Wooyoung would throw it in your face that you don’t belong. Your wounded inner child virtually curls up into a ball at the idea of being rejected from a place you had finally begun to feel so comfortable, and you feel hurt from much more than just Wooyoung’s actions welling up deep inside you.   

 You lean against Seonghwa and sigh. He sighs back at you and pats your head before shifting to pick up his phone again and showing you his new lock screen: it’s the picture of the two of you with grape smiles and the warmth that sets your heart ablaze eclipses anything that Wooyoung’s frigid actions could ever extinguish. 

Chapter Text

One night, when several of the members are away for interviews in Japan, Seonghwa visits friends, San goes to Milan for a fashion show, and Hongjoong is, as usual, late at the studio. But you notice the pounding rain against the windows and remember vaguely that he might have mentioned something about walking to the studio today to enjoy the fall weather. You realize that if he did, in fact, walk to the studio, he will likely be cold and tired when he finally returns home because he has an interview early in the morning and won’t be able to stay all night at the studio like you're fairly certain he usually does. 

You tend to be a night owl yourself, so you don’t mind waiting up for him and set to preparing some warm snacks and a selection of herbal teas that you think he might enjoy if he is feeling chilled. You’ve become very close to him over the past several weeks, sharing inside jokes and knowing looks when some of the members do or say predictable things that the two of you have laughed about before. He still maintains such a physical distance that you start to realize maybe all that silly emphasis on how he “doesn’t like skinship” was actually based on fact and not just thrown into their variety show's dynamics for added drama. You’re startled from your thoughts by a sudden clap of thunder and the sound of rain rapidly pounding the large window in the living room. Your heart pounds along with it, and you turn to grab the tea kettle before the obnoxious whistle sounds, if only to spare your eardrums the abuse. You listen curiously to the rain and try to anticipate the next thunderclap while steeping the tea absentmindedly. The next flash of lightning catches your eye and is immediately followed by a thunderclap so loud that you swear you feel it shake the building and hear the front windows rattle. Suddenly, you hear the elevator open and a bag slam to the floor, which startles you again, and you peer around the corner to see Hongjoong standing stock still in the entryway, soaked from head to foot. He looks absolutely physically drained and emotionally weary, and you're secretly so proud of yourself for being there, ready with all of the nonjudgmental comfort, having thought ahead of his needs. He doesn't think of his needs and has effectively pushed away everyone who attempts to take care of him. But it's literally your job. As a professional, he respects people who work hard, and he needs to realize on some level that he is preventing you from doing your job. Tonight, he has no strength to deny his physiological needs. We can work on the emotional ones later.   

"Hongjoong," you gently call his name, and he startles from whatever inner world his thoughts are inhabiting. He looks up at you through his dripping bangs, which hang in strings across his face.  You can't tell if his eyes are wet with tears or rainwater, but this wouldn't be the first time you saw him softly crying in frustration. His perfectionism was painful at times. You notice the apples of his sharp cheeks are flushed red with emotion or cold. Probably both. He looks up at you, stricken as though slapped, and you suddenly regret invading his reverie.  You wish you had just left the items on the counter anonymously, but quickly remember that you knew he'd never bother to stop by the kitchen at this hour. Honestly, it was a miracle how this man's body remained alive with how much he seemed to disregard its needs.  You chuckle silently to yourself, wondering what was in those vitamins they gave him. They must be magic because he probably owes his continued existence to their nourishment alone. A quick bolt of adrenaline reminds you that you still have his full attention as he stands there, dripping on the floor.

You quickly shift the tiny smirk that formed as a result of your morbid inside joke into a tender smile as you look around for anything to offer him to dry himself. You set down the hot cup of tea on the end table, hold up a finger indicating that you will be right back, and dash to the kitchen to grab the nearest dry towel.  You run back to him, practically tossing it at his chest. He catches it gratefully and throws the towel over his head, vigorously rubbing his sopping hair back and forth with both hands in the practiced manner of a man who lives most of his life in a hurry to get on to more important things than self-care. You pick up the mug of tea on the side table and gesture him to go toward the sofa where the pastries are just visible on the coffee table beyond. He appears hesitant but seems to lack the energy to politely decline, so he slips into his house slippers and moves to sit on the couch. As he lowers to sit, he gets about halfway down before he grimaces and shudders and drops the remaining distance, his thighs apparently lacking the strength to lower him the rest of the way. He accepts the steaming mug with a slightly embarrassed smile and sighs as he begins to warm his pale hands on its sides.

You reach out for the kitchen towel you realize he still has draped across his shoulders and replace it with a soft fleece blanket from the back of the couch. He doesn't move but sighs lightly, his head drooping over the steamy mug before taking a small sip. You stand there quietly, wanting to ensure that he also eats something, but not wanting to be intrusive. As you weigh your options, you hear his shuddering breath echo off the rim of the mug and realize with alarm that he is shaking from head to foot. All sense of decorum leaves your body, and you move silently and smoothly toward him. You keep your moves fluid and within his eye line so as not to alarm him, as you would approach a lost pet on the street. He doesn't move away as you remove the blanket and reach down to tug the hem of his soaked shirt gently upward. He raises his arms instinctually, like a small child, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head. You can see the goosebumps erupting over his entire torso and the painful hardness of his nipples, which are erect from the lack of warmth.  

You look at him with a grim, apologetic smile and reach down to tug at his waistband. As you predict, his pants, too, are completely soaked through. He moans slightly and reaches down to unfasten his belt before lightly raising his backside from the couch. You understand right away that he needs your help to remove the sopping pants, so you gingerly reach down and tug the waistband down over his ass while averting your gaze to the back of the couch behind him. He falls back down again, nearly spilling his hot tea, and you both gasp as you realize what a close call he’s just had, sitting there in his boxers with nearly boiling water precariously held above his lap. Your eyes meet, and you share a nervous chuckle as you crouch down in front of him to determine if his socks are in the same sorry state as his jeans. You recall, unpleasantly, all of the times your long jeans became wet with rainwater and then soaked through your shoes and socks as you walked home from school. You are unsurprised to find you are correct in noting that his feet are also quite wet, and you peel his socks away, trying desperately to suppress a giggle as he jumps from the ticklish touch of your hands on his sensitive feet.

You make sure he is fully covered by the fleece blanket and give him a quick, reassuring smile as you gather all of his wet things and dash to the laundry room. You run to his room as swiftly and silently as you can manage and rip the comforter from his bed. It appears he hasn’t slept in it for a while, as it is still perfectly made, and you don’t remember making it in the last couple of days. You shake your head in annoyance before running back to the laundry room and throwing the comforter in the dryer to heat it up. When it is running steadily, and you are confident that the settings are correct, you go back to the couch to see Hongjoong sitting still with his head sleepily off to the side, the tea still held precariously over his lap, but he looks like he is nearly asleep. You note the off-color of his lips, and a jolt of panic spreads through your body. He may actually have hypothermia. You call his name, but he only stirs slightly and murmurs something unintelligible.  

One thing that can be said about you is that you are good in a crisis. Without any further thought, you begin to strip off your clothing down to your sports bra and boxers. You thank your lucky stars that you’re feeling confident in your underwear today, but you want to punch yourself as soon as you think it because your absolute favorite human on this planet is sitting in front of you, possibly freezing to death, and you’re worried about whether you’re wearing sexy underwear or not. You drop down beside him and cautiously take the tea out of his hands before lifting the blanket away and sliding up next to him. He gasps slightly as the cold air hits him when the blanket is lifted, but you gently push him to lie down across the couch, and you wrap yourself around him, pressing his face down toward your ample bosom, where you know the warmth will caress his tepid skin. You press your body against his and wrap your thighs over his hips. He doesn’t say anything, but he seems to press himself closer to your warmth, so you make sure the blanket is completely covering you both and begin slowly running your warm hands up and down his back while you press his arms around you. You can feel him shifting against you to press more of the coldest areas of his body to the places he finds on your body to be warmest. You gasp slightly when an icy foot hits your calf, but you press your leg over his to further encourage the transfer of warmth. You find yourself instinctively flexing the large muscles like your thighs and ass to increase blood flow and hopefully exchange the coolness you pull from his skin for the warmth you possess in your body.  

He moans and shifts slightly, pressing his cheek firmly into your breasts and you have to suppress a nervous giggle. If this weren’t so terrifying, it would be absolutely humiliating. You sincerely hope he isn’t horrified when he becomes alert enough to fully appraise the situation the two of you are in. You’re also grateful that there is no chance of the rest of the boys catching sight of this, and you slightly question your decision to become a human blanket rather than calling for emergency services or someone else’s aid. 

But you think back to how the situation has unfolded and realize there was no initial indicator of major distress, just a gut feeling and a lack of time or options to pursue any other reasonable course of action. You also recall how dismissive Hongjoong can be of any amount of excessive fuss over his well-being, so you send up a silent prayer to no one in particular that he will agree with your split-second decision. You continue to hold him to you and rub your hands along his back and thighs until the temperature difference does not feel as startling to you. You reach to pull his arms from your waist and fold them inward between the two of you so that you can check the temperature of his fingers. Unsurprisingly, they are terribly cold, so you gently slide both of his hands together and under the band of your sports bra. If there’s one benefit to having large, slightly sagging breasts, it’s the quantity of items you can hide underneath them. You chuckle to yourself and think this definitely beats the “hold a pencil under your tit” test that once took the internet by storm. He sighs contentedly as your warm flesh begins to increase the temperature of his nearly frozen fingers. You can’t help but look down at him and kiss his forehead, which sends a wave of warmth through your whole body.

Holy shit, you love this man.

You already know you would probably take a bullet for him, so the potential humiliation of him reacting poorly to the fact that you’ve just held him against your nearly naked body for the past twenty minutes is a risk you’re willing to take. You certainly aren’t taking advantage of the situation, and you begin to think that the comforter is probably warm enough in the dryer for you to safely try and move him to his bed.  

You can’t resist planting another tender kiss on his forehead, and he sighs lightly in response. Seeing that he’s reacting more to outside stimuli, you whisper, “Jjoongie? We need to move you to your bed.” “Mmhmm,” he murmurs, acknowledging your words but not moving. You rub his shoulders and back vigorously and work down over his ass and thighs, rubbing and shaking him before repeating a little more urgently, “Jjoongie? Let’s get you to your bed. I have a warm blanket ready for you.” He peers up at you with one eye open, blinks a couple of times, and shakes his head a little. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t appear shocked or dismayed to find himself nearly naked and wrapped up and held against your barely clothed body. You seize the opportunity at this sudden alertness and roll yourself away from him. His hands flop free from the band of your sports bra, and he whines slightly as the cold air brushes over him again.

You quickly reach down and start pushing your arm under him to support his shoulders, and he rolls his legs over the edge of the couch, shifting his weight to prepare to stand up. You feel relief wash over you as you see that a rosy tint has returned to his beautiful lips, and you stare just half a second longer than you should in appreciation and gratitude for that little change of color. Your attention snaps back to the task at hand, and you swiftly pull him up and wrap his arm over your shoulders, dragging the fleece blanket behind the two of you because it still contains a hint of warmth that he will need while you retrieve his comforter from the dryer.   

He is looking much more coherent, but still exhausted, as the two of you teeter and sway your way down the hallway to his bedroom at the end. He chuckles a little and mutters something as his teeth continue to chatter slightly due to the cold and fatigue. You manage to get him to his bed and pull the covers back before he falls on top of them, and as you tuck the sheets and blankets around him, he reaches out for you without opening his eyes but clapping his fingers against his palm, indicating that he wants you to stay with him.  

Holy shit.  

You curse under your breath and tell him calmly that you need to go get the comforter and his tea, and you’ll be right back. He smacks his lips happily and snuggles onto his pillow while nodding in acknowledgment. When you return with the warmed comforter and half-cooled mug of tea, you expect to find him completely asleep. But he rolls back at the sound of your presence and lifts the sheets up to indicate that he wants you to get under and snuggle with him again. 

 Fuck me.  

You think to yourself in amazement and carefully spread the comforter over top of him without flapping it too much in the air, not wanting to lose any of the acquired warmth. You then reach down to lift it just enough to slide yourself into the sheets where he is patiently waiting for you, and he lets loose a deep moan against the nape of your neck that makes the tiny hairs there stand at attention and sends shivers down your spine.  

You press back against him, letting him be the bigger spoon, as he has indicated, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his knees behind yours, and slides his hands back under your arms into the sweet spot between your generous breasts. You feel fireworks exploding behind your eyeballs and wonder if you might just actually die out of sensory overload, but his breathing becomes steady and soft on your neck and helps to ground you that this is, in fact, actually happening, and you are completely down for it.   

His gentle breathing and contented murmurs lull you both off to sleep, and it isn’t until the room is fully illuminated by sunlight that you begin to awaken, and the reality of your situation hits you like a truck. Adrenaline shoots through you as you mentally catalog any items that may have been left out last night. If there were any outward signs of what took place, that would lead inquisitive members to Hongjoong’s door to investigate. But you’d thrown his wet clothes into the laundry room, the fleece blanket is here on the floor of his bedroom, and the tea items might be out in the kitchen, but oh well. No one will fault you for that, as anyone could have had a late-night cup of tea and failed to put the items away. You relax a bit into his arms before sudden lightning strikes through your brain again. 

Your clothes. 

You took them off in a hurry to wrap your body around Hongjoong’s freezing form. You hadn’t given it a second thought, and you’re now nearly ninety-nine percent sure that your sweatpants, hoodie, and tank top are scattered somewhere haphazardly across the living room, along with your trademark skeleton socks that no one will mistake as belonging to anyone else. Your breath catches in your throat as you try desperately to hatch a plan. You have no idea what time it is or what time any of the others are expected to return, but you figure the best and possibly only course of action is to quickly dash back out there, grab your things, and hope to gods that no one else is home yet.  

You disentangle yourself from Jjoongie’s hold, causing him to murmur in his sleep and roll onto his stomach, pressing his pelvis to the mattress and his knee up into the warm spot you are leaving behind. You grab the fleece blanket from last night off the floor and wrap it around yourself, taking a quick glance in the mirror on his closet door before rolling your eyes and ignoring your crazy mop of hair that only partially remains in yesterday’s ponytail. Time is of the essence; you don’t have time for vanity, as this situation is far too fucked for that now.  

Silently, you open his door and listen down the hallway for any sign of stirring. You hear nothing so you hope that it is as early as it feels, and you dash swiftly down the hall on tiptoe, with the fleece blanket billowing behind you like a cape. You slow as you round the corner to the living room, ensuring that the blanket returns to cover as much of your exposed skin as possible and hold your breath as you turn to enter the room. An audible gasp escapes your throat as you see Seonghwa sitting there on the couch, in the exact place where only hours ago, you had enfolded his freezing captain against your nearly nude body in an effort to… what? To save his actual life? That felt a tad dramatic, but yeah. That’s what you thought was necessary at the time, so yes. You steel yourself as your gasp has now alerted him to your presence and he looks up from the book he was reading in the soft light filtering in through the curtains.  Your heart stops in your chest, and you figure Fuck it, as you reach around the corner of the couch, holding the blanket tightly around you, and attempt to pick up your discarded items. But they aren’t where you left them, which you were sure was right at the edge of the couch. Seonghwa quirks a single eyebrow at you, the rest of his face remaining expressionless, as he points the spine of his open book toward the edge of the coffee table where your clothing is neatly folded and stacked. You manage to squeak out a whispered “Thank you” while you grab the pile and dash out of the room. As you hurry silently back down the hallway, cheeks radiating with embarrassment and eyes fighting back tears, you could swear you hear a deep chuckle coming from Seonghwa on the couch. 

You slip silently back into Hongjoong’s room and seriously consider just putting your clothes on, leaving the dorm, and wandering all the way across Korea till you reach the ocean, where you keep walking until it swallows you whole. You stand at the edge of his bed, looking blankly at the clothing in your hands as you contemplate the actual risks of dying of humiliation when a familiar, tousled head of brown hair peeks out from the top of the comforter, and two smiling eyes peer at you with a slight twinkle. “Mmmm. Good morning.” He hums as you see his body shimmy back deeper under the covers. You realize with sincere regret that you dropped the fleece blanket upon reentering the room, and you feel the flush in your cheeks blaze to a dangerous shade of red as you stand there in your underwear. You can’t seem to respond and instead just stare back at him in shock when he chuckles slightly and again, lifts the edge of the blankets, and waves for you to rejoin him under the covers. At this point, you don’t see how any of this could get weirder, so you go ahead and crawl in with him, attempting to turn away into last night’s ‘little spoon’ position. But he grabs you around your waist and pulls your body straight in, facing him, gently pressing you down so that he can rest his chin atop your head and wrap his leg over your hip. His other arm wraps under you to support your neck and encircles your shoulders. He sighs contentedly and quietly says, “Thank you.” Without looking at you. “For last night.” He continues into your hair. “I really messed up.” And your heart sinks because you worry that he is going to launch into some sort of talk about how this can never happen again and never be spoken of, and you cringe at the thought that you’ll probably have to admit to him that Seonghwa may have some knowledge of the, ehm, incident. But you also wonder, with a flash of irritation, if he’s about to start that conversation, why is he doing it with his whole entire body wrapped around yours and not a shred more clothing on either of you than last night?

And holy shit, is that morning wood??

Your breath catches in your throat, and electricity shoots up from your pelvis as you swear you are now being pressed against something extremely firm and, uh, lightly twitching. As if on cue, he shifts his hips slightly, and you are now completely certain that you are VIP barricade for Hongjoong’s most intimate performance. You realize you’re still holding your breath, so you desperately try to respond. All you can think to say is, “How are you feeling now?” He shimmies his hips again slightly and hums, “Pretty good.” Without opening his eyes, so you continue, wondering what the hell conversation is even happening right now. “You really scared me last night.” He straightens slightly and looks down at you with a pouty little frown, “I know. I’m sorry.” You look up at him with eyes that must be huge, and he gains a little more seriousness to his tone. “Thank you for helping me. And for not, well, for not making a big deal out of it. You were perfect.” He looks into your eyes to ensure that you have understood his message before sighing deeply again and returning his chin to the top of your head. He murmurs, “I am so lucky it was you.” You lay there, unable to move or think, with all of the conflicting emotions and physical sensations. While you are extremely glad that he seems to be able to recall all of what went down last night, so you won’t have to awkwardly retell the whole story to him, you can’t help but be conflicted by the entire thing. You try desperately to think of what to say next, and you almost burst out laughing when the only thing your addled brain can scream is,

“ KIM HONGJOONG, WHAT ARE WE?!”    

So, you hesitantly repeat, “But you feel good now?” more as a statement than a question, and experimentally shimmy your hips briefly against his. “Mmmm.” He responds with more of a moan than an agreement, and you suppress a gasp as he presses his hard cock against you with more obvious intensity than before. The pressure sets off lightening behind your eyelids again, and you can’t help but let a small moan escape your lips as you brush them against his throat and very lightly press your hips back against him, holding the pressure steady for several long seconds before relaxing slightly away from him. Hongjoong moans again and shifts his body to look down at your face. He reaches a hand to brush back a stray lock of hair that has escaped from your ponytail and then leans down to kiss the place he has just cleared it from. “You are so precious.” He mumbles sweetly into your hair. You tilt your face up to meet his, and neither of you hesitates from connecting your lips into a tender kiss. The soft pressure of his lips against yours is the perfect amount; this is the reverent type of loving kiss that would make you cry tears of joy if your brain wasn’t running the What the FUCK? reel on repeat with increasing speed. The perfect kiss is contrasted dramatically by the involuntary movement of his hips as his incredibly hard morning erection grinds into your pelvis in search of refuge. You wonder how much sound travels through the dorms and suddenly flash back to your awkward encounter with Seonghwa this morning. You regretfully pull yourself gently away from his kiss. 

“Hwa’s up.” You say simply, unable to figure out a more delicate way to broach the subject. Hongjoong’s eyes fly open as he jerks his head up and searches your face for any sign of humor or teasing, but seeing your deadpan expression, he practically falls off the side of the bed as he rolls out in panic. You prop yourself up on your elbow and let out a small chuckle at the insanity of the situation. He places a hand over his hardness out of modesty or, more likely, discomfort and stares around the room, trying to figure out what to do next. “I forgot my clothes out there, so I snuck out to get them. But he was out there reading.” You gesture to the pile of folded clothes at the end of his bed and watch as his eyes widen in realization. His shoulders droop as he knows that his secret is severely compromised at this point. He sits down on the edge of the bed, facing slightly away from you, and rubs his forehead with his free hand, the other hand still guarding his massive erection. You feel a rush of sympathy for him, and you sadly know from experience that there have been plenty of people who found your body type arousing but faced harsh criticism from superficial others who preferred the more conventional models of physical attractiveness. Several people enjoyed having you, but wanted to keep it as their own little secret. Needless to say, those “relationships” had a very rapid expiration. You can’t help but assume that in the world of K-pop idols, being a chubby chaser was probably treated as a shameful kink. You don’t dare to think that he might just like you as a person and find you attractive as a natural side effect. 

You don’t know what to say but you desperately want to assure Hongjoong that he’s done nothing wrong, and you don’t have any expectations on him based on what happened last night. He continues to absently thumb his eyes, so you quietly shift to begin putting your clothing back on. “It’s okay, Hongjoong. You can tell him whatever you want. Or nothing at all. You can blame me for being improper, and I’ll pack my things. I don’t want to cause problems or embarrassment. I don’t expect anything from you.” As you stumble and attempt to get your leg into your joggers, he looks up at you, his expression pained. “What? No. That’s not… I just…” he shakes his head as if to clear away the cobwebs, and he turns his body to face you. “It’s my fault. I put you in a bad position, and you had no choice. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there, and I’m sorry I did that to you. I should have been more careful.” He looks up at you, looking close to tears. “I’m so sorry. I am ashamed that I took advantage of you, and you have every right to report me to the company. I have wanted to be close to you for a long time, but I’m a coward. I took advantage of the situation when you were just trying to help me.”

You stand there, frozen in shock at his words. His interpretation of the situation, while not entirely incorrect, is the furthest from what you expected him to conclude, much less say aloud. “Jjoongie…” you move around the bed and sit on the edge near him, reaching out to clasp his hand. He fights his shame to meet your gaze. “I’m okay if you’re okay. I’m so glad I was here to help, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. But honestly, if you want to cuddle, you don’t have to damn near freeze yourself to death. Just ask me, okay?” You smile at him warmly, and he chuckles sheepishly at the joke. You continue when you see his relieved smile, “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen, but I have to admit that I like being close to you, so if that is something you want, please tell me.” Your heart skips a beat at the thought of being close to him again at a time when you both are fully conscious and desire it. He hesitates slightly, “It’s not your job…” but you stop him by leaning toward him and bumping his shoulder with yours. “Maybe it is. My job is to look after your basic needs. Sometimes we all need touch.” You say with a wink, but he’s so overwhelmed that he misses the reference entirely, so you continue, “Consider me your 'emotional support human'. And whatever happens after that, well, we’re adults. So… yeah. We’ll just talk about it, okay?” His shoulders visibly relax, and he looks up at you with what you can only dream is gratitude and respect. “Okay.” He breathes.  

With that, you turn to finish dressing so that you can slip out before any other members come home. Hongjoong can deal with Seonghwa however he deems appropriate. You know damn well that he isn’t going to want to admit to his best friend that he nearly gave himself hypothermia last night, being neglectful of his own safety and well-being. But he’ll have to figure out how to have that conversation without your assistance. It’s not really any of your business anyway. You finish dressing, walk back to him, still sitting contemplatively on the edge of his bed, and place a long, tender kiss on his forehead before smiling softly at him and slipping from the room. 

Chapter Text

After the storm, you slip back upstairs to head toward your room. You quickly thumb through your phone to look at the boys’ schedule for today and look ahead to the upcoming orders you need to place for next week’s menus. As the elevator doors open, you feel a crisp breeze and notice the distinct smell of petrichor drifting through an open window nearby. You think to yourself that you, too, will open your window to let some of that fresh rain smell into your room. When you look up from your phone, you are shocked to see that your room is literally gone. It’s destroyed. Your mouth falls open when you realize you are looking directly up into the sky through where the ceiling used to be, and emergency personnel are picking through layers of roof, rubble, and tree limbs as they work to unearth your room as you last left it.  

As you step out of the elevator, a young woman you recognize as an intern runs past you and throws up in the corner by the door to the emergency stairs. You look away to give her privacy and walk up to Nam Timjangnim, who is standing there outside your open bedroom door, looking stoic. She holds her company phone in her hand limply, like she was about to use it, before becoming lost in the visual drama unfolding in front of her. You move to stand next to her, and your shoulder brushes against hers. She glances over at you casually before suddenly leaping back from you, covering her mouth with her hand and screaming words you wouldn’t be able to understand even if they weren’t coming out in a continuous rush. She points with her other hand at you and looks, bewildered, to the emergency response team whose attention she has now completely captured. Her face is ashen, and small tears form at the corners of her eyes while she continues to yell and gesture wildly at you, looking horrified.  You take a small step and reach toward her, instinctively, wanting to comfort her, but you hesitate because her screaming has begun to soften into incoherent wailing, and she looks like she is going to fall to her knees. Everything is happening so fast that you are struggling to understand why she seems afraid of you, looking as though she has seen a ghost. You don't want her to fall, so you rush forward and gently grasp her shoulders, speaking in as calm a voice as you can manage, "It's okay. What's going on? Are you okay?"   

The sudden sound of your voice renders her silent and she gazes at your face in wide-eyed astonishment. Something seems to shift behind her eyes, and her vision snaps into her usual laser focus. She draws a prolonged gasp of air before letting out a high-pitched whine, and her face breaks into an uncharacteristically huge smile. You barely have a moment to register her strange change of behavior before she is crushing you in a huge hug and screaming with laughter that hurts your eardrum and makes you want to cry out of pain and confusion. The emergency personnel who have stopped to stare at your tearful, unexpected reunion with Nam Timjangnim, and you pry yourself from her embrace to look back at them, the lack of building where your room used to be, and then back toward her tear-streaked beaming face. She, too, turns to look at the workers before shouting something in Korean, the volume again making you cringe in pain and mourn the loss of your hearing in that ear. The mood in the cordoned-off area becomes significantly less somber as a man who looks rather official, wearing full firefighting gear and a hard hat, steps forward to speak with her. He looks at you with anticipation and then turns to ask Nam Timjangnim several questions you don’t understand. You’re distracted by the fact that the ceiling of your room is now ninety percent sky, and there is water everywhere, pooled, puddled, and dripping from the tattered edges of the walls. The man claps a giant, gloved hand on your shoulder with a broad smile and turns to shout something back to his crew. They all yell in surprise and sound happy, and they seem to have renewed energy as they sort through the debris. Nam Timjangnim, seeing your attention is elsewhere, seizes you again in a spine-crushing hug and you can only stare on at your room as all of the air in your lungs rushes out in a surprised wheeze. 
 
Nam Timjangnim eventually leaves to go to work for Xikers for the day; you forget to even ask her why she was there at your place because the chaos has obviously obliterated your train of thought. You sit in the entryway across from what used to be your room, loading your belongings into some tote boxes brought to you by staff. You are devastated that your Le Cordon Bleu book didn’t survive but you place it carefully into a tote and look to see what else is damaged. Your laundry will have to be rewashed, but it appears mostly okay. While you pile up the sadly destroyed cookbooks and sketchbooks, your laptop, and your favorite lamp, the elevator opens, and a manager emerges with Hongjoong, and they are speaking rapidly in Korean. They both fall silent and look up in surprise to see you sitting there on a box on the wet floor amidst the soggy remains of your possessions. A look of alarm on Hongjoong’s face is replaced immediately by relief and then controlled into calm concern as he realizes the truth of the situation.

You share an undetectable momentary meaningful look with Hongjoong and stand to glance into your room with him as he moves closer to inspect the damage. You both shudder when you see the gnarled tree limb that landed across your bed, effectively cutting it in half, and would have snuffed out your life had you been in your bed last night. You exchange a nervous glance with each other and catch the manager watching you, and he seems to have noticed this subtle interaction. Mercifully, no one seems to want to know why you weren't in your bed or why you didn't report the damage as soon as it happened. You figure all of the upper management are just glad they don't have to deal with the workplace death of an international employee and won’t have to figure out how many boxes they'll need to ship your corpse back home to your devastated mother. The manager says something else to Hongjoong and returns to the elevator.  Hongjoong turns on his heel to follow, reaching out a hand behind him to give you a tiny pat on your hip before jogging gingerly across the rain-slicked floor to join the manager in the elevator. He gives you a long look as you watch the elevator door close in front of him.   

The day continues with you receiving soggy piles of items from the crew dispatched to deal with the aftermath of the storm. You aren’t allowed to set foot into your room due to the inherent danger of falling from the building now that you have such an open view. You sort through things that are dry, those that are wet, and those that are destroyed. After your salvageable belongings are wheeled away on a hand truck by one of the building maintenance employees, the manager returns to inform you that your items will be stored on the third floor until it is determined later today where you will be moved. Your heart sinks, and he quickly adds that your damaged items will be submitted to insurance for replacement and that access to the third floor has been added to your badge in case you need to get any items before the meeting this afternoon that will decide where you stay from now on. You shudder a little to think that there will be a whole management meeting about your situation, but you also realize that a sizable chunk is missing from the company’s building, and the weather continues to turn seasonably inhospitable to that degree of open floor plan.   

You thank him and turn to pick up the single tote you have refused to part with since you cleared out some of your things and head down to the kitchen, which now feels like the only space that somewhat belongs to you. You are relieved to find the dorm is quiet, and you head in to get a better look at the contents of the tote. Seeing the waterlogged Le Cordon Bleu cookbook again, your heart stalls, and your body springs into action.  

You desperately try to rescue your precious cookbook by spreading it on the kitchen countertops to dry, removing soaked pages to dry separately, and tucking paper towels between other pages to prevent them from sticking together as they dry. Suddenly, a faded photograph falls from the back pages of the appendix, eliciting a cry of despair from your throat as you recognize it and notice the dampness now blurring the edges of the aged photo. You know every inch of the worn photograph by heart. It's a picture of your dad from his youth: he wears a huge goofy grin and a brand-new chef coat where you can just barely see his name embroidered on the chest, opposite the breast pocket as he brandishes a gigantic chef's knife and folds his arms bravely across his chest. He is standing in front of the entrance to the modest culinary school he attended in San Francisco, but it was always his dream to go to Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. He never made it there because he fell so quickly into his success in the local scene, becoming a head chef by 26, and moving to your hometown when he met your mom, and they decided to start a family.   

You and he talked about the prestige of Le Cordon Bleu, and you always suspected it was his ultimate dream for you to attend there and then come work by his side. But he never pressured you. He was always careful to encourage you to explore your natural passion for feeding people and creating the temporary, edible art that good cuisine embodies. You know it made him burst with pride as you grew in knowledge and skills. He loved featuring your ideas on the fresh sheet menus when you were quite young, and the restaurants loyal patrons always got a kick out of it when he sent you out of the kitchen to present your creations.   

You look down at the photograph that you had nearly forgotten, tucked away safely into the pages of a book you clearly never intended to reopen, and you are suddenly struck by a wave of grief so strong that it feels like it is a fist reaching in under your sternum and crushing your lungs in a twisting, vice-like grip. Another involuntary cry of pain is released from your lips, and as it breaks free, it brings with it the wall of tears you've been precariously balancing on the edge of your lower lids. As the tears fall freely down the newly created spillway down your cheeks, you cover your mouth to stifle a sob. Your body quivers and you fall forward into the counter, the pain from the new bruise rapidly forming in real-time on your hip barely registers around the clenching pain still surrounding your heart and lungs.   

As you lean into the counter and attempt to gasp for air, no longer able to glimpse the photo of your dad in his heyday, full of passion, optimism, and drive, you hear a slight shuffle behind you and start to turn only to back straight into Hongjoong who has slipped into the kitchen behind you. He reaches up to gently take the tattered photograph from your shaking fingers, as much to catch a glimpse of it as to prevent it from further water damage from the torrent of tears now falling from your hand that is pressed desperately to your mouth to prevent the sounds of absolute heart-wrenching grief from escaping.   

You gasp softly as he holds the picture but keeps his arm around you, and then he reaches his other arm around to enfold you, gently applying pressure to one side to get you to turn toward him. You welcome the darkness and privacy of burying your face into his chest and a few sobs manage to break free of your efforts to stifle them.  A rough hiccup follows and the bizarre sound of it distracts you and brings you back to yourself enough to feel a little embarrassed. He chuckles softly at your weak, self-conscious laugh. He holds you there for what seems like forever. Hongjoong remains silent with his arms firm and reassuring as your body begins to regain control and your shaking ceases. As you start to come back to yourself, he begins lightly rubbing your shoulders and humming a soothing melody you don't recognize as you sniffle and turn back to look at the countertop, now strewn with the damaged fragments of your deepest buried, most painful, but most formative memories. Even you had denied yourself the truth.  You are beginning to recognize just how much your dad's life has led you to become every atom of the person you are today.   

Hongjoong seems like he wants to say something to you, but seeing the faraway look in your eyes, he stands and waits for you to return to him. When you finally take a deep, shuddering breath and look up at him, he reaches down to tenderly wipe one renegade tear from your cheek before he asks gently, “Is this your dad?" You nod, feeling the tears threatening to rise again. Seeing this, he pulls you back into him.  "I would love to know more about him if you would like to tell me," Hongjoong says softly into your hair. You nod and look up at him, so he steps back to guide you toward his room after he takes another quick look back across the counters to fully appreciate the aftermath. He takes you gently by your fingertips and leads you down the hallway to his bedroom, where you notice his bed appears hastily made. This time, he doesn't close the door but instead sits you on the end of the bed and seats himself an arm's length away with one foot balanced on the floor. It seems like a chivalrous, if not misguided, attempt at protecting your virtue, and you suffocate the tiny smirk that attempts to cross from your thoughts into a visible expression.  

He watches you tenderly and glances back to the picture he still holds in his hand. "I can ask the managers to find someone who may be able to restore the picture." He says hesitantly. You realize he has no idea what the significance is of the photo so he's treading carefully because he is unsure what he's walking into. You have never really spoken about your dad, so you take a deep breath and start filling in all of the details, starting with his untimely passing before circling back to the photograph, his brilliant career, his storybook relationship with your mom, and how your childhood was ultimately shaped by his larger-than-life passion. With a tinge of shame, you then are forced to admit that, since his death, you've denied that part of yourself. You stop short of verbalizing the sudden realization that this avoidant grief has likely stunted your growth in your own relationships and career.   

Hongjoong remains thoughtfully silent as you talk, gently tracing the outline of your fingers on the bedspread and giving you just enough eye contact to feel his attention without feeling intrusive. When you've finished the story, he tuts and sighs compassionately before shaking his head lightly and saying, "Wow. I never would have guessed that you were carrying all that on your shoulders." His reaction takes you aback as it is so different from the usual response of sad looks and "I'm so sorry!" responses that you are accustomed to and frankly seek to avoid. You smile at him because you know it shouldn't surprise you that this response is poetic and somehow reflects his strong sense of duty. You can't help thinking that his reaction is also how you'd expect Seonghwa to react, and you know why they are best friends. You suddenly wish you'd shared all of that with Hwa at the same time because you want him to know, to fully see you as a person, and because you really don't want to have to repeat it all out loud again so soon.  

A voice you recognize as Seonghwa’s calls down the hall to Hongjoong. You quickly turn to him and ask him to tell Hwa what you have just told him because you want him to know. He nods in agreement and then says, as he gets up to leave, with an apologetic look on his face, “I will. I’m sorry; they’re calling a team meeting, so I have to go. I will come back as soon as I can.” He holds onto your hand a little longer than he needs to before turning and walking swiftly down the hall to join the rest of the group. There is a rapid bustling and then deafening silence as you realize they have left in the elevators, and you are once again completely alone. You grab your earbuds and jam them in to stop your thoughts as the acoustic version of ‘Still Here’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist.  

After what seems like ages, the boys return. San, Yunho, Mingi, and Yeosang stop as they pass the kitchen to hug you. You can’t hide the shocked look on your face but accept their efforts to comfort you as yet one more twist in what may well be the weirdest twenty-four hours of your life. Jongho smiles somberly at you and pats you on the shoulder before retreating to his room. Wooyoung is nowhere to be seen, and Seonghwa and Hongjoong come and ask you to speak with them in the living room.   

Hongjoong sits himself across from you on the coffee table while Seonghwa sits beside you and gently strokes the back of your hand that he has reached out to clasp in his lap. You wonder, briefly, if Hongjoong has had a chance to tell him about your dad yet, but you sincerely doubt it with all of the other commotion going on.   

Hongjoong begins to relay the details of the emergency team meeting they have just held at KQ with all of ATEEZ and their managers, plus some of the upper executives. Seonghwa nods along and occasionally contributes small details to the story. The two of them relay to you that due to the recent influx of new employees, interns, and tour management for the upcoming tour, there are no spare rooms available on the fourth floor. The company has approached the boys to determine whether it would be best to move you to a room in another building or put you in a single extra room on their floor. Seonghwa looks intently at Hongjoong throughout the discussion, but Hongjoong pointedly avoids his gaze.   

Ignoring Seonghwa’s stare, Hongjoong explains that they are unsure how much damage there is to the building, but they believe it will be contained to one room, and they can seal off the area to avoid any further damage to the third floor until the roof can be repaired. The boys had apparently discussed the unknown amount of time the repairs might take, debated whether it would be appropriate to have you living in such close proximity with them, and discussed the reality of the situation in consideration of the upcoming tour dates when they will not be home anyway. Seonghwa adds, with a twinkle in his eye, that everyone had looked at Yeosang with amusement because it's more well-known than he thinks that he is basically a nudist around the dorm once staff leaves.  

Hongjoong laughs, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if to clear an intrusive thought before he continues. He lets you know that everyone agreed unanimously to move you into the room on the second floor, and Seonghwa starts to interrupt him, but he is silenced by a glance from Hongjoong, who clearly wants to keep control of the tone of this conversation. Seonghwa visibly bites his lip and allows Hongjoong to pat you on the knee and let you know that they can call maintenance to bring in your things as soon as you’re ready.   

You look between the two of them, their faces kind and hopeful, and thank them for everything that they have done to help you. Seonghwa stands and pulls you up by your hand before saying that you will need to do some decorating, but it should be clean, as it is only used as a guest room occasionally. The room is one you’ve barely entered after seeing that it wasn’t being used, but you are familiar with it. It is next to the laundry room, which is fine because you are the one in control of when the laundry is run, so it won’t bother you at all.  You make a mental note to change the sheets and wash the comforter, just in case, but you put off doing this in front of the boys because you don’t want to hurt their feelings. Hongjoong peeks in at the bare room before unconsciously glancing across the hall to the door of his own room. Both you and Seonghwa share a meaningful look at this but say nothing. Hongjoong steps back and offers to call maintenance, and you accept his gracious offer and watch absentmindedly as he trots off down the hall. Seonghwa walks you into your new room and sits on your bed, watching intently. You are now the one dodging his gaze, but he clears his throat nervously, causing you to look back at him, and he looks hesitant again. You suddenly recall the portion of the conversation when he appeared to want to say something but was silenced by Hongjoong. You turn to face him and ask, “What is it? You look like something is on your mind.” He fumbles a bit, staring at his hands, but finally says that he thought you should know that when they talked about moving you in with them, all of the members but Wooyoung had enthusiastically agreed to have you there. It is their team agreement to always have a unanimous decision, and they will debate things until they can come to an agreement. Apparently, Wooyoung had eventually caved under the pressure, but he is probably still mad. You notice that Seonghwa doesn’t share the details, if any were given, behind Wooyoung’s dissenting opinion, but you are much too raw from the emotional toll of the day that you can’t bear to ask.   

Seonghwa looks so apologetic at the recollection that you throw your arms around his elegant neck and hug him tight, thanking him for being his wonderful starry self before you release him, chuckling, and ask if he will help you do some online shopping later to find some better decor for the very sparse room. His eyes light up, and he pokes his tongue between his lips thoughtfully before saying, “Yes! You will need a lot of shelves for my Legos.” You laugh and smack him in the shoulder, and the two of you fall back onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling in comfortable silence.   

Wooyoung doesn’t return until much later in the evening when you are working to clear up the dinner dishes so that you can join Jongho and Seonghwa on the couch for some much-needed relaxation and mindless TV time. Your phone is sitting out on the counter because you’ve just spoken with Jongho about which show the three of you will watch. The two of you are getting really comfortable using the app now, chatting away into the mic and letting it translate to each other.   

Wooyoung comes straight from the elevator to the kitchen, looking like he has just spent the last two hours on a treadmill, and as soon as you see him, you step back out of his way. You don’t bother offering to reheat him dinner as you know all too well that he will decline if he responds at all. San hurries in behind him with a look of concern and quickly tries to move himself into the space between you and Wooyoung. When Wooyoung’s rapid, darting movements make it impossible for San to find a gap; you continue working to clean the counters, trying to take up as little space as you can at the end of the long galley kitchen. Wooyoung makes a sharp comment and gives you a long look up and down with an eyebrow raised in disgust. A look of horror crosses San’s stunning features from behind Wooyoung, and he stutters in shock. You look down uncomfortably as your face ignites with embarrassment, and you suddenly see that you accidentally left the mic on in your translation app. You can’t resist hitting the [Translate] button, and you actually choke when you see the translation of what Wooyoung just said. Apparently, he was bragging that you probably want to fuck him, implying that you should be so lucky. 

Upon seeing the disgusting words translated and fully registering the meaning of the humiliating look he cast over you, your impulse control fails and—like an out-of-body experience—you turn to him without missing a beat, point your finger directly at his chest and scream at him, "I WOULD WRECK YOU!!” which makes San lose his shit laughing, but Wooyoung, either due to the language barrier or his agitated emotions, doesn't fully seem to grasp your meaning and is clearly offended by your tone. He stomps away to his room, and San quickly composes himself before walking calmly after him. You suddenly notice how San now looks quite serious and determined. San’s rapid shift in bearing gives you goosebumps, though you can’t explain why. You hear several of the guys on the couch exclaim and Jongho mutter, “Ohhhhhhh... shit!” when they all see Wooyoung rush out of the kitchen with San in pursuit. You grab your phone and quickly close out of the translation app to avoid any further awkwardness, then finish cleaning the kitchen to dash to the relative safety of your favorite spot, curled up on the couch with Seonghwa. 

About ninety minutes later, San comes back down the hallway into the living room alone, hair mussed, face flushed, stretching, and gingerly massaging his hip flexor with his fist as he walks. He smiles at you apologetically and you chuckle when you see him looking at you through his bangs and glimpse that one dimple in his sheepish grin.  Seonghwa whispers to you that Wooyoung is probably having a black dream now, and you imagine that San decided to fuck him to unconsciousness as both therapy and punishment. You steal a quick glance back at San and notice the slightly red stripes visible across his lats under his tank top before you turn back to rest your head on Seonghwa’s chest and try to stifle your nervous giggles. 

Chapter Text

You are suddenly jostled awake, and you feel yourself being gently shifted as someone murmurs softly to you. You blink hard and realize you are in the dim living room, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains, and Seonghwa is carefully slipping out from behind your head to rouse you enough that you will walk to your room to bed under your own power. He chuckles slightly at your incoherent mumbling and sudden rush to wipe your hand across your mouth, fearful you may have drooled on him in your deep sleep. He gently guides you down the hall with his hand on the small of your back, and you hesitate as you suddenly recall that you sleep here, on the second floor, now. He feels you shudder and reaches his hand up to wrap around your shoulders before kissing your temple and opening your door with his free hand. You feel suddenly awake and nervous as you have not really had the time to fully process this big change, and the implications of all of it are kind of crashing down on you at once.  

Seonghwa continues to guide you toward what is now your bed, and you realize that changing the sheets is the least of your worries. You’re exhausted, but your brain is running the stats of all of the things that come with this change of residence: bathroom use, proximity to the boys, Hongjoong directly across the hall, privacy—both yours and theirs, Tuesday K-drama nights with Su-bin... You realize you haven’t told Su-bin what happened and make a mental note to text her well in advance of her return at the end of the week. You can only imagine what a shock it would be for her to find her next-door neighbor and the entire room gone upon her return. 

Seonghwa continues to tenderly encourage you toward the bed, where he has reached down and pulled back the covers for you to get in. You decide that your fatigue will likely overpower your mental rambling as your panicked mind flickers between random thought flares and dumb silence. He pulls the covers up over you and caresses your hair tenderly before saying something you don’t understand. He straightens up a little when he hears you gasp and shudder in self-pity at the sudden realization that you don’t have your own personal pillow or any of your comforts, like pajamas, which are still in need of laundering with most of the rest of your clothes. The cold feeling of the unfamiliar bed, which is comfortable enough but not ‘yours,’ further increases the unmoored feeling growing in your chest. You desperately want something familiar in your grasp to ground you and return the feeling of safety you lost the moment you set eyes on your destroyed room. You shudder again as you curl into the fetal position. 

Seonghwa hesitates for a moment before crawling onto the bed and sliding himself up behind you, though he respectfully remains on top of the comforter as he holds you reassuringly and curves his long form around you to increase the number of points of contact and hopefully provide that grounding you so desperately need in this moment. You suddenly become aware of something hard in your pocket and reach down to pull out your phone and earbuds. You groan as you realize you have no idea what happened to your chargers, and Seonghwa lifts his head curiously to see what you are doing. It’s so dark in your room that neither of you can see effectively, so he pats your shoulder several times and reaches toward your hand so that you can feel he is waiting for you to give him whatever you just removed from your pocket. You slide the phone and earbuds case into his open palm and feel him roll back to place them on the table beside the bed. As he pulls away, you take the opportunity to lift the covers and open them further so that as he rolls back toward you, he will understand that you’re ushering him in under the warmth. The last thing you’d want is for him to be lying there in the cool air while you have more than enough body fat and body heat for the both of you. He mutters something as if in protest, but he trails off and scoots back to slide under the covers anyway.  

You shiver slightly at the cool temperature of his clothing and the bare skin of his arms as you shimmy down under the covers and press back to meet his body as he curls himself back around you once more. Grasping his arm over your exposed shoulder and tucking his hand around under your chin and down between your other shoulder and the bed, you let out a little sigh and wiggle slightly with contentment. He chuckles into your hair and says in your language, “Go to sleep.” As your breathing steadies and you begin to drift off, you’re sure you hear him gently whisper, “사랑해.” (Salanghae). “I love you too.” you barely dare to breathe the words before falling back into a dreamless sleep. 

When you wake, the room is bathed in gentle daylight coming in around the edges of the curtains. You realize you probably have a completely different view out the window than you had before, but the call of nature brings your senses to the here and now, and you figure you can be curious about your room later. As you dash to the bathroom, you wonder, morbidly, if there will be any awkward waiting or how you’ll handle sharing the bathroom with the boys. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see that the door is wide open, and no one seems to be around. It also occurs to you that Seonghwa left your room at some point in the night, but he must have slipped out so stealthily that you, in your deep slumber, did not notice. You feel a slight pang at this, as you would have wanted him to stay. But you realize it’s probably for the best as you don’t know what the others would do to know you spent the night together, and no one but Hongjoong knows that it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve spent the night with one of the members. You chuckle sheepishly to yourself and finish your business, heading back into your room.  

You notice that your phone and earbuds are plugged in, and your heart swells at the thought that Seonghwa must have loaned you a couple of chargers. This small act of kindness pierces the thin veil of control you have over your emotions and threatens to start you crying again, but you swallow it and attempt to distract yourself by taking some time to get a better look at your new room. You amuse yourself by flinging your curtains wide, like Nam Timjangnim once did, and turning with your arms still extended, presenting your room to yourself. You can’t contain the deranged laughter at your own absurdity, and a rustling sound in the hallway makes you freeze. You can’t hear other noises because your heart is pounding in your ears, and you fully prepare yourself to be mortified as you poke your head around the corner to peer down the hall. Far down the hall you hear another scuffle and some urgent hushed whispers, and what you’re fairly certain is Yeosang chuckling. It sounds like maybe they are trying to be quiet so that they don’t disturb your sleep, and you think that it might just be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard in your life.  

But you hear more clatter and hushed conversation coming from the kitchen—YOUR kitchen—and more chuckling between someone shushing loudly. You suddenly are filled with a burning desire to know what they are up to in your kitchen, so you tiptoe quietly down the hall, ignoring any sense of vanity at the disheveled state of your appearance because you know time is of the essence. You pause to steady your breath before slowly peering around the doorway into the kitchen. Your brain cannot comprehend all of the chaos that is happening there when your eyes lock with Yunho’s, who freezes with a wide-eyed look and the dramatic gasp of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. All action in the kitchen ceases immediately as five other faces turn quickly toward you, and several utensils clatter to the countertop or floor. As they stand and stare at you, with faces reddening in amusement or guilt, you survey the situation. 

San is standing at the stove with a large pan and several pastries that he appears to be transferring from a large cardboard box. The oven is on, but appears to be set to “warm,” not an actual baking temperature. You giggle, despite your best efforts to control your reaction, because San is wearing a full apron and looking quite self-conscious as he sees you evaluating him. Yeosang is behind San on the opposite side, leaning against the counter, calmly holding what appears to be an espresso to-go cup, and seems to be watching or supervising the action rather than directly involved. Jongho stands next to him, in the middle of pouring coffee from a to-go cup into a large mug; as he sees your eyes reach him, he nonchalantly swings the empty paper cup around behind his back, and you hear it clatter to the floor somewhere near the pantry door as his lips try to restrain a devious smile. Seonghwa appears to be midway through transferring an omelet and some other foods from a take-out box onto a plate very carefully. His long hair had fallen over his eyes as he looked down at his project with intense concentration, and now, he peers up at you in alarm through the one eye visible in his mop of sleep-mussed hair. Yunho stands in the middle of the kitchen holding a small, empty vase; he remains immobilized with his eyes and mouth forming perfectly shocked circles and his eyebrows holding up the ceiling. Your eyes continue taking in the scene, sweeping past Yunho to the sink where Hongjoong is standing, petrified, holding a small bouquet of what appear to be wildflowers near the running water. 

Mingi comes dashing in from the elevator, yelling something that shatters the spell, and everyone is unfrozen and groans collectively in embarrassed disappointment. As you watch them all crestfallen, turning to complete or reevaluate their tasks, you begin to laugh. Mingi keeps apologizing, though you’re not sure for what, and the collective cuteness of the entire scene renders you speechless with laughter. San looks almost hurt as you clutch your sides and beg for forgiveness, rasping laughter undermining all of your attempts to compose yourself. Hongjoong looks sheepish but happy to see you laughing, and the two of you share a quick, tender look before Yunho hands him the vase and strides into determined action. He moves his towering form toward you, effectively blocking your view of the rest of the kitchen before placing his large hands firmly on your shoulders and turning you back around toward the hallway. He speaks to you in an assertive tone, though you do not understand his words, coming clearly in Korean, as he starts pushing to walk you back down the hallway. You are still cracking up at this point, but you obey as he is clearly attempting to take charge of this runaway situation. You shake your head and laugh as he uses his magnificent hands on your shoulders to drive you back to your room. Yunho gives you a gentle shove in through the doorway, gives a single-word command, and shuts the door behind you. You hear him sprint down the hallway, calling out something as you fall back onto your bed, laughing. You have no idea what is going on, but if they’re all in on it, you’re completely outnumbered, so you’d better just go with the flow. 

You reach over to check the charge of your company phone and pop in your earbuds out of habit when ‘Sector 1’ begins on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You notice that there is a message on your company phone, so you open it and see that Nam Timjangnim has texted you to see if you are picking up the group’s order today at KQ. You sit straight up with a gasp as you’d completely forgotten anything you had planned for the day, given all of the craziness you’ve been through since yesterday. You check the time and see she only sent it a few minutes ago, so you take a deep breath and respond: 

“ Yes, I will be there in two hours.  

I need to do some laundry first due to the storm damage.  

Did you need something from me?  

Thank you. Caretaker Y/N.”  

You hit [Send] and wait as ‘Halazia’ washes over you. You can’t help thinking that Yeosang’s part always hits you like a transformative religious experience. You quiver slightly as goosebumps wash over your skin.  

When the song ends, and you come to your senses, you look over at the tote containing your wet clothes and jump up to get as much as you can into the washer. You peek your head around your door to confirm that no one is in the hallway to yell at you, and you dash around into the laundry room to stuff all of your clothing into the huge washing machine. Once it’s humming away, you dart back into your room and lay back on your bed again, trying to think of how to break the news to Su-bin. You can’t find the words to explain what happened without scaring her to death, and you have no idea what the translator app will do to the words once you finally select the ideal combination. You toss your phone to the side and give up as ‘The Real—Hueng Version’ comes on; you stare at the ceiling, unable to contain the smile that blooms on your face as you recall all of the silly expressions in the kitchen a moment ago, and then the blush that floods your face as you think of what Seonghwa said to you last night in the dark. 

You are torn from your contemplation as a sudden knock on your door makes you jump, and you sit straight up, grabbing the earbuds from your ears and tearing ‘THANXX’ out of your brain with them. You slowly stand up and walk to the door, wondering what you’re about to find there. Taking a deep, nervous breath, you open the door to see that you are effectively blocked in by seven beaming faces; in the center stands Seonghwa, who is now also wearing a full apron and holding a large tray arranged with coffee, utensils, breakfast and the small vase of wildflowers on it as he smiles gently at you. “Good morning!” the boys say together, some louder than others, but all are smiling genuinely and watching your reaction intently. You stumble backward a step and glance behind you at the unmade bed. Seonghwa seizes the opportunity and steps in to direct you to go sit on the bed and San swiftly moves past him to arrange some pillows for you to rest your back against as Seonghwa places the tray onto your lap. You look back in the doorway to see Hongjoong smiling at you warmly and the rest of the boys behind him laughing and ribbing each other as they smile proudly and tease each other about things that you can’t understand.  

You meekly say, “Thank you so much.” while giving them a careful bow to avoid spilling the tray in your lap. They return your bow and head out down the hall, satisfied, while Hongjoong lingers a moment before winking at you and turning across the hall to go into his room. San sits down on the corner of your bed while Seonghwa fusses over you to make sure everything is stable and well-presented. You look up at his face, lost in concentration, and tap his wrist before saying again in a small voice, “Thank you.” you nod toward the phone chargers and gesture around at the bed and the tray. He barely glances up at you and just nods and mutters, “Of course.” before deciding that his work is done, clucking his tongue and looking at San. Seonghwa smiles at you fondly, saying, “Enjoy your meal.” and gestures to San that it’s time for them to leave.  

Once they’ve closed the door behind them and you hear them walk back down the hall, you slide the tray off your lap onto the bed, afraid you’ll spill it, as you pull your knees to your chest to try to contain the explosion of feelings that radiates from your heart and feels like it is vaporizing all of your other organs. Your breath catches, and you gasp, trying to identify what the hell you are feeling right now. Naturally, you’ve had quite a lot of trauma in the past twenty-four hours that you have not even begun to process. . You start to mentally inventory everything you’ve been through to try to figure out why you feel so completely overcome with emotion in this moment at this relatively small but completely adorable gesture. You start at the beginning and realize that your experience with Hongjoong was pretty scary because you honestly worried that his body was shutting down for a moment there.  

Okay. So, near-death experience. Stressful as fuck. Check.  

You also had the exciting but confusing moment where he wanted to be close to you, but you stop short of allowing yourself to admit that he seemed aroused by you.  

Romantic drama. Stressful good shit. Check.  

You recall the absolute panic of worrying that you’d be discovered there in his bed and having to dash out to recover the evidence before realizing that Seonghwa was well aware of at least part of the situation. Worse still might have been what his interpretation was of finding your clothing strewn across the living room without explanation. 

Nervous. Afraid. Anxious. Guilty? ‘What the fuck?’ shit. Check.  

You cringe as you recall the confrontation with Wooyoung but quickly laugh as you envision what San did shortly after.  

Asshole shit. Payback, bitch. Schadenfreude. Check.  

Then you feel the warm glow reaching nuclear proportions yet again, as you recall relaxing into Seonghwa’s arms as you fell asleep last night, and your brain short-circuits as you try to really be sure if he actually said what you thought he did or if maybe you dreamt it. But you definitely said it back to him, and he didn’t seem confused or shocked so.... 

I love you.  

Holy shit.   

Shit.   

Check.  

You think to yourself that he must have meant as friends, but this doesn’t diminish the glow that you feel may cause you to spontaneously combust. You’ve become as close to him as you are with any of your dearest friends, and that’s saying something, considering the language barriers. You realize that you consider him to be one of your best friends, and you’re overcome by the feelings of joy and contentment that come with that realization.  

Well, of course I’m losing my fucking marbles, then.  

It all seems like a lot when you consider it. Too much, probably. Not to mention the loss of the cookbook. Suddenly, your mind flashes to the kitchen counters where you did not see your cookbook this morning, and your body moves before your brain even registers it. You jump out of bed and sprint down the hall in a panic before catching a glimpse of your book and the loose pages arranged carefully on the dining table. The boys, who now appear to be eating breakfast in the living room turn toward you in alarm, Yeosang and San jump up instinctively, as you stop in the doorway to the dining room, trying to catch your breath. You turn back to them, smiling apologetically and holding up your hand, saying, “It’s okay. I’m okay. My book...” Seonghwa looks at you as comprehension dawns on him. The boys all relax at this and continue eating their breakfast, but San sets his plate down on the coffee table and comes over to wrap you in a strong hug.  

You can’t believe how fortunate you are, and the brewing tears cause your throat to constrict yet again, as you think about the amount of unnecessary kindness and thoughtfulness these amazing men have extended toward you, despite having no obligation to do so. The company secured your needs and is working to fix the issues caused by the storm, but these darling men seem to have recognized that you would benefit from some tender loving care in the midst of this traumatic event, and you just can’t wrap your head around how lucky that makes you feel. You snuggle deep into San’s arms before realizing you can barely breathe. You laugh and push back for air, and he releases you with a big smile as your laughter satisfies him that you’re all right.  

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the washing machine ding and remember that you’ve promised to meet Nam Timjangnim in a little over an hour, so you’d better get your shit together. You dash back to put only the essential items into the dryer and then go back into your room to try to calm your body enough to consume some of the beautiful breakfast these darling knuckleheads were going to try to pass off as their own cooking. 

As if you wouldn’t know better.  

Chapter Text

You marvel at the deliciousness of the omelet and pastries as you scarf down as much of the breakfast as your anxious stomach will allow. You grimace at the bitterness of the Americano as you use it to wash down your morning medications. You’ll have to tell Jongho that you prefer your coffee ‘hummingbird-style’—more sugar than water, really.  

You can hear the boys talking and laughing in the living room still, so you grab a robe that you found in the wardrobe and dash out to jump in the shower while there’s no competition. You are unsurprised but completely jazzed to find that the showers on the second floor have much higher quality fixtures, and the water comes out in just the perfect amount. The hot, steamy water soothes your nerves, and you find yourself leaning against the tiled wall of the shower to allow it to wash over you while you try to shut off your mind for a moment. The contrast of the cold tile and the hot water sends goosebumps over half your body and as you relax, your foot slips slightly, squeaking on the porcelain. Reflexively, your hand shoots out to steady you and there is a loud clang as your palm connects with the glass shower door. Your vision blacks for a moment as you suddenly recall the ‘bathroom incident,’ and a hot burst of arousal shoots up from your groin at the thought. You cautiously open your eyes and gaze at the glass door and tiled shower enclosure as if seeing it through new eyes, and you can’t help imagining what these walls have seen. A shiver runs up your spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the water, and you look up at the showerhead curiously, wondering what settings might be available on the water pressure and whether or not there are massage settings. 

You shake your head to clear the thought as you realize you have plans for today, and masturbating in the shower on your first morning as a resident of ATEEZ’s dormitory seems a bit crass, even for you. You laugh audibly at the thought of doing such a thing while you also know that nearly all of the boys are home. A cold bolt severs the last sensations of arousal as you realize that you have not seen Wooyoung through all of the boys’ shenanigans this morning. Anger quickly replaces the heat you had been feeling as you can’t help but think how incredibly fuckin’ petty it is for him to disappear on a day like this, rather than just going along with the boys since he was the one who finally made the vote unanimous in the first place. 

What a dick.  

You return your attention to the business of finishing your shower, realizing that someone might want to use it after you, and you really don’t have a ton of time to waste because you still need to request a car to take you to KQ. When you emerge from the steamy bathroom with your hair in a towel and your fluffy robe concealing your nakedness, since all your clothing is in the laundry, you cross your fingers and hope to gods that no one is in the hall. In your haste, you don’t bother to look before you dash—straight into Mingi as he moves silently down the hall toward his room. As he collides with your towel-wrapped head, he lets out a little “Oof.” and you almost trip over your robe as you struggle to continue your forward momentum into your room through the tangle of his confused arms. He gasps in shock as he realizes what is happening and quickly raises his arms up over his head to allow you to break free and run past him. As you shut your door, your face crimson with embarrassment, you can still hear him apologizing his way down the hall.  

You dry your hair while you wait for your face to return to a more natural shade, and when your shame is sufficiently neutralized, you move more carefully into the laundry room to retrieve your clean clothes for the day. You get dressed quickly and style your hair before sending a quick text to Nam Timjangnim to let her know that you are on your way and another text to the transportation manager to request a car. As you walk down the hall to head to the elevator, you see Hongjoong coming toward you and move to step out of his way. But he stops and places a gentle hand on your forearm as he looks down at you to quietly ask, “What are your plans today?”  

WHAT ARE WE, KIM HONGJOONG!?  

Your brain screams because it is still a little punch-drunk from the last few days. 

“I’m going to KQ to meet Nam Timjangnim and pick up the weekly order. Why? Do you need something?” He looks a little hurt at the reminder of your employment as his caretaker. He quickly answers, “No. Of course not. But I’m going to KQ in a minute if you want a ride.” You smile at him and say, “That would be nice!” He smiles back, looking relieved, and dashes past you to get whatever he needs for the day. You quickly look back at your phone to cancel the driver request and try to keep your heart rate at a reasonable gallop while your stomach fills with acrobatic weasels.  

Hongjoong jogs back down the hallway to you with his messenger bag and jacket, an adorable tweed motoring cap over his unstyled hair. You catch yourself staring at him as if he is living art until you realize, a moment too late, that he is watching you, too, and you both look away, laughing shyly. He gently places his hand in the middle of your back to usher you toward the door, and you both look straight ahead as you walk to the elevator. When the elevator doors close around the two of you, he turns to look you over intentionally and says, “Your outfit is really cute today.” Now you feel the fire in your face and are certain that there is not enough full-coverage foundation in the world to save you now, but you manage to look up and thank him with a meek smile. He laughs a little and says gently, “Don’t be shy.” which forces you to stifle the urge to smack him in the arm because he’s one to talk. You realize that he probably relies heavily on his idol training for moments like this because he has to reassure ATINYs who are about to completely fall apart in his presence, and you know damn well he easily gets just as shy in real life.  

The elevator opens on the garage floor, and he begins walking toward a car you don’t recognize. You stop in your tracks as you realize your mistake.  

Oh fuck. He meant that HE is going to drive.  

Your brain runs the ‘worst case scenario’ reel in 8x speed. He sees you are worried, and he turns to reassure you. “It’s okay. We will go straight there and park in the garage.” You shudder a bit but ultimately decide to trust him. “Promise I won’t get murdered?” you say in a tiny, aegyo voice, causing him to bark out a laugh that echoes through the concrete garage around you. You look at him with exaggeratedly big eyes, and your cheeks puffed out slightly, but you can’t hold the goofy look when you see his big smile and the sparkle in his eyes. He chuckles again and grabs your hand to pat it and say confidently, “I will keep you safe.” You twist your hand around to hold his, if just for a moment, and he brings it closer to hold it against his body before releasing it to unlock the car and open your door. 

The ride to KQ is unremarkable, and he shuffles through a couple of songs that he has recently heard from some new artists, and he chatters away at you about how gifted he thinks these songwriters are. You love his enthusiasm and humility; you don’t have a lot to contribute to the conversation since you barely have time to listen to music anymore. The thought makes you a tiny bit sad, until you distract yourself by staring at the contours of his jawline, the curve of his lips, and the angle of his perfect nose. If visuals were music, this man’s face is a goddamn symphony. 

You try not to stumble as you get out of the car and follow Hongjoong to the elevators a pace behind him, to keep an appropriate bearing. You didn’t hear the car pull up because you were still in the passenger seat, but sudden footsteps behind you jar all of your senses back from the mesmerizing effect of Hongjoong’s face. You turn and look over your shoulder to see Nam Timjangnim power-walking toward you, her face pressed into her professional, neutralized expression that you recognize for the mask that it is. She bows and greets Hongjoong formally, and he matches her vibe flawlessly despite having just been incredibly casual with you in the car. You can’t help but be impressed at the social dance the two of them are essentially doing right now, and you feel like an outside observer until she greets you the same way, holding your arm back to allow Hongjoong to catch the elevator and depart alone.  

When the doors close and she’s confident that he is well on his way to a distant floor, she looks you over suspiciously and you can’t suppress a giggle that you wonder if she still thinks you’re a ghost. Her scrutiny interrupted by your inappropriate laughter, she rolls her eyes and tuts at you before turning back with a mischievous smile, causing you to now wrestle your facial expression to a completely neutral one in a hurry. She laughs at you and pats your arm as the elevator opens again to allow the two of you to proceed to the seventh floor. You realize you’re holding your breath, and you can’t decide if you really want to know what the hell she’s thinking or if you really, really don’t want to know. You decide to try to resolve yourself to complete indifference. 

The two of you retrieve your metal carts, and you do your best to hide the wide grin that wants to break free of your face when you both haul ass through the rows of people to visit the dry goods storage and Nam Timjangnim’s crush first. You don’t have any evidence that he’s actually her crush other than the stark contrast in how she treats him versus how she treats every other man you’ve seen her encounter, besides ATEEZ, of course. He’s always been very kind to you, as you’ve moved to collecting the orders by yourself. But you do not receive the same level of interest or interaction from this man, and you can only blame the language barrier so much for the deference he seems to show her. So, you’ve assigned him the moniker “Nam Timjangnim’s Crush” or sometimes “Mr. Nam Timjangnim” when you’re feeling especially salty. Of course, this ship lives only in your head, and you’d never divulge the nicknames even under threat of torture.  

While he is gathering up both of the orders for you, she picks up her phone and messages you: 

Hungry?   

Want to get lunch with me before we shop cold items?  

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim

[Translate]

You read it and glance up at her with a pang of regret because you’re still quite stuffed from your surprise breakfast. You pause before responding because you’re torn between wanting to tell her about it and feeling proud that you’ve achieved such acceptance from the boys, but you are also nervous because you realize you’re no longer sure where the line of propriety actually is. Given your new living arrangement, you should be pretty careful how much you share about your interactions with the boys. You know she loves them, but you also know that she is probably much more well-versed in the subtle nuances of workplace flirting and superficial friendliness. A jolt of adrenaline fires when you imagine with absolute certainty that she’s never spent a night in bed with any of KQ’s idols. You’re running on two nights in a row in bed with two different idols. 

You stifle the urge to jump into a full-blown panic attack and message her back: 

Sorry, I had a big breakfast.  

Can we plan to do that next week?  

I want to start 호떡 (Hotteok) as soon as I get home.  

Thank you. Caretaker Y/N.

She reads your translated message and looks at you, impressed. Suddenly, Nam Timjangnim’s crush returns with the two dry goods orders, forcing the two of you to return your attention to the task at hand. As you each load your carts with your items, Nam Timjangnim catches sight of several unusual items you are putting on your cart and exclaims at you, which you’ve learned long ago is a noise of annoyance and also a demand to explain yourself. You let out a short laugh, despite your efforts to stifle it, and she gives you her best side-eye glare before you pull out your phone and simply type in: 

What?

You hit [Translate] and hold it up next to your face, where you make your eyes wide and innocent and puff out your cheeks. She rips the phone from your hand in exaggerated annoyance and types aggressively before thrusting it back at you: 

MARSHMALLOWS? 

CHOCOLATE? 

COOKIES??

You gasp in shock that is about eighty percent exaggerated and twenty percent genuine, realizing that she did not add her trademark signature, and the thought of it makes you want to fall apart into deranged laughter that THIS is what you finally did to crack Nam Timjangnim from her stubborn professionalism. But she is still staring at you and demanding an answer, so you type in: 

Yes.   

I am making s’mores hotteok.  

Do you know what s’mores are?  

Thank you. Caretaker Y/N. 

You add the last line in smug satisfaction and hand the phone to her. When you see her reaction to your face and realize you’ve let that smugness slip into the open, you quickly neutralize it, but you’re too late. She sucks air through her teeth at you while looking down to read your message. She lets out an involuntary snort, and you almost jump back in alarm. You’re not sure which part of your message warranted this response, and you’re definitely not sure what that noise even means. So, you stand there, staring at her blankly, like a robot waiting for a software upgrade, until she smacks her tongue and begins to type back: 

Yes, I know s’mores.  

Why?   How in Hotteok??  

THANK YOU, NAM TIMJANGNIM.  

She hands the phone back to you with an eye roll, and you bark out another laugh. She stares daggers into you, waiting for your reply. You laugh again, unphased. You’ve missed this back-and-forth with her. And you’ve missed all the fun that came with doing something she didn’t agree with, only to see her forced to admit that you were right.  

Are you busy later?   

Come over and see!  

The members would love to see you.  

Thank you. Caretaker Y/N.  

She cocks a suspicious eyebrow as if this were part of some devious plan all along, and you smile innocently at her and shrug. She looks up as if praying for guidance before responding: 

I can come.  

What time?  

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim.  

Your phone buzzes in her hand before she is able to pass it back to you, and you see her unconsciously steal a glance at it before handing it back to you quickly. After you read her message, you see that you have a message from Seonghwa, asking for you to check for fresh strawberries and remarking that Yunho ate them all last week before he got a chance to have any 😞. You chuckle to yourself before quickly responding that you will check for extra strawberries and hide them just for him. You feel Nam Timjangnim’s gaze on you, so you quickly respond to her: 

I will start the dough when I get home with the order.   

If you can come over about 13:30, I will be ready.   

If you need more time, I can chill it until you arrive.  

Thank you. Caretaker Y/N.

She nods and smiles, apparently satisfied with the arrangement, before turning on her heel and blasting her metal cart back, without warning, into the human obstacle course that is the path back to the prep kitchen. You follow her at a trot with an amused and slightly apologetic smile on your face as you pass the surprised, panting people who have just dodged the juggernaut of doom that is Nam Timjangnim and her indoor bulldozer. Still, you realize you get this shit done much more quickly with your supervisor clearing the way, and you can’t help but admire that about her. 

The two of you work your way through the walk-ins and the freezer, and when you’ve finished loading up your carts, you turn to head into the big kitchen before she stops your cart with her hand. Nam Timjangnim gestures toward a long, empty walkway you never noticed before that leads from the freezer straight back out the doors of the prep kitchen and to the elevators. You stare at her—your eyes bugging out and your jaw dropped all the way open like a cartoon. 

The smile that twitches at the corners of her mouth is nothing short of pure evil, and your expression morphs from surprise to shock, to betrayal, to horror as you realize that this tiny demon has been sending you through the literal fucking flames of the big kitchen hot line for NO. FUCKING. REASON.  

Other than to watch you sweat, obviously.  

But what the fuck? She isn’t even coming in here with you anymore. 
 

You suddenly picture her in a vague kitchen somewhere that belongs to the Xikers’ dormitory, standing there with her mug of 커피 (keopi), staring into space with a wickedly serene smile on her face as she imagines you picking up your order and almost dying on the hotline, and you’re overcome with the sudden desire to kick her in the shins and hug her until she literally dies because that is the most fucked up, funny shit you’ve ever had someone do to you at work. You are so honored and admire the shit out of the massive balls it must have taken to pull that prank, and you’re horrified that you fell for it because you really should know better. You don’t even know how to feel at this point. 

You stare at her, motionless, before finally activating enough neurons to get your face to reel your jaw back up off the floor and retract your astonished eyeballs back into their sockets. You do your best to morph the look into what you hope is an exact replica of her wicked side-eye before tossing your ponytail over your shoulder dramatically, turning back to the doorway, and proceeding down the line of doom anyway. You can hear her cackling loudly as you dash down the line with your full, creaking cart, precariously balancing as you fly past the flames, blades, woks, hot grease, fearsome cooks, and boiling pots to reach the instantly cool, still air in the hallway outside the giant production kitchen. 

You can still hear her hysterically laughing as she comes around the corner from the prep kitchen, and you see the tears of pure, unadulterated joy streaming down her face. You quickly mute your face from the proud grin that always invaded when you survived the insanity dash yet again, and you force your features back into a look of purely unimpressed annoyance as she rolls up beside you, wheezing and gasping, wiping her eyes with the edges of her faded KQ shirt. 

You can’t hold it anymore and start to laugh, too. You’ve seen some impressive work pranks in your day, but this one absolutely takes the cake.  

Holy shit. This woman is insane.  

In the best way.

You shake your head, impressed. 

Dad would fucking love this.  

At the last thought, your breath catches and your throat constricts, effectively choking off a laugh that was just about to leave it. But luckily, Nam Timjangnim is already bolting toward the elevator at breakneck speed, so she doesn’t hear your abrupt change.  You follow along at a slightly slower speed as you attempt to fight the darkness that has come over you suddenly. You meet up with her at the elevator and try to absorb some of the joy that she still radiates at winning her own fucked up little game, and you can’t help smile again, knowing that you reacted in the absolute best way and in her book, you have proven yourself a worthy adversary and likely won her respect for life. You gaze at her fondly as she finally gets her crazy under control and presses the garage-floor button. 

You make the trip to the garage level in comfortable silence, Nam Timjangnim occasionally wheezing a small cough as she’s likely cleared her lungs completely with all of the uncontrollable laughter.  

She probably laughed the equivalent of running a damn marathon, you think to yourself. 

When you reach the van, she barks instructions at the driver that you don’t understand, and then she turns expectantly for you to help her roll her massive cartload into the van, which you do, rather expertly now that you’ve been doing yours unassisted for some time. You almost stop as you suddenly wonder who helps her when you’re not there, and you realize with another wave of embarrassment and pride, that the reason the driver was probably always so confused by her is that she probably lets him help her when she’s alone and he wasn’t prepared for her to refuse help simply because you were there. And you stifle another laughing fit as you realize that you could have had him helping you this whole time, but you stubbornly pushed him away like she did, despite the fact that it was only you doing all the heavy lifting now. It’s no wonder your t-shirts were getting a little tight around the biceps.  

Holy shit. You’ve accidentally been hitting the gym.  

After sufficiently amusing yourself at your own expense, and loading and securing her cart, you realize you are definitely not wanting to give her any indication of the revelation you’ve just had. So, you cough to call her attention back to your cart and look at her with annoyed expectation as she catches herself about to buckle into the jumpseat. She hisses at you and gets up to come help you wrestle your cart into the van behind hers. 

Once your loads are secure, you smile at her fondly. She really is a fantastic weirdo and you’re so glad that she has been your supervisor because you can’t imagine how awful it would be to have a normie bossing you around in a language and culture you only vaguely comprehend. You can’t help but recall the childhood taunt “It takes one to know one” and realize that maybe that works both in the positive and negative sense. Thank goodness for weirdos, you think as the van rocks forward and pulls your thoughts to the next things you need to get done for the day. 

Chapter Text

You’re silently grateful that the van has to drop you off first since your cart is loaded closer to the back door. You want to get your hotteok dough fermenting as soon as you get home, and you certainly don’t want to have to navigate any offers to go in with Nam Timjangnim and see the Xikers’ dormitory or have to decline any other social niceties that would occur if you were to go help her get her cart up to her kitchen. You are curious what the setup looks like there, of course, but with everything you’ve been through recently, you really just want to be home. 

Home.  

What a small word to evoke so much meaning, you think to yourself.

Your heart leaps with the new awareness that, to you, the ATEEZ dorms feel more like home than anywhere else you can think of. 

You sigh happily as the van bumps along toward home.  

You wave off Nam Timjangnim’s offers to help you unload your cart just to fuck with her, and you try to memorize every bit of the face that she makes when she watches you roll the heavy cart out all by yourself as you’ve been doing for literal weeks. You see her laughing and shaking her head when you shut the van doors and turn to head up in the elevator.  

As you roll your behemoth cart from the elevator into the entryway, you see Yeosang, Yunho, and Jongho sitting in the living room. With your peripheral vision, you see Seonghwa in the corner with his book as well. Knowing the project you want to do today, you selfishly hope that they are all absorbed in their own activities and not in the mood to be nosey because it will be much more fun to make it a surprise when it’s done. You realize the error in your thought process almost immediately, though, because once Nam Timjangnim gets here, they will be off-the-walls bonkers with excitement and probably all clambering for her attention.  

A slight pang of jealousy hits because, now that it’s been just you for a while, you expect they will treat her as a fun novelty visitor and you as chopped liver. As you jog down to your room to grab your Korean cookbook for the dough recipe, you catch sight of the breakfast tray and tousled comforter on your bed, and it reminds you of every wonderful detail of the relationships you have with the boys and all temptation to be jealous evaporates instantly. You wouldn’t trade what you have with them for anything in the world.  

You grab your Korean cookbook and the breakfast tray before kicking the comforter back in place with your foot as best you can without toppling over because you know if you fall, you’ll end up launching leftover coffee and omelet across your wall, which would be a much-needed but ill-conceived abstract decoration. You decide to bring the vase of wildflowers out to the kitchen, too, because you realize you spend more time awake in the kitchen than you do in your bedroom, and this way, you’ll have more time to enjoy them before they wilt away.  You find yourself marveling at the tiny, delicate petals that are so different from the wildflowers in your hometown. You place them up on the countertop by the wall partition, which is usually the direction you face when you are prepping vegetables and whatnot, so you know you’ll get the chance to look at them often. 

The order still needs to be put away, so after the dishes are set into the sink to soak, you quickly sort through the stacks of items and work fast to hide the marshmallows, cookies, and chocolate away in a cupboard with the baking flours because you know none of the boys will accidentally look there prematurely, and you have to get your flour out of there for the dough anyway. Once the order is put away, you mix together the sticky yeast dough and put it on top of the fridge to ferment.  

When you’ve got the dough safely wrapped up and out of sight, you quickly toss together some 돼지불고기 (Dwaeji bulgogi), which starts with freshly marinated sliced pork. You make your marinade and toss in the sliced pork so that you can grill it later for dinner. A quick survey of the fridge contents suggests that you have plenty of banchan to supplement the pork so long as you can get the boys to fill up a little on hotteok first. Your mind suddenly flashes to the kitschy sign that hangs above your mom's fridge: ‘Life’s Short... Eat Dessert First.’ But honestly, you think that’s so true. Especially given the fact that you probably should have been split in half by a ginormous tree limb, not puttering around here trying to figure out what to cook for dinner for the best K-pop group on the planet.  

You wash up your dishes and wipe the counter down one more time for good measure. You take another sweeping glance over your kitchen, feeling suddenly self-conscious that Nam Timjangnim is going to be there and may not be impressed with how you’ve been running things. You’ve probably let your guard down a bit because no one micromanages you, and they seem to appreciate what you do without question.  So naturally, consistent with your shit self-esteem, you figure you’ve probably unintentionally let things go to an embarrassing level and don’t realize it, and you want to try to make sure everything is perfect so that Nam Timjangnim is not underwhelmed.  

Hello, imposter syndrome. I see you there.  

A small cough from the living room draws your attention, so you walk out and stand behind the couch to see what everyone is doing. Yeosang rests on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, and his head leaned back; he looks like he is sleeping, his word puzzle book across his lap long forgotten. Jongho is playing something on his phone next to Yunho who is reading what appears to be a gaming magazine while alternately looking over Jongho’s shoulder at whatever he’s playing. You glance to Seonghwa last, where your eyes take in every aspect of his features—deep in concentration as he reads his book, his long, graceful fingers holding the book at the perfect angle, the shadows that play across his face from the afternoon light coming in through the curtains. As if sensing your gaze, his gentle eyes look up over the book at you, and you are suddenly struck by the memory of the last time you saw that book, and you have to stifle a laugh. He quirks an eyebrow up at your surprising reaction, and it seems that he suddenly has the same recollection and quickly looks down at the back of his book as if to verify that it is the very same book he was holding when you came out nearly naked to pick up your clothes. You wonder, still, if Hongjoong has explained to him what happened or if Seonghwa is just still filling in the blanks with his imagination.  

You don’t have time to ponder this, however, because the elevator opens and Nam Timjangnim steps out, to the boys’ sudden exclamations and surprise. Yunho jumps up to say hello and offers to take her coat, and she waves off the rest, who make moves as if intending to stand as well. She walks behind the couch and pats them on the shoulders, makes small talk with them briefly, and finally turns to you with a broad smile. You hold out a hand to welcome her to the kitchen, and she comes in to see what you have up your sleeve. While you’re preheating a large pan on the stove and getting the dough down from on top of the fridge, she pulls out her phone and types in: 

They look good.  

You are feeding them well.  

They seem happy.  

Yeosang looks very tired.  

Thank you. Nam Timjangnim.

You smile gratefully at her and then turn to show her your project. As you heat up the pan, you pull out the cookies and crush them in the food processor with a little bit of melted butter and cinnamon. You break the chocolate bars into squares and open the large bag of marshmallows before turning back to the pan and putting some avocado oil in to prevent things from sticking. You hear Jongho’s melodic laugh from the living room which reminds you to grab the shredded mozzarella cheese out of the fridge. She watches you closely and nods with approval as she recognizes the familiar hotteok technique, albeit with your unusual ingredients. You place the ball into the pan, and once it’s seared on the seam, you flip it and press it down gently with the spatula until you can feel the marshmallow has begun to soften in the heat, and you flip it once more until it is nicely golden and relatively flat. You make several more, keeping them hot in the warm oven before making a couple with just plain mozzarella cheese in them and then tossing them on a platter and handing it to Nam Timjangnim.  

You have a second thought so you reach out and stop her before she goes out to the boys, and grab one hotteok off the platter and split it in half, handing it to her silently with a wink. She sets down the platter, eyeing the s’more hotteok suspiciously before taking a bite and looking up at you with undisguised shock. You laugh as you try to keep the melted marshmallow in yours and not running down the front of your shirt. You grab several paper towels in your fist to bring out with the hotteok and clean your face off before picking up the platter again to go test your idea out on the boys. Jongho gets the mozzarella ones, but you swear you catch him eyeing Yunho’s s’mores hotteok because Yunho’s yelling and moaning is a convincing advertisement of their deliciousness. You and Nam Timjangnim laugh together, watching the boys delight in this little surprise for their day, and you hope the others will be home soon because you know they will be disappointed if they find out they missed seeing her.  

Nam Timjangnim excuses herself for a moment and leaves to use the bathroom while you work on frying up the last remaining hotteok. When she returns, she gives you one of her long, neutral looks, and you wonder if she was unaware of the final decision made on your room change after the storm. Given that your laundry is still in the laundry room and your bedroom door may not have gotten closed completely last time you went in to grab your cookbook, this is likely. Since you’re not about to try to answer a question she’s not actually asking and implicate yourself in any way, you simply shrug and hold up your phone at her to remind her that she can always message you in the translation app. She shrugs and turns to go check on the boys.  

Before she gets past the dining room, however, she sees the Le Cordon Bleu book spread out across the dining table in the desperate salvage attempt. She turns and walks slowly around the table regarding it, glancing at the removed portions and carefully separated pages before stopping entirely at the photograph of your dad in his chef coat. You forgot that was out there, so when her gaze calls your attention to it, you follow her in to carefully retrieve it and bring it to your room for safekeeping. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys to be careful around it, but you don’t want to risk anything happening to damage it further, and, if you’re honest, you really don’t want to answer any questions about it. Nam Timjangnim, in her wisdom, does not ask, but you can definitely see the gears turning in her head.  

You gotta admire that woman’s self-control.   

Chapter Text

When Nam Timjangnim sees that you’re not in the mood to talk about your past, she returns to the living room to check on the boys. Mingi, San, and Wooyoung have returned home since the first round of hotteok were done. Nam Timjangnim goes out to greet them while you retreat into the kitchen to make another batch. You smile to yourself as you hear them excitedly chattering at Nam Timjangnim and her encouraging responses to them.  

After the second round of treats has been obliterated by the boys, and you’re pulling out the items to start dinner, Nam Timjangnim comes in to say her goodbyes. You know that she’s probably already stayed longer than she should, as she has her own boys to go cook dinner for, but you’re a little sad to see her go. You make her promise to pick up orders and get lunch with you next week and send her out the door with an extra ten hotteok wrapped up for her boys. 

With your supervisor safely descending in the elevator, you turn and survey the view of your happy, sugar-high boys sitting in the living room arguing good-naturedly about something. Mingi and San are wound up and grappling over the remote until Yunho steps in and separates them dramatically before dragging them both down to his room, where you hear the door shut loudly. You stare down the hallway, open-mouthed, as the silence is followed by several loud thumps on the wall. You look around at the members still on the couch with you and no one meets your gaze. Jongho snatches up the remote and turns the volume up unnecessarily loud on whatever channel it’s on.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hwa smirk and chuckle before looking intently back at his book.  

You head back to the kitchen and prepare dinner, but the boys don’t emerge from Yunho’s room. The members are gracious enough to eat around the TV rather than making you move your cookbook again, as it’s not quite dry. About ninety minutes after his sudden departure, Yunho emerges from his room now dressed in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. He pushes back his sweaty hair from his temples before reaching into the fridge to retrieve a couple of electrolyte sports drinks and a barley tea before heading, wordlessly, back down to his room.  You realize you’re staring and force yourself to return to cleaning up the dinner dishes.  As you clean, you think about all of the things you want to get done this week, and another pang of guilt flashes as you realize you still haven’t texted Su-bin yet. You find yourself wondering if she made it to the zoo with Seo-jun or not, and if she wants to meet Jongho yet. You can’t help cracking up at the idea that maybe the two of them would really hit it off, as her sweet countenance and slightly fucked up sense of humor might be perfect for him.  

You notice movement past the kitchen and see Yeosang shuffle by, looking sleepy, so you hurry to the doorway of the kitchen and call after him, “Good night, Yeo.” He pauses for a moment, sways slightly as he turns halfway around toward you, and he mumbles something you can’t quite make out while peering at you with his eyes barely open. You chuckle to yourself as he’s clearly overdone it lately, and you hope he sleeps well tonight. You grab your phone and decide to just get it over with, opening a text to Su-bin: 

“The storm broke my room.   

A tree fell through the roof. 🌳🏚️  

The company moved me out.  

I nominate you to host Tuesday nights in your room  

 from now on because your bed probably   

has less tree in it.😒🌳💔  

Hope you’re safe and having fun.  

Tell Seo-jun I said “hi.” 💕😁  

See you soon! 😊👍”  

You know this is probably a good candidate for the ‘understatement of the year award,’ but she’ll find out soon enough just how much you downplayed it. 

Your chest tightens a little when you realize you haven’t seen Hongjoong come home, and you wonder what has kept him away all day after you parted at KQ this morning. Of course, it doesn’t surprise you that he’s been gone; you just feel more vulnerable at the moment, and you know you’d feel better if you could look around the dorm and see all of the pieces of your heart that walk around outside your body. Seonghwa must feel a disturbance in the force, or more likely, he sees you spacing out in the dark in the kitchen after you turn out the lights... He comes and takes you gently by the hand to go to bed, so you allow him to guide you to your room.  

Seonghwa stops and turns you in toward your doorway. As you stand in the door frame, looking up at him, he stands in the hallway, looking down at you with an uncharacteristically neutral expression. You realize you’re holding your breath, trying to analyze his behavior and figure out what he will do next before he leans down and tenderly kisses your forehead, and turns without a word to go to his room. You stand in the doorway, dumbfounded, and whisper, “Goodnight.” before closing your door and turning to face the clean laundry now piled upon your bed.  

When you glance at your phone and see no messages from Hongjoong and the late hour, you wonder, for a fraction of a second, if it would be pushing some sort of unspoken boundary to text him to check in. Since neither of you has ever done such a thing, you decide to leave it alone, but you find yourself cracking your bedroom door open as you work off the nervous energy folding and putting away your clean clothes. You pop in your earbuds and ‘Outlaw’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. The pulsing rhythm does nothing for your nerves, but the melody is great for moving around while you transform the mountain of rumpled clothing into concise, orderly piles to be placed on the shelves in your new closet.  

After about forty-five minutes of folding, puttering around, and putting things away, you see a slight shadow of movement in the hallway and quickly pull out your earbud to listen. As you look out to the hallway, you hear Wooyoung say something in a hushed, teasing tone, and you hear Jongho’s musical laugh before you catch sight of Jongho walking down the hall with his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulder before the two of them disappear into Jongho’s room. You stand at the end of your bed, frozen, with your mouth hanging open, before shaking yourself when the chorus of ‘WIN- June One Remix’ comes on, bringing you back to your senses. Jjoongie’s rap comes on and makes your heart ache as you were hoping that you’d glimpse him walking past to go to his room. You realize you have no rights on his time or expectations on him, but you can’t help feeling a little personally disappointed that he’s not home. You feel a pang of shame thinking that the boys probably spoiled you this morning and made you feel more special than you really are.  

Quit feeling sorry for yourself, for fuck’s sake.   

You’ve had a fucking awesome day.  

You realize you’re probably just tired and should really just go to bed. As you make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth, you think you hear Wooyoung’s giggle echoing down the hall from Jongho’s room, and you smash your earbuds back in to hear ‘Wave’ start-up and you can’t help laughing and adding in your own “AAAH!” exclamation at the part where San got hit in the face by the giant balloon in the viral concert fancam video. 

As you walk back to your room after brushing your teeth and washing your face, you congratulate yourself on the day’s successes. It was wonderful to spend time with Nam Timjangnim, and the hotteok were a success and you’d been waiting so long to make those, so it was all the more satisfying to watch the boys annihilate them. You comfort yourself with the realization that Hongjoong probably wouldn’t have tried one anyway, but you know you’ll probably make them again since they were a hit. 

You find yourself dragging your feet back to your room, taking as much time as possible in hopes that he will come home before you shut your bedroom door. A devious thought strikes you: you could leave the door opened, at least a crack, and maybe he’d get the message. If he comes home tonight, that is. You sigh heavily and leave your door open about three inches before curling up in your bed and forcing yourself to try to go to sleep.  

You’re awakened suddenly, around two in the morning, by a door slamming. As you freeze in bed at the sound, your wide eyes unseeing in the darkness, you hear the sound of someone being violently ill in the bathroom. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re not sure what to do. Part of you wishes desperately not to have heard what you just did, but the rational part of you is doing a quick inventory of potentially helpful things you might be able to do in this scenario. You lay there, paralyzed, trying to determine what, if anything, to do next when you hear a couple of coughs and know immediately that it is Yeosang in the bathroom. You recall that he has had issues with his stomach, and you kick yourself for not asking more questions about dietary needs. You have relied on the members to communicate what they need as well as following the menus that Nam Timjangnim created for you, so you hadn’t really bothered to ask if any medical changes ever came up related to diet.  

In this moment, however, you realize that there is little to be done until the worst of it passes. You roll out of bed, rub your eyes, and walk stealthily down to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water and a bottle of sports drink to replenish lost fluids. You hope against all hope that your presence will be comforting to Yeosang in this moment of vulnerability, not cause him embarrassment, but you decide it is best to take the risk in case you can be of more assistance. You know that the company takes the members’ health very seriously, and you will need to find out if someone else should be notified before the morning.  

You return to the bathroom, take a deep breath, and gently knock on the door while calling out, “Yeosang? It’s me. Can I give you some water?” before waiting. You hear a couple more weak coughs, and he says, “Okay.” You slowly open the door to see he is slumped over against the tub and resting his forehead on the cold tile. There are soiled towels nearby, and he looks extremely apologetic. You give him a reassuring smile because the last thing you want him to worry about right now is feeling bad for being ill. 

“Here honey. Take this. I’m going to get some fresh towels.” He accepts the water, but his hand falls almost as soon as he grabs it, and the bottle bounces on the floor in front of him. He grimaces but doesn’t grab it. You want to clear away some of the mess so you can be more helpful, so you quickly rush out to the laundry room, grab several pairs of gloves and jam them into your pockets before putting on another pair and grabbing three clean bath towels off the stack. You steel yourself, spread a confident smile on your face, and head back into the bathroom to Yeosang. “Hey sweetpea, I’m gonna take these out and give you these clean ones. Do you have anything else that needs to be washed right now?” He looks up at you, stricken, so you add, “Don’t feel bad, honey. It happens to the best of us. What is it?” When he casts a forlorn glance toward the hallway, you realize. “Okay. I’ll go clear your bedroom, baby. Don’t worry. Please try to drink some water, okay? Just a tiny sip. If you can keep it down, we’ll try more. But go very slow.”  You smile reassuringly at him again before gathering up the soiled towels and throwing them into the laundry, and heading to Yeo’s room. As you open his door, you’re hit by a sensory affront that tells you everything you need to know. You don’t even bother turning on the light before gingerly wrapping all of his bedding up in the comforter and carefully lifting it, and throwing it into the washer. As you round the corner to go back to the bedroom and look for more laundry, you hear him getting sick again, and your heart clenches in your chest.  

Poor thing. Throwing up is the absolute worst.  

You double-check his room and find a couple of items of clothing that may or may not have fallen victim to his illness, and you get the washer started before removing the gloves and washing your hands. You knock on the bathroom door again and hear him murmur something unintelligible so you let him know, “I’m going to go make your bed, hon. Do you need anything before I do that?” You’re pretty sure you hear a “No, thank you.” and you trot off to quickly make the bed in hopes that he will soon feel up to going back to sleep.   

When the bed is remade with fresh linens, and you haven’t heard any noises from the bathroom in a little while, you go back and knock. You hear a response that is a small vocalization and feels like permission, so you crack the door open to say, “I’m just checking on you, sweetpea. How you doin’?” You steal a glance in, and he’s lying back against the tub again, his face pale and sweaty. You feel a sudden urge to check his forehead, so you go in and kneel beside him, touching his clammy face. He doesn’t feel feverish, but he doesn’t look good. His color is way off, almost gray, and he’s muttering something that may or may not be actual words. You curse yourself for leaving your phone in your room.  

Recognizing that translation would be invaluable at this moment, you dash across the hall to grab it. When you return with the app open, he is still murmuring a little, so you hold the phone closer to him to catch the sound. After a few moments, he pauses, and you hit [Translate]. You stifle a cry of frustration when it says {Translation Not Available}. You are trying to remain calm but are starting to feel a little panicky, and you are not the type of person to ignore your instincts. You tell him you’ll be right back and run down the hall to San’s room, knocking sharply three times before opening the door without waiting. You call out to him, “Sanna, Sanna! Yeosang is sick. I need your help, please.” There is a shuffling of the sheets, a groan of confusion, and then you see San swing his legs over the side of the bed and sit up in the dim light from the doorway. “Sanna, Yeosang is sick. Please help me.” He rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath before your words register. As soon as his brain is fully alert, he practically jumps up and heads toward you. You don’t wait to see if he’s following but dash back down the hall toward Yeosang, knowing instinctively that San will be on your heels.   

As expected, San arrives at the bathroom door a fraction of a second after you do, and upon seeing Yeosang sitting there looking peaked, he curses under his breath. You look up at him in alarm, and he controls his face into a more confident seriousness before saying, “I’m going to call our managers. They will know what to do.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turns and heads swiftly back to his room to get his phone. You go to Yeosang and tell him to lift his head slightly so you can slide a folded towel between him and the hard tile. He protests a little, so you say, “I know you like the cold, baby, but it’s going to hurt your head if you lay there too long.” He mutters something and drops his head back onto the towel as soon as you get it in place. In case he wasn’t aware, and to keep him company, you say, “Sanna is going to call the manager. Is there anything I can get you while we wait?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes with a shuddering breath. “Okay. I’ll wait here with you.” You lean against the wall next to him, desperately wanting to hold his hand or comfort him, but remembering how overstimulating it was for someone to touch you when you felt nauseous, and you don’t want to make him feel any worse than he already does right now. “Have you tried any water, honey?” He gives a tiny nod and you check the water bottle to see that it has been opened, though it’s hard to tell if he actually drank any. You recall that he was ill just a few minutes ago, so you don’t press the issue. “I’m here, darlin’, if you need anything, okay? Please don’t be afraid to ask.” You say again, wishing there was actually something for you to do.  

San returns, a little breathless from running silently down the hall, and pokes his head around the doorframe to say, “The managers are on their way. They want to take Yeosang to the hospital as a precaution.” Your heart leaps and sinks at the same time, which has got to be one of the strangest sensations you’ve ever experienced. You’re hopeful because he’s getting the help he needs, but you’re scared because he’s clearly that ill. “Okay. What do we need to do?” San looks at you with a mixture of surprise and something that looks almost like admiration—you can’t help feeling a little offended that he’s surprised you want to help.  

“Let’s get him some clothes and a jacket.” You nod and dash back to Yeosang’s room, flipping the light on again, realizing you don’t know how he organizes his clothing, but you’re going to have to figure it out fast at this point. You grab a small gym bag you see by the closet and quickly make sure it's empty. You locate his comfortable clothing options and tuck several t-shirts and workout pants into it, as well as a zippered sweatshirt, a couple of pairs of underwear, and some socks. You notice his word puzzle book on the nightstand, so you grab it and toss it into the bag as well.  

When you return to the bathroom, Yeosang hasn’t moved from where you propped him, and San’s forehead is creased with worry. Upon seeing you, he tries to return his face to collected confidence. As the two of you try to read each other’s faces, you hear the elevator open and set down the bag. You step back toward your room before glancing down the hall.  

Chapter Text

You stand forlornly in your doorway, watching as two managers arrive, wearing surgical masks and gloves, and disappear into the bathroom. You lock eyes with San, who leans against the wall just past your doorway to be out of the way but available for updates.  You see the worry on his face, and as he stands there with his arms folded across his broad chest, you can’t help but wish you were in them. His embrace is one that instantly calms you, and you don’t take that for granted.  Still, you wonder if he is as much in need of reassurance, so you carefully reach out and pat him on the bicep and say, “Thank you.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile and nods, and you withdraw your hand.  

The two of you stare at the closed bathroom door for several minutes before it opens, and the managers have  Yeosang standing up with his arms draped across their shoulders so they can support his weight. San jogs ahead of them to ensure that their path is clear and to open the elevator doors when they get there. You see that one of the managers has the bag you packed for Yeosang, and you realize that there is nothing left for you to offer him at this point. You want so badly to call out to him before he leaves the dormitory; you want to say something to cheer him on and let him know that you’ll be waiting to hear how he’s feeling, but your feeble goodbye only just makes it past your lips. Your voice abandons you before the words travel far enough to reach Yeosang’s ears.   

You turn shakily back into your room before closing the door quietly and crawling into bed. You are lying there, eyes wide in the dark, wishing you knew what to expect. You are unsure whether this is related to something Yeosang ate, and your heart lodges in your throat as you run through the list of every meal you prepared in the last forty-eight hours to identify any potentially hazardous foods. You are horrified at the idea that you could have given him a foodborne illness or something. You find your whole body is shaking now, and you want to cry, but you’re just too damn scared.  

Pity party: table for one.  

So, you lay there in the dark, feeling an all-consuming guilt, listening to your heart knocking against your larynx and half choking you with every beat before you hear a very small knock at your door.  Your fickle heart betrays you yet again as it leaps—far more enthusiastically than it has any right to—and you quietly say, “Come in” as you hear the door opening slightly. You find yourself frozen, holding your breath, waiting without turning over to see who has come in.  

The side of your bed dips suddenly, and you almost roll backward into the depth before a firm chest presses up against your back, and a hand strokes your skin gently from your shoulder down your arm to your elbow, and you know exactly who it is.  

You feel him press his face against your hair and take a deep breath of your scent at the nape of your neck. He lets out a deep, hungry moan, and you feel his musky exhale replace the air he stole with the inhale.  Your body responds by awakening every single cell with a jolt of heat, and your shaking fear about possibly causing Yeosang’s illness has turned to trembling, desperate curiosity mingled with a queasy sort of hesitation. You definitely have thought about this; you know you’d love to let your feral side take over and forget all about your worries for Yeosang.  

Yeosang .   

His stern looks toward San after the bathroom incident suddenly appear in your mind’s eye. Your breath catches suddenly. You don’t know why Yeosang had acted so protective when San had been playing around with you, and you are suddenly unsure of what he may have been protecting you from. Obviously, San has a pretty high libido and probably can’t help it, given the amount of testosterone his increasingly muscular physique must produce. It’s part of his nature to be flirtatious, and you can’t blame him for that, either. But that doesn’t justify Yeosang being so protective, and the thought taints your increasingly intense arousal with a jolt of dread that makes your stomach turn a little.  

San, of course, can’t feel all of the turmoil that pits your worried mind and your extremely aroused body in a tug-of-war. He seems to notice that you aren’t moving toward or away from him, however, so he runs his hand down your arm again before sliding it down to your stomach and using his arm to pull you back closer to him, pulling your ass hard against his pelvis. You let out a low moan, but do not move. He presses against you and holds your body with his arm across you and his hand holding onto your lower hip. As he squeezes you, he breathes hard on your neck again, causing you to let out an involuntary moan as all of your nerves light up with interest. The conflict you feel only seems to heighten your arousal, and you can’t help thinking what a sicko this makes you. All of the intense sensations of your body’s desire are beginning to drown out your common sense and suffocate all critical thinking.   

You press your ass toward his hips and arch your back into his abs, knowing that his body will respond to the suggestion of closer access to its ultimate goal. He groans again before exhaling deeply, and you feel his wide bicep flex as he pulls you into him in response. You moan again, surprised at the amount of electricity this generates in your core. You are starting to feel like one more of those deep moans out of him, if directed across your clit, would send you over the edge, cumming without so much as a touch.   

You feel another nauseating whirl of conflict as your brain attempts to catalog all of the potential reasons this is a really bad idea, including the very real possibility of Hongjoong returning from wherever he is to find you here, with San.  

Or under San.   

You can’t contain another feral moan at the thought.   

Fuck.  

Maybe he should have thought of that and got his ass home then.  

Your brain gremlins jump at the scent of blood in the water. You don’t have any arrangements; Hongjoong’s never actually communicated that something exclusive or special was happening between the two of you. He never even hinted that he really wanted you; he just got caught up in a moment. Sure, he’s been sweet to you, but he’s nice to everyone. And let’s face it, you’re not that interesting when you consider all of the people he meets. He never should have gotten your hopes up. He’s got no business being so sweet for no fucking reason. Hot anger amps your arousal, and you start to see red as the feeling in the pit of your stomach turns into a nasty mix of self-loathing, hurt, and desperate lust. You have this incredible man right here who wants to fuck you, and he’s not making you guess about it. You’re crazy to hold out for the completely uncertain and, more than likely, imaginary feelings Hongjoong has never really communicated toward you. Your brain accepts the deposit of all of the shame, impulsivity, and self-pitying justifications and cashes out.  

Fuck it.  

I’ll take the physical pleasure now, thank you very much.  

Your mind goes blank as you turn to roll over toward San, and a white flash goes off behind your eyes as his mouth meets yours, and he rolls you onto your back, his entire body pressing down on you. You feel electrified as you feel the weight of him on top of you and the extreme pressure of his hard cock digging in against your mound as he begins to grind against you while he kisses you more intensely. His strong arm slides under your shoulders so that he can press himself against you with more than just his weight, and the delicious pressure makes you gasp as you rut your hips up toward him and practically beg him to pound you senseless. You can’t help but think that this is probably exactly what you both need right now.  

You arch and press against him as your mouth meets his with enthusiasm and abandon. You feel a little nasty and reckless, and you don’t care at all anymore. Nothing matters in this moment other than getting your little cunt fucked to oblivion. If anyone else had really wanted you, they should have said so. You’re going to get yours because you’re a grown-ass adult. You do what you want.  

You reach up and pull on his shoulders, letting him know he can absolutely drop his entire weight on you, so long as he also presses that glorious cock against you and you slide your legs up and around him before locking your ankles, arching your back, and whining directly into his open mouth as he pulls back to gasp slightly at the hot pressure of your pussy grinding against him as hard as you can. He chuckles a little as he feels your legs shake at the effort, which snaps you from your single-minded pursuit, and your legs start to slip. He pushes his hair back from his face and presses your legs down to the bed while he looks down at you in the moonlight, coming through the curtains you forgot to close.  

He leans over you as he regards you from his knees, one arm holding himself up by your head. You whine as you are unable to reach any part of him to grind against, and he laughs again. He looks at you earnestly and seems to be thinking something through before he says, “Are you sure?” You don’t even bother to breathe before squirming your hips beneath him and saying breathlessly, “Yes. Pleeeeease.” He laughs a little and looks curious. He places his free hand up to just lay across your throat experimentally. “Are you sure?” “Yesssss... Please fuck me.” You whine shamelessly. He laughs again and removes his hand before lowering himself to his elbow and kissing you deeply. “You’re a desperate little honeybee, aren’t you?” He says softly into your mouth, kissing you again before you can respond and sliding his other hand down over your mound and cupping his palm there while you squirm and moan.  

The pressure there makes you want to lose your mind, and you begin reaching down desperately to pull off your pants. He laughs again at your wantonness and shifts aside to allow you to strip off all of your clothes, which you do without shame. You pause to pull at his shirt and whine before ripping your own shirt over your head and reaching down to snap the elastic of his waistband loudly with a demanding groan. He laughs and his dimples flash in the moonlight. You meet his laughter with a devilish grin and curve your spine to reach your knees up and squeeze them painfully into his obliques, causing him to swear and quickly slide out of his pants. He only has to look at your face once to realize he doesn’t want to risk teasing you by hesitating at his underwear and quickly takes them off, too, before kicking them over the side of the bed. He glances down as he does as if to draw your eyes downward, and you gasp audibly as you see that every inch of him truly is perfection. You are almost pissed off at how well-constructed this man is; from his sculpted thighs to his girthy cock. You now fully understand the phrase ‘takes your breath away.’ He sees you watching and flexes it before he looks up at you through his hair, with that Cheshire grin, dimples mocking you as you squirm and writhe beneath him. You let out a desperate, guttural moan. You start reaching your hands up to pull on his shoulders and beg him to move closer.  

He chuckles as he gently lowers one muscular thigh to rest between your legs before pressing it up against your trembling core with increasing pressure. Your head falls back onto the bed as you see stars. Desperate for something to grab onto, you reach up with one hand to caress your own breast and pull on your nipple. He watches you, fascinated, before leaning down to take the nipple in his mouth, lavishing attention on it with his tongue, before pulling up to reveal it lightly held between his teeth. You gasp and arch your back and grind against his hard thigh, whining and absolutely begging for him to put an end to your emptiness. He gropes your other breast and licks it playfully before sliding himself down between your legs and holding your thighs over his shoulders, and he begins to show you what else his tongue can do. As he starts to explore your slit with his tongue, you buck your hips up with a groaning whine of irritation.  

While it feels good, you really are in no mood for this level of sophistication. Your overtaxed nervous system was looking forward to a blissed-out, good old-fashioned pounding, and you can’t just lay back and let him play with such a tiny area. You want to feel him in your pores, in the back of your throat; you want him to fill you up till it hurts. You want him to crush all of the thoughts out of your brain.   

You groan and bite your lip just a little too hard; you can taste blood, and you kind of want him to taste it too. He doesn’t seem to be getting the hint as your hips buck and your legs try to press him away. You reach down and grab at his hair before saying, “No more.” He pulls himself up to look at you, confused, his face slick and shiny. You shimmy your hips as you reach up to wrap your legs around him, pulling him down for a kiss and saying, “I need you to fuck me.” into his open mouth.  

He pulls back and looks at you, visibly hesitant, and you are surprised how quickly you feel a sudden overwhelming urge to punch him directly in the face as hard as you can. “What?” you ask in a small whisper, afraid of what the answer might be. He rocks back onto his knees and sweeps his hair back from his face with his hand again. Your stomach turns and the queasy feeling is back, full force, as you wait for him to say something. He sighs heavily and looks at you, your exposed breasts shimmering with perspiration in the moonlight, the hint of goosebumps beginning to prickle there as his sudden distance has left you cold. San rubs his forehead and you watch his bicep and forearm flex as if he’s physically struggling with something. Movement out of the corner, your eye draws your attention to his lap, where his impressive cock flexes uncomfortably in its swollen state. You return your eyes to his confused face, and you are incredulous. “What?” you ask, a little more forcefully, causing him to jump slightly.  

“I don’t know. I don’t think this is a good idea,” he says quietly.  

You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me.  

Your stomach does a nauseating flip.   

“What!?” You stare at him, feeling your unfulfilled desire easily converting to rage; the pain you’d hoped he would pummel out of you is now billowing up in full force in the gale of your embarrassment. He stutters and helplessly looks around as his beautifully hard cock twitches uselessly. You scoff. “What the FUCK?” you say before rolling away from him and scrambling for your clothes. You can’t seem to get dressed fast enough.  

“No, I... God, I’m sorry. I want to, but I just can’t, I mean. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”  he sputters. You stare at him in something akin to horror as you pull your pants back on. “What the FUCK is that supposed to mean? You came into MY room, remember? You acted like you wanted to fuck me and I was...  Oh my gods. I’m such an idiot. Why did I think I could take anything for myself?” You start to feel that familiar clench of emotion in your throat and almost wonder if it will somehow tamp down the nausea that is threatening to overtake all other sensations within you as shame skyrockets to the forefront of your awareness. You manage to wrestle your shirt back on when he finally says, “No. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have come in here. I... I respect you too much.”  

Oh for fuck’s sake. What the actual fuck!?  

“What does that even mean?” You stare daggers into him as he begins to search for his clothes but you aren’t about to let him leave fully clothed. “You know what? Never mind. Get out. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know what sort of fucked up rationalization you have for fucking humiliating me. Don’t come in my room. Don’t make excuses. Get the FUCK OUT.” You are starting to lose your shit, and he can hear the tremor in your voice that tells him just how close you are to your limit. He hasn’t quite started moving quickly enough, so you raise your voice to nearly a shout, “GET OUT!” He has found some of his clothes and holds them over his groin before stumbling toward the door. As he opens the door silently to leave, you just see a silhouette behind him in the moonlight and your heart shatters into a million pieces as the face is illuminated when San’s shadow passes.   

“Jjoongie...”  

Chapter Text

You somehow summon every last ounce of strength left in your body and use it to prevent yourself from falling to your knees when you see the stricken look on Hongjoong’s face. Your heart was already racing, but now either it’s completely given out, or it’s racing so fast you can’t feel it anymore; you’re not able to tell. Your whole body is numb, as though you just got dropped straight into an ice bath, and you stare at him without breathing. You’re facing him with the moonlit window at your back, so you have no idea if he can even see your face. You aren’t sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. Everything is completely destroyed, and for what?  

You didn't even get fucked properly.  

In the split second it takes for you to mentally throw yourself in the garbage, Hongjoong does the unexpected. He takes a single step forward into the doorway of your room. He is looking down, and you can see that he is breathing faster. You don’t dare move or breathe. You have no idea how long he was outside that door, what he heard, or what he thinks was happening. You cringe at the thought that your room probably smells like sex:  

the one thing you didn’t actually do tonight.   

Hongjoong puts one arm up on the door frame and leans against it. He looks past you at the moon through the window as he shakes his hair out of his eyes. You are frozen on the spot, even the ceaseless chattering of your brain gremlins stopped completely. He chuckles, which startles you because it is unexpected and dark. You feel a stab of arousal rekindled with a new sense of fear, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.  

Is he jealous?  

Is he angry?  

Doesn’t he know he has no right to be any of those?  

Or does he?  

You stop yourself and wait for him to look at you or say something—the icy fingers of his cold laugh still trailing an echo down your spine.  

You’ve really fucked this one up, you know. He deserves so much better.  

He coughs a little under his breath.  

Before he looks up with a sly grin.  

You know the one. 

THAT one.  

The one that scares the ever-loving shit out of you and highlights the absolute perfection of his features. The one that makes him look like an unhinged maniac with a wicked sadistic streak. 

You feel your shoulders shrink, and you find yourself, once again, begging the universe for invisibility. He takes one step forward, more of the moonlight emphasizing the highlights and the shadows of a facial expression you didn’t know existed when the cameras weren’t rolling. You take a shuddering breath—the first one in what feels like several minutes. He coughs lightly again and steps closer to you.  

“One night......” he growls. 

Oh no. Here we go.  

“...I’m out late for one night.” he continues to walk toward you. You’re vaguely aware that your entire body is trembling at this point.

“You've been here for one night, and he dares to come in here and ...” he spits the words as if they were poison but trails off as if it is too much of a betrayal to say it out loud. He is nearly next to you now, but you’ve averted your eyes to the floor at this point.  

“I’m so sorry,” he says in a gravelly whisper, reaching out to lift your chin with his hand and raising your face so he can look deep into your eyes. He looks hurt and maybe concerned, but you’re not exactly sure. Still, the shift in his expression shocks you to your core and sets fire to the dying embers inside of you where all of your hopes and dreams were nearly extinguished a moment ago. “I hope you know that’s not how we do things here. We need to have a talk so you can understand and make your own decisions.” You swallow hard, trying to adjust to the complete change in tone, not sure if you’re still feeling nauseous or if the sudden absence of a vice-grip of fear is just so jarring that your guts are confused. Your stomach feels as though it has twisted so many times that it doesn’t know which way is up.  

“Decisions?” you stammer.  

You’re not sure that you should ever be left to make your own decisions ever again if you’re honest.  

You can’t believe you were ready to throw away any potential chance with Hongjoong simply because of how insecure you are.  

“Yeah. But I can’t talk about it tonight. Can we both get some sleep and talk later tomorrow?” You exhale sharply as you stare into his eyes, allowing your disbelief to flow away from you with your breath. You aren’t sure that you are entirely blameless in all of this, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem angry with you. How is this possible? 

Holy shit. How is he real?  

“Yes, please. I’m so tired; it’s been a long night, and Yeo...” You realize he may not know about Yeosang being sick, so you start to tell him, but he cuts you off. “I know. The manager called me at the studio. It’s okay. They’re getting him some IV fluids, and he is doing better. He always needs fluids when he gets sick. They caught it really early on, thanks to you.” You let out the breath you were holding. “Okay. I’m so glad.” He looks at you tenderly and reaches for your hand, “Let’s get you to bed. We can talk tomorrow.”  

You are not about to argue with him, so you crawl into bed and allow him to tuck you in. You are so tired that you don’t ask him to stay. Frankly, you would just like to be alone because all of this has been so confusing and exhausting, and your nervous system can’t take any more of the stress of trying to figure out other fucking humans because  

holy shit, they’re too much.  

He kisses you on the forehead and chuckles softly before saying, “I’m going to lock your door, okay? You can open it, but no one will be able to come in without your permission.”  

Just how long was he outside that door?  

You decide not to wonder about it. You sigh contentedly and slide deeper under the covers. “Thank you, Jjoongie.” He chuckles. “Good night, 나의 하늘   (Naui Haneul).” 

You close your eyes so tightly that sparks are visible behind your eyelids. You wait until you hear the lock of the door click as it closes before you fully relax from all of the insanity of the night.  

What the fuck just happened?  

He said, “That’s not how we do things.” ...what on earth does that mean? 

And wouldn’t “how we do things here” have been a good conversation to have had, say, fucking, YESTERDAY!?    

Your addled brain can’t do any more complex social equations tonight. You relax your eyes and slowly try to get your body to relax as well before drifting off to confusing, rapid-fire dreams with random images and no coherent plot whatsoever.  

You wake up in a cold sweat with a jolt. You wonder if the stress of last night is lingering in the odd sensation you have in your guts. Suddenly, you realize that’s not leftover nausea but a fresh, robust sensation that is telling you that you’d better run to the bathroom if you’re gonna avoid making a mess. You jump out of bed and run to the door, fumbling with the unfamiliar lock before flinging the door open and bolting for the bathroom. Thank gods, no one is in there because you barely close the door behind you before you, too, are retching so hard you feel like you’re being flipped inside out. As tears stream down your face, you can’t even imagine how horrible it sounds, and you hope, against all hope, that no one is around to hear you. You clear out your stomach and everything else before groaning and slowly pulling yourself up to rinse your mouth at the sink. Thank goodness Seonghwa brought you a brand-new toothbrush when you first got here; he really is a lifesaver.  

Your blood runs cold for a second, and you wonder if you’re going to be sick again at the thought that you could have used his help last night before you made what now feels like a colossal mistake. What the heck is his deal lately? Why has he been acting so distant? 

No, wait, it’s not the memory that’s making you nauseous; you’re going to be sick again.   

You lower yourself back toward the toilet just in time as the room spins, and you’re sick again. You pretty much sound like you’re dying, which would almost be hilarious if you were getting rid of the half a fifth of Bacardi you drank as a dumb high school freshman, but you’ve done nothing of the sort, and here you are, making sounds that would be better-suited for a horror movie soundtrack. 

You now know why all Yeosang wanted to do was lay on the cold tile. You scoot the bathroom rug over so that your hip isn’t resting on the hard floor, and you lay on your side where you can press your face to the cold tub. You suddenly feel extremely tired, and figure you didn’t get near enough sleep last night, so you’ll just doze off here for a bit.  

Beats crawling back to the bedroom anyway. 
 

You doze in and out of consciousness before a sudden feeling of floating awakens you and threatens to send your stomach into violent revolt yet again. Your hand strikes out involuntarily, desperate to find the floor or the wall or something to orient your body in space. You feel someone’s arms around you, carrying you, shaking slightly, and you suddenly feel yourself lowered onto a curved seat that is rapidly reclining. You gag and wretch but there is nothing in your stomach at this point. You want to open your eyes and look at who is moving you and why, but you can’t seem to get your eyes to cooperate, so you lay there on what you’re pretty sure is the seat of a car. You hear the click of a seatbelt, which confirms your theory. 

Why is no one talking to me? Who is touching me??  

Despite not being able to open your eyes, you try to speak, which of course involves many more muscles than opening your eyes, and you are nearly as unsuccessful but manage a tiny mumble before you hear Hongjoong’s voice slightly muffled, “It’s okay, Naui Haneul. We’re taking you to the hospital. I’m here.” you feel relief wash over you before everything goes black again.  

You vaguely become aware when you’re in a bright room, surrounded by bustling medical professionals. People are giving you instructions that you don’t understand, but you feel hands moving you and positioning you in the hospital bed, so you just let yourself go limp and allow them to do what they need to do. After they’ve placed an IV and started fluids, you can hear people talking outside the room, but of course, you don’t understand them. Someone puts a warm blanket over you, which is especially soothing to your sore abs.  

It feels as though you pulled muscles when you were throwing up, and you sincerely hope you didn’t break any blood vessels in your face with how forcefully you got sick. You hope, and even barter with the universe, that if anyone had to have that happen, though, you would still choose to be the one rather than Yeosang, as we are so close to comeback. You groan a little and curl up in the bed before falling asleep again. 

When you wake up sometime later, you feel much more alert, and you can see that there is a dark leather jacket on a chair in the corner of the room, but otherwise, you are alone. You look up at the clock and see that it’s six forty-five. You don’t know if it’s morning or evening at this point. The artificial light of the hospital room makes the light from the windows hard to decipher. You lay there inspecting the ceiling for a while, wondering what you should do and wishing you had your phone and earbuds.  

At least your phone, for the translation app...

You try to think rationally. But honestly, you’d rather have your music and be silent from the rest of the world for a little while longer. The events of the other night are so much more confusing now that the clarity of daylight brings your mind to all of the questions you need answered. Your eyes drift to the leather jacket on the chair, and you wonder who was waiting here for you. You can’t expect any of the members to be here. Goodness knows they have more important things to do than hang out in a hospital waiting. Once you got settled, you’d fully expect them to leave you here to recover and then go back to their obligations. You sincerely hope that Yeosang is already restored to health, and you suddenly are filled with a desperate need for news about him. You are still unsure what caused all this and still hoping against all hope that you didn’t make a terrible mistake and cause him to get sick somehow. You try to be careful with food handling, but things happen, and you just couldn’t bear it to know if you’d been careless and caused him harm. 

After what seems like ages, you hear someone walking into your room and turn to see a nurse coming in to check on you. She greets you, and it is clear that she doesn’t speak your language. You do your best to pantomime “phone,” and she shrugs and attempts to hand you a regular telephone, which, of course, is no use because you need your smartphone. She bustles around, taking your vitals and checking your IV. Before she leaves the room, she turns and looks at you expectantly again to see if there’s something you can communicate that you need—as if you’ll suddenly acquire the ability to speak Korean. But a flash of insight has you gesturing and pointing at the leather jacket in hopes that she knows where its owner may be. She looks a little puzzled but seems to indicate that she will go find out.  

The silence is deafening. Since you have no way to communicate with the staff, you’re basically locked in your own head—trapped with your own thoughts. It seems as though they’ve decided that your ability to speak to them is not necessary for your care, so they aren’t particularly worried about finding you a means to ask questions or receive information about your treatment. You are starting to feel like you’re not even really a person so much as a collection of systems; you feel like you’re a car dropped off at the mechanic rather than a human being with your own opinions and needs. 

You sigh heavily and turn to look out the window, wishing now that the curtains were open more. You start to doze off again, out of boredom more than fatigue. You are awakened again by the nurse checking your vitals and offering you a tray with some sort of flavored gelatin and tea. You shudder when you realize the gelatin is orange-flavored, but you know that it’s likely a stipulation of your release that you eat something, so you dutifully choke it down. The nurse smiles at you and takes the tray when you’ve finished. You point again to the leather jacket, noting that the sun appears to have set outside. She shakes her head apologetically, and you lay back on your pillows, feeling terribly alone. You thought about asking about Yeosang directly, but you don’t know if they brought him to the same hospital or if they would have admitted him under a pseudonym to avoid drawing attention.  

You wish you could sleep again, to try to pass the time, but the bed is starting to feel irritating to your skin and your mind is agitated from lack of use and lack of information. You find the control for the TV and put on some type of game show that you don’t understand, but at least it’s colorful and the people are super stoked to be there. You laugh at some of the wacky competitions but keep finding your eyes wandering to the jacket on the chair. Maybe the person who left it there wasn’t even with you. Maybe it belonged to someone visiting the person who was in this room before you. You can’t help feeling a little panicky and abandoned; you are in a strange country, you don’t speak the language, and you have no idea how to get back home. 

Home.  

You feel your throat tighten in self-pity and overwhelming loneliness.  

“I’ll be with you. With you, with you, with you.” You choke back a sob, thinking of your boys’ beautiful ballad, Be With You, and how you’d give anything to be back home with them. It’s even worse thinking of the fucked-up things that happened the last night you were conscious there, but Hongjoong didn’t seem angry with you, and you hope that hasn’t changed. You know there are things to talk about, but you hate being stuck here in this stupid hospital bed, trapped with only your own thoughts, when Seonghwa could be holding your hand or just nearby. You wonder if he, too, knows about what happened with San, and the realization that you didn’t even think about Hwa when you were with San hits you like a punch to the gut.  

Tears stream down your cheeks, hot and oh-so-familiar. You don’t even bother to wipe them away at this point. There’s no one to see them, and it is the only perk of being so completely alone. You’re going to wallow in this shit if you’re going to be stuck here anyway.  

As you give in to a wave of self-pity, you pull the blankets up to your chin and pull your pillow over your forehead to feel the cool underside of the plastic hospital pillow. You hear a strange noise and realize that your hearing is muffled by the plastic rustling under your forearms as you press the pillow to your forehead. You probably look quite silly from the outside: your mouth, chin, and elbows are the only visible parts of you in the big hospital bed. You listen again and realize someone is laughing at you. You pull the pillow away quickly with a glare, though your directional hearing isn’t that good, so you’re not completely sure where to aim it. You decide to glare at the doorway first, guessing that’s where someone is most likely to have come in. When you look and see no one there, you turn, almost reluctantly, to the chair with the mystery jacket, hoping it’s not Handsome Managernim...  

Your heart catches in your throat as you see Hongjoong sitting there, eyes sparkling as he chuckles at your feisty but tear-streaked face, holding a smoothie in one hand and his phone in the other. “Hello, Naui Haneul.” he finally says with a chuckle. You can’t speak as your throat is still constricted, and your first reflex is to burst into pathetic crocodile tears until he rescues you from this awful place. But it’s more that you’re so moved that he’s there, the first face you see. And you can’t figure out how that’s even possible, given all of the things he should be doing and all of the burdens of being an idol. Staying in a hospital at some random staff’s bedside seems like a luxury that an idol couldn’t afford. And what was it he said? You’ve heard him say that before, but you didn’t think to ask.   

“What did you say?” you manage to stammer before adding, “Hi.” with a weak, tearful smile. He laughs at your pitiful look. “Naui Haneul?” he says as if he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Yeah. What does that mean?” He waves a hand dismissively, “Ah, I’ll tell you another time. Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, looking at you earnestly. “Yes,” your lip starts to seriously quiver, “I wanna go home!” His eyes catch the light, and he smiles warmly at this. “Good! Yeosang will be glad for you to get home. He’s been wanting to know that you’re okay.” Your breath catches in your throat; you feel guilty that Yeosang wasn’t your first question. You’ve been thinking of only yourself because you got caught in a weak moment.  

You really need to rein in the self-pity, huh?  

“ He’s okay?” you ask, haltingly. “Yeah. He was good after a couple of hours. You’re the one we’ve all been worried about.” He says, looking, for the first time, slightly worn out. “How long have I been here?” you ask, not sure you want the answer. “A couple of days,” he says, running his hand over his hair before taking a sip of his smoothie and smacking it thoughtfully. You are suddenly worried, “You haven’t been..” “Here the whole time?” he interrupts, “No, Hwa was here; Yeosang stayed a bit after they said he could go home. Yunho sent me home to shower. He just left a little while ago. We’ve kind of been taking turns.” He looks almost regretful as if he feels like he should have been there the whole time, which is entirely admirable but unrealistic.  

“Wow. Thank you,” you stammer, unsure what else to say. “So, they said I can go home?” you add, hopefully. “Yeah.” He says, standing up and putting his jacket over his arm. “Let me go get the doctor, and we can get the final paperwork.” He glances out the door before quickly coming over to you and planting a light kiss on your forehead that starts your tears flowing again. You feel overwhelmed and raw from the whole experience. The sooner you can get out of here, the better.  

Hongjoong handles all the arrangements to spring you from the hospital. He gets a company driver to avoid unnecessary attention and scrutiny. If he were recognized driving you from the hospital, the rumor mills would have a heyday. You’re just happy to have the hospital and your illness in the rearview mirror at this point. Hongjoong tells you that the doctors think there was something with the coffee from the take-out restaurant because both you and Yeosang had the coffee, and the rest of the boys didn’t. You’re visibly relieved that it wasn’t your cooking that made him ill, but you regret not disguising your relief a little more because now Hongjoong looks like he feels a little guilty for the breakfast scheme. You laugh and assure him that it will still go down as one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for you. You realize the elephant in the room is what happened later that same night, but you know that will have to wait for a time when you two can discuss it privately.  

Chapter Text

When you finally get back to the dormitory with Hongjoong, it is quiet. The boys appear to be mostly out, with the exception of Yeosang, who is sitting in the living room with his word puzzle book. He sets it down and gets up to greet you as you slowly make your way in. You are surprised at how weak you feel, but you realize that several days flat on your back will do that to you.  

Yeosang fusses over you and offers to take your jacket, which you realize is Hongjoong’s, and quickly pass it off to Yeosang. They walk you to your room, where you see someone has placed a single, long-stem red rose in a vase by your bed. You stop and stare at it quizzically before Yeosang sheepishly chuckles, and you stare at him. “You?” he laughs again and says, “Yes. Thank you.” before placing his hand over his heart and giving you a little bow. You look at him warmly and feel a rush of gratitude and relief that he’s not embarrassed or uncomfortable about you having helped him in such a vulnerable situation. “Of course, honey. I’m so glad I could help.” He smiles at this and says, “Now... how can I help you?” You look at his hopeful eyes and chuckle slightly. You’re surprised by how much it buoys your energy to see him looking so well.  

“I don’t know. I think I need to lie down, but I don’t want to be alone again.” You bite your lip a little to keep it from trembling and look away to avoid the move coming across as performative. You’re really about to cry at the thought of being alone again, even here.  

Pathetic.  

You feel him place his hand gently on your shoulder as he reaches around you to pull back the covers on your bed. “I will stay with you if you want me to. I can get my puzzles and a chair...” he trails off as he helps you get into bed. Then he turns to go retrieve his things, but you stop him. “Yeosangie? Could you just hold me, please?” He looks a little startled, and you panic slightly, your lip still wobbling and your voice betraying your best efforts to get your shit together. “Sorry, never mind. I’m so sorry. I’m supposed to take care of you. I’m keeping you from doing what you need to do. Please ignore me.” You are crying in earnest now, curled up in a ball in your bed. “Please. Never mind. I don’t want to be a burden. I’m fine. Go do, um, idol stuff, please.” He laughs at this, and you feel ridiculous. You have no idea what their schedule is supposed to be right now but it’s all your brain could come up with. You’re silently crying, and now you just want him to go so you don’t have to feel guilty anymore. You pull the covers up and grip them desperately as you try to get your neediness under control. 

You’re supposed to take care of them, not the other way around.  

Despite your pleas to ignore the request, Yeosang walks around to the other side of the bed, where he lays down on top of the covers to hold you while you fall asleep. You let out a shuddering sigh and say in a very small voice, “Thank you.” to which he replies, “Thank you, too.” You are just drifting off, when you see Hongjoong stop in the doorway and look at you, and you see him cast a meaningful look and nod at Yeosang before he heads off down the hall, and you think you hear the elevator doors close.  

You wake up some time later and find Yeosang still beside you. He is looking at something on his phone, and his puzzle book is on the nightstand. You’re not sure how long you were asleep, but he looks at you and asks, “Hungry?” with a kind smile. You nod vigorously, and he tells you that he had plain chicken and rice when he felt better, and it was really satisfying, so he’ll fix you some. You nod again gratefully and squirm down under the comforter until just your eyes are peeking out. Yeosang laughs at you and slips from the room down the hall.  

Yeosang is patient and kind in his ministrations, and you find yourself feeling much improved after some actual food and more rest. It appears to be nighttime, and you know you should send him back to his own bed, but you still can’t bear to be alone. He hasn’t implied that he needs or wants to go back to his room, so you shimmy back under the covers and look up at him with innocent eyes. He chuckles and comes around the bed to be your big spoon. You open the covers to him, and he hesitates but seems to reconsider at the thought of spending the night in the cold ambient air.  

Yeosang gingerly places an arm over you, resting his hand respectfully on your shoulder. He listens to you sigh contentedly before he asks you cautiously, “Are you happy here? With us?” and you hear him hold his breath, awaiting your response. “Me? You mean living here?” “Yes. With us.” A delighted, melodious laugh escapes you. “I’m ecstatic. I love helping you all.” He sighs like he’s not sure if you understand what he’s getting at, and you want to see his face, so you roll over to face him and press your body against him before looking up at him with a slightly silly, big-eyed expression. He doesn't look at you and stiffens slightly, even though he doesn’t pull away. You quickly pull back to apologize.  

Yeosang pauses, trying to make sense of both your action and his reaction. He is quiet for a moment before he asks if you feel safe living with them. You enthusiastically say yes, because you absolutely do, even for all of the crazy shit that’s happened. He relaxes slightly but goes on to say that he doesn’t want you to feel pressured or obligated in any way to be, um, friendly with anyone. You mention that you’ve noticed that the others seem comfortable touching each other without issues, and you want that, too. When he doesn’t respond to this, you laugh and crack that you never, ever do anything you don’t want to do. 

Have you met me, Sir!?  

He laughs and says good point, and you impulsively nip at his perfect jawline, and he looks at you, wide-eyed with his lips pursed to prevent any comments from escaping. You laugh and then kiss the spot you just bit, and he shifts over to push your head down with his bicep to prevent further assault. You giggle into his navel, his arm on the top of your head, before cuddling back up to him and relaxing with a long sigh. You sense a slight tension in his lower body and can’t resist shifting your hip closer to him and confirming your suspicions. He groans lightly and then chuckles exasperatedly before reminding you that you’re still sick and you asked him to comfort you. You peer up at him with wide eyes, give a small “Mmhmm.” and a nod, and he laughs and rolls you over away from him before scooting up behind you and holding you wrapped up in his arms like a straightjacket to prevent any more shenanigans on your part. You giggle and give up fighting before shortly drifting off to a magenta slumber. 

When you awaken again, it’s dawn, and you can smell the aroma of coffee drifting down the hallway, which still turns your stomach a little bit. You hope that the boys can make do without you for one more day. You definitely need to shower, and you’re worried that will take all of your energy. Hongjoong stops by your room and checks in on you on his way to the studio. The boys have a full schedule of rehearsals, and he wants to talk with you when he gets home later this evening. Your heart skips a beat, but his tone is positive, so you allow yourself a tiny bit of hope that the conversation will lead to good things overall. He kisses your forehead before he leaves, and you just can’t get over how perfect and natural it seems, but also how completely fucking lucky you are.  

Yeosang stops by and can’t stop smiling when he talks to you. He asks if you slept well, and you peer up at him with exaggeratedly big eyes and nod enthusiastically, making him laugh. He leaves you a couple of pieces of toast and some plain tea, and he, too, plants a tender kiss on your forehead. Seonghwa peeks in your doorway and gives you a shy wave and a goodbye. You can’t help but wonder if you did something wrong or if he’s avoiding you for some reason, so you call out to him before he can walk too far down the hallway. “Hwa??” He pops his head back in the doorway. “Will you still do shopping with me on the computer for my room? Maybe later tonight if you’re not too tired?” He smiles at you kindly and nods before disappearing from sight. It’s not quite the interaction you’re used to, but at least it’s something. You sincerely hope you can fix whatever it is and bring your Hwa back to you.

You enjoy taking it easy for the day. You spend a luxuriously long time in the shower, and you focus on enjoying your music while you work on setting up your room more. You find a little extra energy boost and get your inventory done in the kitchen so that you can place the order for whatever the boys will need next week. You find that your Le Cordon Bleu cookbook is finally dry, but you can clearly see that it is in terrible shape. While you’re able to see most of the recipes, the pages that you had to remove will need to be taped or glued back in place, and the poor book will never be the same. It breaks your heart to look at it, so you tenderly stack it back together and put it up on a shelf in your wardrobe until you can figure out what to do with it.  

After a good long nap in the afternoon, you wake to find the floor still dark and empty. You shuffle out to go turn on some lights for when the boys get home, and to make yourself feel less creeped out to be alone. Now that you know the boys so well, you don’t get the haunted vibe that you used to get when you’re here alone, but you still aren’t fond of dark corners. You grab your phone to start up some music in your earbuds and notice that Su-bin texted you back with a selfie of herself and Seo-jun seeing the lions at the zoo and a message saying that she’s sad that you won’t live next to her anymore. She probably still doesn’t grasp the severity of the damage, but you know that’s your fault for trying to keep it light. She will be back in a couple of days, so you can wait until then to spring it on her. 

You find yourself anxiously looking at the clock, waiting for the boys to get home. You wish you had more information about what Hongjoong wants to talk about, and you’re really looking forward to online shopping with Seonghwa, so you hope that the conversation with Hongjoong isn’t going to take a terribly long time or be too emotionally taxing. You’ve always hated the “We have to talk.” approach and wish more people would at least give a hint of what the topic will be. It seems grossly unfair to go into a serious conversation completely unprepared. A tiny echo of Hongjoong’s voice saying, “That’s not how we do things here,” sends a fresh shiver up your spine that has nothing to do with your urgent need to turn on the lights around the dorm to dispel the weird shadows that creep in when the sun goes down outside. ‘Let’s Get Together’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you scoot around in your socks, flicking the rest of the living room lights on before shaking your ass all the way back down the hall to your room. If there’s one thing to be said for being really sick, it’s that you wind up feeling like a goddamn superhero when you finally start feeling better. You find that you get tired quickly, though, so after this little splurge on your limited energy reserves, you find that you need to lie down again. You curl up on your bed again and roll over to hold onto one of the extra pillows Yeosang left for you since you don’t have your favorite pillow anymore. You make a mental note to add one to your shopping list when you get online with Hwa later. 

You must have dozed off again because you awaken to someone gently brushing hair back from your face to tuck it behind your ear. The person then gently removes your earbud and you hold your breath, pretending to still be asleep when you feel them lean down over your ear to say, “Naui Haneul.... I’m home.” The timbre of his precious voice and the proximity of his breath to your ear makes you giggle and stretch before looking up at him with a smile. Hongjoong looks down at you with a peaceful look on his face, as he seems to be checking to see how you are doing. You slowly sit up and ask him how the rehearsal went. He shrugs apathetically; it seems to have been unremarkable, and he clearly has other matters on his mind. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, probably to evaluate if you’re up for his planned conversation, whatever that may be. “Mmmmm...” you stretch again. “I feel really good.” He gives you a relieved smile. “Did you still want to talk to me?” you ask, looking up at him curiously. “Yeah. But I need to shower.” he looks down at himself as if there was any outward sign of this, but of course, the man is flawless. “Did you eat?” you ask, knowing the answer. When he hesitates, you wonder if he’s considering lying about it, and you almost want to let him try. “I didn’t eat yet. We could eat together.” You quickly add, throwing him a bone in hopes that he’ll be as nice to you in whatever conversation he’s got planned for you tonight. You’re starting to feel a little queasy about it, and having an empty stomach probably isn’t helping either. You get a wild idea. “Can we get pizza?” You stare at him with big eyes before batting your eyelashes a couple of times. He tilts his head back and sighs before looking down at you fondly, “Is that what you really want? I’m supposed to be on a diet.” “That’s what I want.” you say with a tiny pout before adding, “Being on a diet doesn’t mean not eating!” He looks at you, scrunches his nose at you in fake annoyance, and then says, “I know. I know. Okay. You can order on my phone. I will go shower.” You look up at him, astonished, as he just hands you his unlocked phone. “What about the members? Will they want pizza, too?” “No.” he says quickly before adding, “They went out to dinner with the managers. I think they might see a movie after. It’s just us for now.” Your stomach does a somersault that feels quite different from the ones it has perfected over the last few days. 

He smiles at you again, an expression you’re starting to realize you understand less and less every time you see it cross his face. He leans over and kisses the top of your head before taking the phone back to open his favorite local pizza place, and then he heads to go shower, leaving you to try to guess what on earth you should order.  

You’re reminded of his impeccable taste as your remaining earbud plays ‘Draw and Draw’, and you scroll through the options of what looks like a pretty gourmet pizza joint. You’ve never been to Italy, but you know a pizza place that has probola, mortadella, and salchicha on the menu probably has street cred. You order a couple of delicious-sounding options and set his phone aside as ‘Wake Up’ comes on, and you can’t help letting your mind wander while you wait for Hongjoong to come out of the shower. You realize you forgot to order anything to drink, so you roll out of your bed and shuffle down to the kitchen to raid the fridge for any beverage options that might pair well with your pizza selections. You honestly have no idea, so you just pick a few things and grab a couple of tall glasses to fill with ice.  

When you get back to your room, you can hear that the shower is off, but you can’t hear anything else, and your heart begins to pound a little bit. You can’t help thinking about your role in the whole awkward business with San, and if you’re honest, you think back to the sweet things that Hongjoong said to you the morning after you took care of him when he came in cold from the rain. The stress of the situation with Yeosang, losing your room, all of that kind of erased from your brain the important information that Hongjoong did say he wants to spend more time with you and that he wants to “be close to you,” whatever that means. You seriously hope that what happened that night will not have ruined the possibility of finding out exactly what Hongjoong meant by that.  

You are startled from your thoughts when you hear Hongjoong’s door open. He saunters in wearing black gym shorts and a loose black t-shirt. His hair is still slightly damp, and he swipes it out of his eyes with his hand before sitting down on the end of your bed. He smells like shampoo and toothpaste, and you want to curl up with your face buried in his chest. But with this whole conversation thing hanging over your head, you try not to allow yourself to fantasize about the slightest possibility of something like that for now. He looks at you softly, and you realize you’re slipping between your own thoughts and reality. You carefully hand him back his phone and ask him with a smile, “Do you want to know what I ordered? Or do you want it to be a surprise?” He chuckles a bit, clearly not expecting that. “Surprise me.” You laugh and say, “I hope it’s good.” before looking down nervously and picking at the edge of the sleeve of your hoodie where you always cut holes for your thumbs. He’s just sitting there watching you, and you have no idea what to do. “I’m nervous about what you want to talk to me about.” you manage to get out in a low voice. It’s probably the most vulnerable you’ve been with someone in a while, but it’s honest, and maybe it will help him go easy on you, depending on what he wants to say. You manage to force yourself to meet his eyes, and he’s looking at you with kind concern. It doesn’t help you figure out what the hell is going through his mind right now, though, and you feel a slight irritation prickle up at this.  

“Can you at least tell me what it’s about? I... I’m not...” you’re floundering, and he’s giving you nothing to work with here. Suddenly, in your ear, La Poem hits their badass bridge section on Answer (Ode to Joy) from the ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you realize that you’ve forgotten to turn off your music. You quickly pull it out of your ear and nearly fling the thing across the room, but manage to toss it onto the nightstand and fumble to power off your phone. He watches you without giving anything away in his expression, and you are starting to get testy. Being hungry is probably not helping your emotions.  

Okay. Fuck. You’re not going to tell me anything. Great.   

You’re starting to feel seriously irritated and afraid. 

“Do you want to stay in here or go out to the living room? Would you prefer to talk in your room?” Maybe if you can get him to narrow down a location, he’ll start to get in the mode to tell you what’s on his mind. He seems to be in no hurry, which feels incredibly unfair since you are still completely in the dark. He appears to ponder this for a moment before saying, “Let’s go to the couch. Then we can get the pizza when it arrives.” You decide you’ll take this as progress, such as it is. He helps you collect the water glasses and your phone while you make a last-minute decision to grab your fluffy comforter, and he chuckles at you as you wrap it around yourself, effectively looking like a cream puff as you teeter down the hallway in your skeleton socks.  

You keep the comforter wrapped around you and plop down on the couch, facing the elevator and Hongjoong expectantly. He looks down at you, fondly, you think, and seats himself a little bit away so that you can see each other’s faces comfortably. You suppress a shudder because this definitely seems to imply that it will be a serious conversation. You stare back at him with your best neutral expression and fight the urge to cross your eyes in an attempt to lighten the mood.  

Your stare down is effectively interrupted by the telephone on the wall by the elevator ringing.  When you startle violently and then break into nervous giggles, Hongjoong looks at you in alarm, clearly worried for your health. He gets up and answers it with a few short phrases you don’t understand before hanging up. “The pizza is here. I will be right back.” He heads into the elevator, and you do your best to keep your breathing slow and steady while you wait.  

When he returns with the pizza, you realize that you have not grabbed plates, utensils, or napkins, so you jump up to retrieve them from the kitchen. Hongjoong is opening the boxes on the coffee table when you get back, and he looks up at you with a smile. “Excellent choices,” he says before starting to pull out pieces of each pizza and passing it to your waiting plate. You can’t ignore the hunger that awakens at the delicious aroma coming from the pizzas. Between the smell of the smoked mozzarella, the mushrooms, cream sauce, and spicy Italian sausage, your mouth waters, and you are pretty sure you can even detect the faintest whiff of the wood-fired oven they were baked in. You’re still fighting your nerves, but after several days without food, you are willing to fight through a few anxious stomach flutters to enjoy a good meal.  

You devour the pizza in relative silence, as the two of you seem rather focused on the task of eating. On one hand, you are trying to eat to get to the pending conversation sooner, and on the other side, he seems like he’s eating to delay it. You catch his eye a couple of times nervously as you attempt to steal glances at him in continued futile attempts to decipher what he plans to talk about. He looks away just as nervously, and you’re wondering how much more suspense you can take. It seems a cruel thing to do to someone whose stomach was so recently wracked by illness. You finish your pieces as best you can and set your plate aside, clearly wishing to communicate that you are ready to talk. He continues to eat until his plate is empty, which you can’t help but notice is totally out of character for him.  

After cleaning his hands on a napkin and setting his plate on top of one of the pizza boxes on the coffee table, he finally coughs a little and looks at you. You’re still wrapped up in your comforter like a gigantic cotton ball, and you suddenly feel the urge to make yourself very small. You pull your knees up and hug them to your body as you stare at his chest—finding yourself unable to look at his eyes. He coughs again, and you look up at him in spite of yourself.  

“I’m sorry. I don’t quite know how to start this conversation,” he says, looking at you apologetically. You don’t know what to do with his admission because you don’t even fully grasp what the conversation is supposed to be about. “Would it be easier with the translation app? Is it too much with both what you want to say and the language?” you ask, starting to get up to get your phone. He holds out a hand to stop you, and you drop back down to the couch. 

“No, it’s not that.” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair nervously before glancing sideways at you with a small, apologetic smile. “This is only the second time, and uh, last time was different.” You can’t help staring at him in anticipation, because this tells you relatively nothing about the topic at hand. “Why was the first time different?” you ask him quietly, urging him to continue. He sighs, “Because it was just the members.” His eyes meet yours, and it feels like he’s hoping this will mean something significant to you. “Hmmm. I still don’t really understand, but you know I want to help however I can. Just try to tell me whatever it is, and if I get confused, I’ll ask you, okay?”   

Hongjoong sighs again, and you can’t help but wonder if you said something wrong, so you probe gently, “The other night, you said I need to make my own decisions. What did you mean?” He looks into your eyes and you can’t tell if he’s surprised or impressed that you just went straight to it.  

But honestly, what else does he expect you to do? He’s the one who wanted this conversation. Why is it so difficult?  

“You said you had this conversation with the members last time. Can you tell me about that so I understand better?” 

He sits up a little, seeming to gather his courage. “Yeah. You know that we have been together for many years now as a group. And you probably know that we have a lot of expectations on us as idols. We are often busy with work and travel, and we also have all of our fan service responsibilities.” You nod, not wanting to say anything, and break his longest streak of consecutive words so far. “So, we realized early on that there were certain things we would not be able to have with this life because of all of those responsibilities. We have needs that aren’t met by personal relationships because, um, you know, we don’t have rules against dating, but it’s not really...” “Practical.” you interrupt, unable to take the suspense as he’s starting to falter, the closer it gets to being personal—which is a little odd considering how confident he seemed the other night in the moonlight.... 

“Yeah. So, we talked about it as a team, and we decided that because we were all close and, uh, comfortable with each other,” he looks down at his palms as if looking for notes, “We agreed to an arrangement that allows us to have physical touch, uh, together, but there are rules so that it doesn’t cause problems.” He pauses, waiting for some sort of reaction from you, but you simply maintain his gaze and nod encouragingly for him to continue. “Because being a team is our main priority. We didn’t want anything to get in the way of ATEEZ’s success, so we set rules for how we, um, meet each other’s needs and protect our close bond.” You realize he looks like he is almost shrinking, so you scoot toward him instinctively and place your hand in one of his upturned palms. He gently strokes your hand with his thumb before taking a deep breath and looking up at you nervously.  

A small lightning bolt of realization strikes your heart: he’s probably never told another soul any of this. You realize he’d have to tell you because you are living there now and likely to figure it all out. You relax a little until it strikes you that you had already picked up on their extracurricular activities, and yet he’s still having this conversation with you here and now. Your breath catches a little, and you try not to hold it while you wait for him to continue.  When he doesn’t, you gently say, “I understand. That makes sense. It is beautiful that you can do that for each other and still be so close. Your close bond is one of my favorite things about all of you.” 

He looks up at you with a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. It isn’t always easy.” You are curious now. “What are the rules, specifically? If you don’t mind me asking.” You realize you’re holding your breath again. This seems to help him set his course in a more determined manner. “Yes. The rules. Because each of the members is different, we started determining by age. Seonghwa is the oldest, even though I am the Captain.” A tiny involuntary shiver passes over you, hearing the words ‘I am the captain’ from his lips; you hope he didn’t notice. “As the eldest, Seonghwa has the most power. He’d say I do, but I usually put myself last in line to make sure everyone else is happy.” You look up at him sadly, which makes him chuckle a little, “No, it’s okay. I kind of like seeing that everyone is cared for, and then I can choose whatever I want without guilt.” You laugh and nod, “Okay, that actually makes sense. So, Hwa is first, and then it goes by age?” “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean that Hwa always gets whatever he wants. Anyone can say ‘no’ to another member, and younger members can ask older hyungs for time.” He looks at you a little more confidently, but you’re feeling like you still need him to be a bit more direct in his meaning.  

“Okay. So, it starts there but can go either way. Like if someone isn’t spoken for, a younger member could ask ‘up’ to another hyung?” He nods. “Yeah. And anyone can say no, any time.” You look at him curiously, “Does that happen often?” He chuckles a little, “It used to. But now we kind of just know who needs what and go from there.” “That makes sense.” you say, encouragingly, which makes him smile, and you feel emboldened to ask, “Okay, so what happened the other night with San. Is that why we are talking about this? Or is it because you just want me to know so I’m not confused if I see the members go off together? Because I’ll be honest, I’d already noticed that happening, and it’s not any of my business to judge.” He looks a little sheepish now, and you’re wishing you’d kept that last part to yourself. “No, I know. They’re not quiet,” he says with a laugh. “The reason I am telling you the agreement is because—not just what happened with San—but because of what happened with you and me. It wouldn’t be fair for you to not know, and because I was not following the rules either.” You stare at him with undisguised shock as the big picture begins to fill in before your eyes. 

“Wait. What does the agreement have to do with me? I am not a member.” You start to feel heat rising in your face as the implications seem a bit overwhelming.  

He’s not saying they’re going to take a vote to pass you around, is he??  

He looks a little alarmed and quickly tries to get to the point, “No, you’re not a member. And that’s not it at all. It’s just that you live with us now, and,” he’s floundering, but you’re frozen to the spot, “You should know the arrangement, and if you wanted, uh, to spend time with any of the members, that would be up to you to decide.” You let out a long, slow breath as you process this, wondering if you’re missing something in translation.  

No shit.  

Of course it would be your decision.  

Who else would be deciding for you!?    

“Okay, so I would have to ask if I was, um, interested in physical contact with one of you?” Your heart is hammering away in your chest at this point, and it’s all you can do to force the words out of your throat. “Would I have to ask in front of all of the members? Does an older member have the right to tell me no for a younger member if they don’t agree?” You’re slightly horrified at this idea. 

“No! No.” Hongjoong puts up both his hands in a calming gesture. “It’s not like that. It is because, well,”  

Oh fuck, he really looks guilty now.  

“Because we talked about it and decided that if we offer you a place in the agreement, you would get the first spot in line.” “Oh.” 

There goes your heart again: flat-lining. Holy shit. What the fuck.  

“If you want to spend time with someone, all you have to do is ask. If you don’t ask, and someone wants to spend time with you, then they ask you. But—especially since you are new—the rules keep you from getting asked by everyone and having to tell everyone no at once.” You scoff.  

This can’t be real. This is definitely a fucked up lucid dream or something. Maybe you died in the hospital, and you’re actually going to find out you’re in hell when this isn’t real at all.  

“ This is for you to just know and not for you to feel overwhelmed. I want—we want—you to feel safe and in control of things.” He gives you a knowing look, and the meaning finally rushes into your frazzled brain. “Oh... so when San came to my room...” “He broke the rules.” Hongjoong interrupts you. “He is being punished.” You can’t suppress a look of shock and try to recall your eyebrows back to their regular, demure settings. 

“Punished... how?” Hongjoong allows himself a wicked grin for a moment before quickly tucking it away behind a look of very mild amusement—a transition you watch with amazement—before he answers, “He will not be allowed to cum for a week. Or until you release him to.” Hongjoong’s eyes meet yours, and the devilish twinkle in them is intoxicating as fuck.  

“Until I... oh.” Your eyes must be the size of saucers at this point; you probably look like a goddamn cartoon.  

Shit. Shit. Shit. Holy shit.  

Wait a fucking minute. Did they all TALK ABOUT THIS!?  

“Ok, but I’m confused.” you start, trying to put words into coherent sentences. He nods at you, waiting patiently for you to continue. “Did you—you said you—talked about this? As a group?” You can’t hide your horrified confusion as the idea of them discussing the ‘San incident’ or you, in general, is absolutely mortifying. You’re starting to wish you had died in that hospital. 

Hongjoong looks apologetic again, “Yes, but no. It’s not bad. It’s part of our rules. We have to put ATEEZ first, and that’s why the rules work. We have to be honest with each other. There are other rules that include being respectful. We don’t talk about things unless we absolutely need to. And as we became close with you, we began to realize that we needed to talk about it so that you would be protected and treated with as much care as we know you deserve.” You swallow hard at this, wondering if they know how little you feel you actually deserve,    

They’ve probably overestimated you, to be honest.  

“ So, what does that mean exactly? Do they know you are telling me this? How does this mean I make a decision? What does it mean with San’s, um, punishment??” You are starting to get seriously overwhelmed, and that does not make you smarter. 

“I know this is a lot. I’m sorry. It’s hard to even explain in words because we have just been living with this arrangement for so long. You need to know that you are first in line if you want to be, and you can decide who you want to spend time with. if you don’t at all, that’s totally okay, too. San will follow the punishment the group decided for him,” your face is really burning now at the thought of all of them knowing what happened ( or didn’t happen ) between you and San. “And then his punishment will be up either after a week or when you say so.” 

“I see. So, he broke the rules because.... why?” you aren’t completely getting all of this. Was he in trouble for not fucking you? Was he in trouble for not actually talking to you first? Hongjoong sees you doing this mental math and mercifully interrupts to clarify, “San is in trouble for seeking intimacy with you without discussing it with the members first. And for not discussing it with you directly first. You were unaware until he came into your room, correct?” His unyielding gaze is overstimulating at this point, and you look down at your thumbs poking out from your hoodie, suddenly aware that the combination with the comforter is stifling. You rip it off of your lap and toss it away from yourself before wrapping your arms around your knees again.  

“No, I wasn’t expecting it at all. I mean, I was okay with it, but yeah.” Hongjoong nods appreciatively at your honesty, and you’re simultaneously horrified and relieved as you didn’t quite mean to be so brutally honest, recalling your intense inner conflict during the actual ‘San incident.’ You feel like you really need to know more about the whole situation, considering they are bound together.by their contracts and their long-term friendships, and you just literally got here. “How does that work with, um, feelings and stuff? Like is it only physical touch or...” You trail off, unable to force any more syllables out of your mouth at this point, and you quickly stare back at your sleeves as if mesmerized. 

Hongjoong chuckles lightly, and you jump a little, “Sorry. Sorry. We have our relationships, and it’s not, um, traditional. But each member’s relationships are different, and we all care very deeply about each other. It would be the same for you: we all know that we care for you, but we also know that it might be different between us.” He looks at you intently before adding, “We wouldn’t ask you about the agreement if we didn’t already care for you.” Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes meet his, and you see his genuine affection for you and wonder why you hadn’t allowed yourself to see it before. “I care very much about you, too,” you say quietly, tucking your chin to your knees again.  

There is still, of course, the bigger issue of Wooyoung not seeming to like—let alone care for—you. But it's probably an easily avoidable situation if you just continue to stay away from each other. You’re not quite ready to give up on figuring him out, and you’re certainly not ready to try to rally any assistance from any of the others about it. 

You notice Hongjoong glance at the clock, and you wonder when the members are supposed to be home. It dawns on you now that they probably know that this conversation is taking place and are intentionally staying away until Hongjoong gives the ‘all-clear.’ “Okay. Um, so what do we do now?” you look up at him shyly. He suddenly looks just as shy, and you cringe at your collective absurdity. “Well, you can think about it if you want to, or tell me what you want. But I know that Hwa wanted to check in with you before you made any major decisions. Your face breaks into a huge smile despite any efforts to contain your emotions up till now. “Oh, good. Okay.” Hongjoong nods in understanding and continues, “I would like you to tell him what your decision is when you are ready, or you can tell me, of course. But I would like you to tell one of us before you spend time with anyone once you decide.” Your heart flutters a bit at the idea that ATEEZ has a hierarchy, and they just dropped you at the top of the food chain.  

What the fuck? This is not your life.  

“I can do that. I don’t want to rush into any decisions anyway.” He reaches out and pats your knee, locking eyes with you reassuringly. “That’s good.” he says. “Also,” you begin, as your heart falters a little as you think about the important conversation that you need to have if you’re seriously considering sexual intimacy with someone. Let alone a whole damn K-pop group. “Um, Jjoongie?” you look at him with a little more tormented vulnerability visible on your face than you intended. “Yes?” he meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I have to make a couple of things clear if I’m going to consider the agreement.” He bites his lip nervously, “Okay. What?”  

You try not to hesitate as you generally pride yourself on your ability to hold conversations like this responsibly in exchange for enjoying your sex life as an adult. “I want you to know that I’ve been tested for sexually transmitted infections, and I am healthy.” he nods, and you continue quickly to prevent him from feeling obligated to respond, “I usually would say I only have sex with one person and get tested between, but if there is an agreement, I need to know that all members are also healthy and will not go outside the agreement without getting tested and talking about it” He nods again, vigorously and says, “Of course. We are all healthy and stay regularly checked. We, uh, don’t go outside the agreement, and you are the first person we have ever told about the agreement.”  

You try not to give in to the temptation to stop and analyze his last comment because you need to get through this. “Also, I am unable to become pregnant because I have had a hysterectomy.” You hold your breath and wonder if you’re overestimating his command of your language, and you cringe at the thought of having to grab your translation app for this portion of the conversation. When he looks like he’s thinking very hard about this, you say, “I cannot have children. I am not able to get pregnant or have babies because...” you make a gesture throwing something away from your pelvic region with an exaggerated grimace. He suddenly understands and says, “Oh, right. Yes. Okay. Well, they might have, uh, accidentally mentioned something about that when we discussed moving you onto our floor.” He looks sheepish, but honestly, you’re relieved that you are now completely assured that he knows you’re infertile. HIPAA be damned. “Okay. Well, that’s all for me then.” You sigh awkwardly and stare at your knees for a moment. You feel a little brave and look up at him with a sweet smile. You can’t believe that any of this has actually happened, and the closeness you now feel to him is setting your heart on fire but you still lack the confidence to fully move toward all of your desires. 

A thought suddenly occurs to you, and your face breaks into an evil grin of your own, which surprises Hongjoong and causes him to involuntarily pull back to figure out what is going on.  

Without the slightest drop in the wicked expression now dancing on your face, you say in a low voice,  

“Wait, how many days does San have left on his punishment?”  

You watch as the meaning of your question and its implications penetrate Hongjoong’s unnerved expression, and his face shifts to a look of impressed—if not slightly devilish—affection. 

Chapter Text

The boys tumble noisily out of the elevator, and you can’t help but chuckle as it seems like they are intentionally making noise to prevent surprising any private activities taking place in their absence. They look up and see the two of you on the couch, and a couple of them groan, seeming disappointed that you’re both upright and fully clothed. Seonghwa catches your eye briefly and gives you a small smile and a wink, and your heart leaps in your chest. Now that you know what had been hanging over them, with the disclosure of “the agreement” hanging in the air, his distance from you makes sense. Your heart shudders a little at the thought that your tenderhearted, dear Hwa could be nervous about how you would react to the offer.  

The members all nod or greet the two of you as they walk by, but San seems to only nod and look away quickly, avoiding eye contact, and you actually laugh out loud for a moment before feeling a little guilty for feeling smug at your new understanding of the whole picture from the other night. You’re hugely relieved that he wasn’t actually rejecting you but was having second thoughts about breaking his agreement with the rest of the members, and this would have been a huge breach of trust. You’re actually quite proud of him for managing to reel himself back in and stop before it was too late. You vow to take this into consideration when you release him from his punishment. That wicked smile plays at the inside of your lips and you enjoy the delicious sensation without giving any hint of it on your outward expression. 

When the boys have all piled down the hallway into their respective rooms or paired off, as they often do, you look up at Hongjoong and smile with relief. Not just that a tough conversation was over, but you feel wonderful if you’re honest with yourself as all of the information finally clicks into place.  

Holy shit.  

You are definitely going to want to sleep on this because while it aligns with a disturbingly high number of your wildest fantasies, there are eight other living, breathing humans involved—however tangentially—and you need to be mature if you’re to be trusted with so much, ahem, privilege. At the exact same time, as you think about how mature you ‘imagine’ yourself capable of being, your heart nearly leaps from your chest as you also have to suppress the sudden impulse to jump into Hongjoong’s lap and kiss him passionately. You start to giggle and he looks at you, amused and only slightly unsure about your sudden outburst, before you scoot over closer to him and look up at him in undisguised wonder. He chuckles at you and kisses your forehead while reaching out to wrap his arms around you. You sigh heavily and relax your head against his chest. His heartbeat seems incredibly stable compared to yours, which has probably broken all sorts of laws of nature tonight.  

You tilt your head up to kiss his jawline before clucking your tongue happily and standing up, straightening your rumpled clothing. “I’m going to go see Hwa,” you announce with a cheesy but genuine ear-to-ear grin. Hongjoong looks up at you with an adoring smile that makes his eyes twinkle, and you don’t know if he’s thinking of Hwa or looking at you or if it’s some magical cocktail of both that makes his eyes sparkle like that, but you’re good with any of those explanations. You pick up your comforter with a flourish and swish off down the hall to find Hwa leaving Hongjoong chuckling on the sofa behind you.   

When you reach Seonghwa’s door, it is not quite closed, and you ignore the temptation to peek in through the slight opening. You knock on the doorframe beside it, and he calls out almost immediately, “Come in.” You gently push the door open and attempt to slide in through the doorway in your impromptu, down-filled space suit. You get caught on the doorknob and curse under your breath as it jars the door back toward you and bounces your comforter-clad body back against the opposite side of the doorframe. “Son-of-a-bitch!” you hiss as you yank the comforter back from the door handle’s grip. Seonghwa looks up and laughs at your sudden profanity; he starts to move to help you but holds back as he sees your fluffy form break free and come stumbling toward him. He uses his initial step toward you to hold out his arms and prevent you from falling as your sudden forward momentum seems liable to catapult you onto the floor. You’re both laughing as he holds you up and looks you over—probably checking you for injuries or insanity.  

You look up through your tousled hair and meet his eyes, and your breath catches in your throat. He, too, stops laughing almost immediately. “Hi.” you breathe. “Hi.” he smiles at you before lowering his arms and stepping back a little more quickly than you’d like. He looks vaguely hesitant. As your stomach sets off a fresh round of cartwheels, you start to wonder if it will ever recover from all of this drama. You realize you should probably debrief with him about the conversation with Hongjoong and the ‘San incident’ and make sure that the two of you are okay. The sudden realization of exactly how much you’ve missed Seonghwa hits you like a tidal wave, and you find your lower lip unexpectedly quivering as your eyes brim with sudden tears. 

He sees the rapid shift in your face with alarm and moves swiftly to close his bedroom door before turning to offer you a seat on the bed. When you hesitate, he reaches out an elegant arm to try to guide you before realizing that your protective comforter bubble is preventing him from even locating the functional outline of your body. He starts to laugh, looking apologetic. As you watch him struggle to decide how to approach you in your current form, you, too, begin to laugh. You drop the comforter to the floor and rush to hug him around his delicate waist and bury your face against his chest. His laughing slows as he wraps his long arms around you and kisses the top of your head. The two of you stand there in this reassuring embrace, and you can’t help but marvel at how natural it feels. After several indulgent moments, you pull back and wipe the tears that were knocked from your eyes in your laughter and gently touch the side of his face with your hand as if making sure he is real.  

He looks down at you fondly before seeming to recall his original goal and guiding you to sit on his bed. Feeling vulnerable, you crawl up toward the head of the bed and prop a pillow behind you before reaching out a hand to ask him to return your queen-sized cape. He laughs again and carefully places the comforter back across your lap before coming around the other side to sit next to you. Ever patient, Seonghwa looks you over and waits to see what you do next. You look down at your hands self-consciously, unsure where to start.  

Seeing your uncomfortable hesitation, he starts to ask you about your talk with Hongjoong. At the same time, you start to speak to him, too, saying, “Are we okay?” Both of you laugh awkwardly and wait for the other to speak. You’ve used up all your courage to ask your question, so you are forced to wait until he speaks. “Are we okay?” He repeats your question as if working out any alternative meanings in the unfamiliar language. You smack yourself in the forehead for not having your phone handy. Seonghwa can be hesitant about language, particularly when he really wants to ensure everyone is understood. “Translation app?” you ask him, and he rolls over to grab his phone before opening it up and turning on the microphone. “Are you mad at me, or did I upset you somehow?” you manage to squeak out before giving him a chance to say anything else.  

He looks overcome with regret after he reads the translation of your words. He swaps the translation before quickly speaking into the mic and hitting [Translate], “Oh no. I am not mad at you at all. I have been, um, deep in thought about all of the events that have happened, and I did not want to overwhelm you further by putting my feelings onto you. I am sorry. No, I’m not mad at you at all.” You breathe an audible sigh of relief. “Oh good,” you say quietly. He sees that you don’t have more to add, so he continues into the mic, “You had a talk with Hongjoong about the agreement?” He looks at you expectantly, and you can’t read the look in his large, dark eyes. “Yes. I told him I would think about it, and he asked me to let him or you know what my decision is.” Now it is Hwa’s turn to sigh in relief. You still can’t read if he is for or against the idea of you saying yes, but you remember that he would have been in support of the offer based on what Hongjoong had said about the members’ discussion. You stare at each other silently for a few moments before he asks, “Do you have any questions about the agreement? Or anything you’d like to talk about?” Your breath catches in a weird clench that makes you want to completely get all of your inner mess out in the open and beg him to help you sort out all of your feelings. 

Oh, poor Hwa. He really is your new best friend,   

you think as you prepare to unburden yourself on him. 

“I’m still trying to figure out what the hell happened with San, and I don’t know how to feel about it. I was so scared about Yeosang, but I also felt like I might be making a big mistake, and in that moment, I didn’t care, but then I felt so stupid and kind of, used, I guess.” You stare at him and then immediately regret your unfiltered overshare because you actually don’t know how much he knows at this point. You look horrified, and he looks back at you, concerned but calm in comparison.  

“San told us how much he regretted what happened. He had wanted to spend time with you for quite a while, but that was not the way to go about it, and he knows that. He said he was really worried about Yeo, too, and his brain just kind of stopped working for a moment.” You let out a shuddering, relieved exhale as you wait for him to continue. “The members understood what both of you were probably feeling in that moment and no one is upset at either of you, really.” You bite your lip before braving the question, “But San is getting punished?” Seonghwa shakes his hair slightly, and you notice a small smirk on his face. “Punishment is a voluntary part of the agreement. It’s more like, um, penance? Something that a member offers to do to make amends. But yeah, no one will touch him for a week as part of that arrangement because he knows he made a big mistake, and he did part of that intentionally, even though we all accept his explanation.” He looks at you meaningfully, and you’re not sure if he’s telling you that all is forgiven for you as well or if you should also offer some form of apology.  

No, you did nothing wrong. You hadn’t been aware of any reason that you couldn’t make your own decisions to be intimate with another adult.   

You begin to fidget with your hands, unsure of what happens next. Seonghwa sees you floundering and reaches out to hold one of your hands in his, gently. You marvel at the soft strength in them and the perfect way his hand fits over yours. When you look up at him, he’s smiling at you patiently. “Okay. So, what did Hongjoong mean that I could release San?” You startle a little as Hwa suddenly laughs, and his gentle smile morphs into a devious grin. “Oh, sorry,” he says apologetically for alarming you with his sudden laughter. He strokes your hand and squeezes it a little before answering your question. “It means that you can be the one who allows him to orgasm after the week is over, or sooner if you wish, because you were the one who was most affected by his transgression.” Your eyes must be huge as you stare up at him, checking his face for any help about how you are supposed to feel about this. Seeing the overwhelmed look on your face, he pats your knee and looks at you reassuringly before saying, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Even San understands if you don’t want to be involved after what happened. But that is part of our process for resolving issues—” 

All those jokes about getting sent to Captain’s room are starting to make so much more sense now...  

“ --So, it is your right if you accept the agreement.” 

Let’s be honest here. Of course, you’re accepting the agreement. There’s literally no universe in which you’d ever refuse an offer like that—you don’t have the sense of self-worth to even consider declining, even if it was a terribly offensive proposal.   

But it’s not offensive at all. It seems reasonable, mature, responsible, well-thought-out, and respectful in how they offered you the first dibs spot in the hierarchy, after all. But you certainly don’t want to look too eager or as though you aren’t considering all of the information thoroughly. Plus, you are a little overwhelmed by the options that would become available upon accepting, and you find yourself feeling a bit like a kid in a candy store with a stolen credit card. 

You take a deep breath and ask him, “What would you choose? If you were me?” He looks at you, a little startled by the question. “Me? Well, that depends. Do you want to spend time with him, or do you think that you don’t want to because of what happened?” You stifle a laugh at this because wanting to fuck San was never the problem in this situation. If anything, it was too much desire to bang the hell out of him. 

Like a screen door in a hurricane.  

You realize you’re having a conversation with yourself again, so you quickly say, “I want to be intimate with San. I was very hurt by it because it got my hopes up and then made me feel like I...” you stutter a little and look down to examine the back of his hand suddenly, “Like I wasn’t good enough.”  

Oh, damn it. There’s that lip quiver again. Jeebus fuck.  

He looks at you reassuringly, and you watch in amazement as the wicked smile contorts his delicate features again, “Then, if I were you, I would make him suffer.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and frozen. Seonghwa starts to laugh good-naturedly before turning from you toward his bedside table, opening the drawer, and turning back to press something gently into your palm . 

As you open your hand to see the small object, you gasp a little and begin to giggle. You’re a little self-conscious about your reaction, but honestly... between the evil grin, the shocking admission by Seonghwa, and now, the perfect round, red cock ring you hold in your hand... it’s all too funny and completely awesome.  

These guys know how to party. Holy shit.  

You start cracking yourself up before realizing you don’t actually know enough about these to know how to use it properly, and you certainly wouldn’t want to have to rely on San to explain it in the moment, so you look up at Seonghwa with your eyes still wide. “I am not sure how...I’ve never used one of these before.” He looks at you sweetly, the wicked grin melted away as soon as he saw your bewildered expression. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” He clucks his tongue at you before hesitating. “Would you want me to tell you, or would you want to look it up online in your private time?” A third option springs to mind, but you’re not ready to make that leap yet. “I will look it up, but I will ask you if I have questions. He only has three more days left, right?” Seonghwa can’t contain a devious chuckle, “Yeah. And you should definitely think about, um, making sure he knows it.” He looks at you intently.  

You laugh a little shyly before forcing a neutral expression and saying with only a hint of seriousness, “Maybe. But I haven’t accepted the agreement yet, remember?” Seonghwa looks at you, pretending to be completely shocked, smacking your shoulder playfully and scoffing before leaning his head on your shoulder and sighing contentedly. He’s definitely your bestie by now. Because he knows exactly what you’re going to do about the agreement. 

You have just under three days to decide what  

Or who  

you’re going to do first. 

Chapter Text

Long before your conversation about the agreement, you’d grown accustomed to seeing the ass slaps in the hallway and intense, meaningful looks across the dinner table before two (or sometimes three) of the boys disappear from the table wordlessly, only to return fifteen minutes later flushed, sweaty, and serene. You’ve learned to avoid the bathrooms after several of them get home from the gym, and you definitely don’t shower in the late evening. It seems that for all the things the boys do together, not the least of which is the silent ways they meet each other’s physical needs without possessiveness or judgment. Since the language is still largely incomprehensible to you, you can’t say with complete certainty that there are no negotiations going on, but from your uncanny ability to observe nonverbal communication, you see the delicate ways they let each other know what they need and whoever steps up to assist is welcomed enthusiastically. It seems so natural at this point that you wouldn’t even attempt to put a label on it; the bonds between them well surpass that of typical friends or lovers, but there seems to be a sense that this time is temporary even though the connections run deep. You imagine that if any of them brought home a lover, the others would keep a respectful distance, but it doesn’t seem like this has happened before. You think again how challenging it must be to attempt to date or trust anyone in their line of work, that it would never be worth the risk unless you met someone who ticked all the criteria for a potential lifelong partner.  

The day after Hongjoong delivers you the group’s ‘agreement proposal,’ you try to return to business as usual. The boys have been back from their planning sessions for about an hour when you are heading down the hall with your basket of odds and ends and getting back into your routine. As a result of your illness, you are way behind on household chores. You realize you have neglected the sofa cushions, in addition to so many other things, and you’ve just fished out two and a half pairs of air pods from the sofa. You know who you will be returning them to without even needing to investigate, so you make your way down the hallway toward Hongjoong’s room before you hear soft voices and see Seonghwa gently open the door and slip out of the room. As you watch Hwa glance back into the room as he closes the door, you can just see Hongjoong beyond him, sprawled across the bed, his lower half covered by the comforters and his bare shoulders visible as he looks to be fast asleep. 

Seonghwa looks up at you, almost alarmed, as he sees you there watching him. But you smile reassuringly and nod with a quick, impressed eyebrow raise, and he laughs self-consciously before his expression relaxes into relief that you are apparently unbothered to have witnessed them in what looks like a ‘situation’. You chuckle when he’s safely out of earshot because these darling men are so clueless as to how open-minded and practical you actually are. You understand the reality of the agreement, and you are quite proud of your ability to adapt to the new information and not feel even the slightest pang of jealousy. Of course, sitting pretty at the top of the hierarchy probably does a lot to assuage any sense of FOMO you might be tempted to fall into. 

You have spent the past two nights since that afternoon in Hwa’s bed, lying awake into the early morning hours, talking about your dreams and fantasies. He has opened up to you so much and increased his willingness to try to speak with you despite feeling unconfident about his language skills. He seems to share the feeling of safety that envelopes you when you’re together. You love tracing the lines of his arms and chest or gently massaging his scalp until he falls asleep. At some point, your voices in the dark began to talk about physical fantasies, and you both shared some intimate thoughts that you’d never told anyone before. He is such a perfect listener; he gets so interested in what you have to say without making you feel lewd about it or like he is vicariously getting off on your deepest fantasies.  

Tonight, as you both lay in your pajamas across his bed, on top of his comforter, you absently give him a hand massage. As you stroke and massage his palms, working your way to his fingertips and feeling him relax next to you, he turns and interrupts your lazy, meandering thoughts to ask a very important question. He rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow, looking at you intently, and you can’t help but giggle a little and shrink away as you’re suddenly feeling all of his powerful gaze focused upon you. He looks a little cautious but no less intent, and he licks his lips as he prepares to launch his question. You find you are holding your breath, and your eyes are beginning to bug out with anticipation because he sure is taking his time. You burst out your held breath in a laugh and cause him to start to chuckle, breaking his concentration. “What!?” You stammer at him, begging him to share his thoughts but still laughing good-naturedly.  

He suddenly gets really quiet and a little serious and asks you, “Have you given some thought to the agreement?” You shift your body slightly to the side to help you get a better look at him. He lays there with his silk pajama top falling away from his midline to expose his lean chest and well-defined collar bones. You can’t stop your eyes from dropping into the shadow there for a moment before going back up to meet his gaze.  He chuckles and blushes a little as he looks down and sees where your gaze had gotten lost a moment ago in his open shirt before licking his lips again and looking at you through his hair.  

You find yourself quiet for a moment. Of course, you’ve thought about it. You have never attempted anything like it in real life; you have a hard enough time keeping one partner happy as it seems to be easy to forget they exist when they’re not in front of you versus when the relationship is new and exciting, and it nearly consumes you. “I think I would like to accept the agreement.” And you drop your face back down to the mattress, trying in vain to stop a nervous chuckle from escaping your lips with this revelation. He laughs and gently strokes your shoulder blade before tapping you on the shoulder to get you to lift your head back up and look at him. When you meet his gaze, his pupils are huge, and your breath catches as he hooks a finger under your chin and pulls your face up to meet his. He suddenly stops himself and backs away, apologizing. He looks up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, and looks back at you with an intensity in his eyes you have only ever seen on stage. “And would you want to spend time, like that, with me?” he asks, and you swear you detect a slight quiver of vulnerability in his quietly urgent, deep voice.  

You can’t help but break into a huge smile at this; your darling dearest Hwa has no idea the power he holds, and his inability to comprehend his power is one of the best things about him. You touch his cheek before stroking it lightly, and still grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary, you say, “Of course I want that with you!” before adding, to break the tension, “You know me, I’ll try anything once!” which releases whatever fears he was holding, and he bursts into nervous laughter beside you. You scoot your body closer to his and throw one thigh over his abdomen, pressing him with your shoulder to put his arm under your head, and then you tilt your chin up to gaze back up at his face. When he just looks down at you, he seems suddenly hesitant about what to do next. You reach to grab his free hand and place it back under your chin before whispering to him, “So, what would you like to do with me?” His pupils flash again, as if at your beck and call, and he takes a small shuddering breath while he slides his tongue over his teeth before he bends down to take your mouth with his and reaches his arm around your back to hold you tightly against him until no space remains between.  

The pressure of his body against yours, the placement of your thigh over his lower body, and the intensity of his lips enclosing yours make your vision go black. You feel like someone has set off a bomb behind your eyelids, and you hear moaning and panting before you realize that the sounds are coming from you.  

Between flashes of tongue and desperate, searching kisses, you slide your free hand over his chest and down to where his silky pajamas have fallen away from his hips. You continue to pant and moan as he kisses you so hard while holding your neck gently to avoid accidental strain from the awkward position on the bed. Your free hand finds the waistband of his pajamas, silky, pleated elastic in contrast with his hot, smooth skin. You toy with it gingerly and run your fingertip under the band experimentally, causing him to gasp into your mouth before he turns to kiss your neck and nip at your earlobe, which teases a whine from you. 

He rolls toward you, effectively pushing you onto your back and using his elbows to plank himself over you. As he holds himself above you, his eyes drop down over your body, and he pouts at the amount of clothing you’re wearing. You giggle and quickly work beneath him to get free of your pants and t-shirt. He looks at you with his dark eyes full of desire before sliding a long finger under the band of your sports bra and pouting at you. You can’t help but laugh, and you slide your arms down to pry yourself loose from the restrictive garment.  

Now it’s your turn to pout because he’s still wearing those pajamas, even though you can enjoy the view straight down the open top as he holds himself above you. You tug on the collar of the shirt and whine until he laughs and rolls away to slide the shirt off in a singular motion. When he slides the pants away, you gasp audibly because you had not dared to imagine that he would have been there having these intimate conversations with you while going commando.  

But there he is, in all his glory, completely naked as the pants glide off the bed down to the floor. He chuckles, almost apologetically, as he rolls back toward you and pulls the sheet up over his back. As he rolls back over you, his hard cock smacks against your thigh, and you gasp again. He looks up at you sheepishly, if not a little shyly, and it occurs to you that he seems to be checking in to find out if you like what you see. You try to contort your look of shock and amazement into one of approval, and he looks a little relieved before lowering himself gently on top of your trembling body and returning to the passionate kisses from a moment ago.  

You can feel his hardness as your body responds to him instinctively, and you find yourself pressing and grinding against him, desperate to find a closer physical connection between you. He caresses your breasts with his gentle hands and swirls his fingertips over your areola and nipple before gently massaging your breast as his tongue probes your mouth and his pelvis flexes back against you. You realize that there is still far too much fabric between you, and you reach down to remove your underwear without disrupting his exploration. He feels you shift and raises his body to give you clearance. You gasp as the cold air hits your skin, feeling the wave of warmth that recedes with him. He laughs lightly, breaking the kiss, and you seize the chance to look down at his perfectly rigid cock, now dusky and hard, with a glint of pre-cum sliding off of the tip and onto your quivering thigh as if pointing exactly where it wants to go. 

You gasp again and whine, arching your back toward him, and he kisses your forehead as he chuckles and slides an arm behind your shoulders to hold you tight while he places his cock to lay centered against the softness of your mound. You pant at the pressure and nip at his chin in a desperate bid to get him to return his soft, full lips back within reach of yours. He lets out a long exhale as his cock digs into your lower body, and his eyes roll up to you as he enjoys the full sensation of your bodies pressed tightly together. You shudder in anticipation and desire and feel a wave of excitement as he finally returns his lips to yours. He kisses you deeply and holds the pressure between your bodies for what seems like an eternity before slowly releasing you and leaning onto one elbow. Seonghwa continues his passionate exploration of your mouth as he shifts to free his hand from the embrace. He slides his free hand down to your heat and begins getting to know all of the nerves that run along the crease of your hips, over your mound, and he slides his finger down between your folds and back up a couple of times. The kiss breaks momentarily as he utters a small chuckle of delight at the wetness he finds there, which must have exceeded his expectations. This causes you to blush, but any self-conscious thoughts are immediately erased when he slides his finger finally to your clit and begins to circle it. 

Your back arches, and you let out the most pathetic, disembodied whine, and your hips flex in an attempt to capture the teasing finger before you lose your mind. He chuckles again and slides his finger inside you in one expert, fluid motion causing you to slam your head back against the mattress and nearly cum right then and there. Your hips flex uncontrollably, and he holds his hand still to wait for you to calm down. You gasp and pant and try to get your vision to reengage as you were nearly blacked out with the pleasure of his touch. Once he feels your body under better control, he begins softly stroking your inner walls, and you let out a feral groan that tells him you no longer have control over yourself. You are his to command, and whatever happens next is entirely up to him.  

He rubs inside you and presses against your slit with his palm while he tenderly kisses and licks your mouth, never quite getting close enough for you to receive the pressure you want from his mouth and his body, but teasing you to the edge every time he comes close only to pull away. You are turning into a panting, whining, squirming mess, and he looks down at you tenderly through his bangs, which have fallen across his beautiful face, making you feel like you are glimpsing rare beauty through curtains or stealing forbidden glances with a secret lover. He looks down at you almost lovingly, and you look back to his chest to avoid reading too far into a look that, in all likelihood, is a result of pheromones and lust—bedroom eyes, you think, with a slight pang. 

He lets you gaze down to his chest before slowly pulling his finger out and tracing it back up your thigh and over your erect nipple. You watch him in fascination as he brings the finger up, slick with your wetness, and slides it straight into his mouth. His eyes roll back in ecstasy, and he moans deeply as he tastes you, and watching this triggers something deeply feral within you. You let out a low moan, synchronous with his, and you feel his hard cock flexing against you again. You shift your hips up toward him, and he removes his finger before looking down at you with an intensity that takes your breath away.  

At this look, you part your legs wide, despite his weight upon you, and he responds immediately to drop down, grip his hard cock, and press the head against your swollen, slippery entrance. You are both moving on instinct now; no talking, no thinking, just pure, driven lust and the need to be completely connected in every possible way. Your body rocks back to allow him to slide all the way inside you, and you both gasp and pant as you see spots in your vision. You can feel him filling you up completely, and the arm that he is using to hold himself up falters under the intense pleasure. He relaxes on top of you for a moment, still holding the complete connection between his excruciating hardness and your shivering wetness. He kisses your jawline before tucking you between his elbows, pressing your soft breasts to his toned chest, and slowly withdrawing himself from inside you. You can hear him breathing in your ear, and you both stop as he nearly pulls out, pausing for the most devastating half-second before he slowly pushes his entire length back inside of you. At every deliciously slow inch forward, you swear you can feel him in every atom of your body. He continues to slowly push in until, once again, you feel the full connection of your hips, and the sparks fly behind your eyelids at the havoc this wreaks on the nerve endings there. He continues to kiss you searchingly, with an intensity that doesn’t rush but communicates his desire to become part of you, if only for a moment. His tongue caresses yours, and his kisses are like a love language all their own. You can feel his tenderness as though he were speaking gently into your ear or wrapping you in a soothing embrace. There is no impatience or aggression, only the sincerest desire to know you and make you feel good. Your whole body shudders with pleasure, and he chuckles lightly, dropping his head a little, and you feel the sweat that has begun to cover him from the intensity, not the effort, of this connection between the two of you. 

He continues to work slowly back and forth, coming almost all the way out before slowly sliding back in to close any gaps between the two of you, all the while continuing his deep, searching kisses. You are shuddering and shaking incessantly now, the aching pleasure building so slowly that you felt like you were at your limit long minutes ago, and yet it continues to build. You know that you are like a flame just waiting for a match strike to release. He starts to shudder, too, now, and you look up to see the sweat glistening on his temples. He looks at you with his pupils completely blown, and it seems like he is looking right into your soul. His head droops a little with concentration and you take advantage of his focus to reach your lips up to kiss him. The balance you need to lift your head toward him forces your hips to tilt up, and he gasps before kissing you deeply, pausing the torturous slow drag of his cock inside you. You whine, and he begins to thrust again, slightly more quickly this time. He maintains his tender, probing kisses but is slowly working you both closer and closer to the peak. The tilt of your hips places your sensitive mound and swollen clit at the mercy of his sleek and unyielding body. You whine into his mouth, and he seems spurred to go even more quickly as the two of you pant and move together toward release.  

His brow is set with focus as a bead of sweat trickles down his jaw. You impulsively reach up to kiss his jaw and capture the salty drop with your tongue. He moans, and you lick further up the side of his jaw before sucking on his earlobe as he shudders lightly. Your heart quickens at the thought of him cumming inside you. You dare to hope that he will allow you both to climax together without breaking the connection there. You soon have your answer as he begins grunting softly and increasing his efforts, thrusting much faster and deeper inside of you as you hold onto his shoulders for dear life, and your vision goes black again. He keeps you grounded as he holds you tightly in his arms and drives his cock home, and the building rush of endorphins blocks out all other sensations around you as the intensity increases. You feel the electricity of his pending orgasm, and you let out a long, desperate moan that sends him over the edge. Both of you tense and press your bodies together as the combined pleasure explodes around you, and you pant hard as he lowers his mouth to yours to kiss you with a passion and deep connection, unlike anything you have felt before.  

He lowers his head but does not release your body from his. You kiss the side of his face as he rests his forehead against your shoulder before suddenly becoming aware of how sweaty he is. He laughs a little and starts to get up off of you, but you clasp your arms behind him and whine in protest and pull him in tighter. A little squirm of your hips makes him tense and gasp from the sensitivity, so you freeze in place but refuse to let him go. “Stay,” you demand while batting your eyelashes at him, ignoring the hair that is plastered across your face. He looks down at you and chuckles before reaching down to smooth the hair from your forehead.  He leans in and kisses the bridge of your nose and both of your cheekbones. With a dramatic sigh, Seonghwa gives in to your demands, laying his head back down next to yours with a little nip at your shoulder and a deep, satisfied sigh. 

Chapter Text

D-day has arrived for San. You’ve been enjoying watching him squirm over the past three days as the other members walk by and give him little love pats on his groin or purposely hump his ass in the kitchen. You try to pretend to be completely unaware of the vicious teasing and tormenting flying across the dinner table, around the hallway, and coming from the bathroom when members have left the door unlocked for poor San to walk in on them in various compromising positions. Of course, Yunho was completely unsurprised when San came into his room to find him buried to the hilt in Mingi’s perfect ass. Yunho and Mingi prearranged for Yeosang to send San into Yunho’s room on a seemingly innocent errand, only to discover them in the act.  

You have to admit, you’ve been a little taken aback by how much glee they take in San’s penance and the literal depths they seem willing to go to in order to remind him of what he is missing. Still, the spirit of playfulness and mutual affection is present throughout the torturous week, and you almost think you are going to miss the slightly pained grimace that has taken up permanent residence on San’s face, along with the hint of perspiration around his temples, as he quickly excuses himself from certain situations, only to be followed by at least one intrepid member to ensure that he is true to his word and abstains from release. 

If Wooyoung participates in the teasing, he does it out of your view. You imagine that he would not want to imply that he was taking your side. But you also can’t picture him missing out on an opportunity to have some serious fun at San’s expense. It doesn't matter for much longer, though, because today is the last day of San’s punishment, and to be honest, you are certain that you are looking forward to his release as much or more than he is.  

You have decided to enlist the assistance of Hongjoong and Seonghwa to extract the maximum satisfaction out of San’s penance, and you are greatly enjoying the amount of enthusiasm they bring to your little project. The three of you conspire to release San after a long, arduous dance practice this afternoon. San typically lifts weights after practice, and Seonghwa will join him to ensure that he does not overdo it at the gym and become too tired to fully participate in your planned activities. Hongjoong knows the boys need to do a fairly extensive dance practice, so it’s not a stretch to ensure that it happens on this particular day.

You plan to avoid giving any indication to San whether you are going to be releasing him or not, but the rest of the members all know that he is expected to hold off until 9 p.m., per their agreement. You marvel at the amount of specificity they apply to this punishment gig, but you also realize that this probably isn’t the first time a member has had to make amends for something. You make a point to keep from making eye contact and avoid giving him any indication that you’ve accepted the agreement. 

You decide to bring things full circle, pun intended, by bringing Yeosang in on the conspiracy as well. He agrees to assist enthusiastically before you even tell him what he’ll be doing. You decide that Yeosang will offer to release San after the deadline, so that he will agree to the stipulation that he put on the cock ring just before that time. Unsurprisingly, San is grateful for the offer and agrees to Yeosang’s terms. Seonghwa convinces the others to be especially handsy with San in the meantime, and you hear later that dance practice was pretty much a strip show as the members wore less clothing than usual and overemphasized the sexually charged portions of the choreo. You’re certain that he knew they were fucking with him, but it apparently didn’t raise any suspicions of what he was in for once he got home. 

After you finish getting the boys launched for the day with breakfast and snacks, you head up to the third floor to see Su-bin on her first day back from vacation. She meets you at the doors of the elevator and surprises you with a sudden, emotional embrace, and you realize, sheepishly, that you’d pretty much blanked out the shock of the whole ordeal, given that it was quickly eclipsed by more dramatic incidents in your life. The shaky laughter she lets out when she finally releases you from her desperate hug reminds you of how terrifying the scene upstairs was, and probably still is, to behold. 

She chuckles awkwardly before gesturing to you to go see her office, and she leads you to a small, wood-paneled room with several brightly-colored retro 1960s-styled flower paintings on the walls. She has a plain wooden desk in a color and style of wood grain that clashes with the one on the walls, and you notice the pictures of her family and her collection of neon pens in a mug that says “Flower Child” in psychedelic script. Her office is small but well-lit and organized, and she offers you a seat in a wicker chair with a furry throw pillow. You notice the similarity between the pillow and the little fluffy heads of the original 1970s troll dolls she has lined up below her monitor on the desk in rainbow order. You cringe slightly as you wonder if she ever stopped to consider that this positioning puts visitors to her office at a disadvantage, being seated across the desk from the perfectly aligned row of their little butts. She carefully closes her office door before making her way to her chair. You can’t help but chuckle a little to yourself at the clear contradiction between her work in the fast-paced, fashionable K-pop world and this little island of throwback novelty she has created for herself.  

Su-bin sits herself behind her desk and stares at you expectantly. You are getting well-versed at having your translation app ready, so you make sure it’s running before you say, “I like your office! How are you? How was your trip and Seo-jun?” You hit [Translate], and she barely looks at it before rolling her eyes and flipping the translation so that she can talk. She hits [Translate], and you see that she couldn’t care less about talking about her vacation, “What happened to your room!? How are you alive right now!? The tree came through, and holy shit!” You bark out a laugh. She’s actually handling this better than you thought, and you secretly congratulate yourself on the decision not to give her too many unnecessary details before she got back.  

“I just got lucky. I had been up late getting some prep done. I couldn’t sleep because of the storm, and none of the members were home to be bothered, so I was downstairs prepping.” You hit [Translate] and try not to hold your breath; strictly speaking, it wasn’t a complete lie. She just stares at you, eyes huge, so you continue, “I know. I should not be alive. I’m very much glad to have survived, though.” The two of you share a nervous chuckle when the translation comes through, and she asks the inevitable question that you had not quite prepared for: “Where did they move you to?” 

You were stupidly hoping to dodge this question, but you figure that honesty is the best policy, and lies are easily found out. “They put me in an extra room on the second floor.” You try to act casual about it; you hope that since she’s never seen the second floor and may never see it, she won’t realize just how much this entangles your life with the boys. “The second floor...” You see her doing the math, and you worry that her eyes will stick that way. “Oh. Wow.” You desperately want to change the subject without seeming suspicious, so you also say, “They said it shouldn’t take too long to repair my room. It’s a temporary thing.” [Translate]

This seems to assuage her, and she visibly relaxes a little before she begins beaming and shares some information about her week—which probably seems downright dull in comparison with your brush with death and new living situation. “Seo-jun loved the lions! He’s grown four centimeters since I saw him last.” You love hearing about her visit with her family and graciously thank her for her offer to join her next time she goes to see them. It’s getting close to lunchtime, and you have some preparations to make for tonight, so you get up and give her another quick hug as you make your excuses and dash back to the empty dorm. 

While the boys are away at practice, you nervously take a long, relaxing bath to prepare. You also make sure to change all of the bed linens and stock up the towels and snacks. For dinner, you make 완자조림 (Wanja Jorim), which are delicious braised meatballs that can be kept hot in the oven, 콩나물무침 (Kongnamul-Muchim), which are garlicky soybean sprouts, and set aside some leftover grilled asparagus. Seonghwa is in charge of getting dinner out for everyone and making excuses for you not being there, saying that you went to bed early because you are still recovering from your illness. 

At least you know one part of the plan will go perfectly because Seonghwa can handle this with his eyes closed.  

You make sure to prep the rice maker before you return to hide out in your bedroom until the prearranged time. You’ve put your hair up in your perkiest ponytail and put on your favorite black lace bra and panties with your tightest ribbed black tank top and your black cargo sweats. You put on a light amount of naturally enhancing makeup and dab your favorite spicy cologne on your neck and just under your breasts. You’re lying on your bed listening to your ATEEZ Complete playlist when ‘The King’ comes on, and you suddenly hear a single knock on your door. When you glance at the clock, you see that it’s time, and you know that Yeosang is signaling to you that they're home. 

The knock from Yeosang tells you that everything is going to plan, and he will be getting San ready in San’s room before you come in and get your full money’s worth out of his penance. Yeosang tells San that he has been practicing some new shibari techniques, which you had no idea he was into, but of course, it’s Yeosang, so nothing would really surprise you. The man is a quiet vault of specialized skills and knowledge. You make a mental note to ask for a more personalized demo of his rope-tying skills in the future. It’s agreed that Yeosang will have San ready for you by exactly 8:55 p.m. Hongjoong will come knock on your door twice when it’s time, and you sit up, reapplying your lip gloss at 8:54, trying to calm the pounding of your heart.  

Hongjoong knocks twice, and you take a deep breath before going to the door. When you open it, you’re a little surprised to see him still standing there. He gazes at you fondly before kissing you on the cheek and squeezing your hand, then he turns and heads down the hallway to his own room, where he quietly closes the door. This gesture fills your heart to near bursting as it seems to heal all of your regrets from the initial incident and the inner turmoil you had experienced as you feared losing any chance to get close to Hongjoong as a result of your impulsive, potentially short-sighted desire to fuck San.  

You find yourself smiling too much as you walk calmly to San’s door. You force the smile off of your face and attempt to craft an ambivalent, if not slightly contemptuous, facial expression. You take out your earbuds, sliding them into your pocket with your phone before you knock once. Yeosang’s voice greets you, and you slowly open the door. What you see inside takes your breath away.  

Yeosang stands at the foot of the bed to present you with his handiwork. San looks up in surprise when you enter the room, but you do not make eye contact with him. You can see that Yeosang has San naked on the bed with his arms tied in an extremely attractive and intricate shibari restraint, and the pretty red cock ring wraps around his engorged cock and balls as he lies, partially helpless, across his bed.

The shibari Yeosang has created somehow emphasizes the best features of his physique, highlighting the sheer mass and sculpture of his muscular arms. San starts to ask something of Yeosang, but as you step closer, you can feel his eyes upon you. He falls silent as he sees what you are wearing, and you stop just beside the bed to look down on him haughtily. “Do you still want to fuck me, Choi San?” you ask him, holding your face impassive as you watch his shock, surprise, and increasing arousal at the very idea.  

He chokes on his words but manages to speak, finally, “Yes. Please. I need to fuck you.” And you fight a grin at this, now that the tables are completely turned. “Are you sure?” His eyes roll back, and he fights to keep himself under control as he says, “Yes. 씨발 (ssibal) yes.” You look at him, holding your expression neutral before turning and nodding to Yeosang, who leaves the room, closing the door behind him. You note that he has left you the safety scissors on the bedside table, as he explained to you earlier that you should use them if there is any issue getting San untied from the bed.  

You look back into San’s eyes, and he looks like he’s fighting to keep hold of his sanity as he tries to figure out what is about to happen to him right now. But he also looks extremely relieved that you are no longer upset with him. You allow him to see a small twinkle in your eyes as you begin to take off your clothes. He gasps audibly as you expose the pretty little lace panties, but you decide to keep only the bra in place for now. 

As you toss your clothes aside, you reach down and retrieve your earbuds and phone from your pocket, then walk toward the head of the bed, where he stares at you, unblinking. You return your expression to the determined but ambivalent look you had before and ensure that he sees the slight tightening as you clench your jaw. You place one earbud in your ear as he watches you, and then you reach down and place its mate in his ear. He makes a soft noise of confusion before you allow an evil grin to spread across your face and turn to walk away. As you do, you pull up your streaming app and set it to “repeat” before pressing play. “It’s You” starts from your ATEEZ Complete playlist.

As you glance over your shoulder at him, he groans and stares up at the ceiling before squeezing his eyes shut tightly. A wicked chuckle escapes you despite your best efforts to contain the spiraling giddy feeling under your ribs. Your laugh makes him stare at you wide-eyed, so you lean over the bed and suck the head of his cock into your mouth while holding eye contact before swirling your tongue over the tip and letting it go where it sways back and forth under its own tension. He gasps and groans again, which you barely hear over the music and your own sinister laugh. 

You make your way around to the foot of the bed and pick up the bottle of lube that Yeosang kindly hid from San’s sight on the floor there, and you fill your palm with it before carefully climbing up onto the bed to straddle his thighs. San tips his head back and looks up at the ceiling in anticipation, though you know he is running every possible idea of what you will do next. You, yourself, are honestly having a hard time at the moment, ignoring some of your other thoughts of what to do to this poor fool. You’d love to just take him in your mouth, but you’ve already decided that the most poetic justice will be taking exactly what you wanted and were denied by him in the first place.  

You kneel there, with your legs straddling his thighs, your palm filled with lube and held just over his throbbing, ringed cock. You pause with your hand held aloft until he looks down at you curiously, and you make eye contact again, saying your own version of the magic words you heard from Seonghwa just yesterday, “I want to spend time with you, San. Will you fuck me?” His head falls back to the bed, and he practically cries out, “Yes. I will. Please. Oh my god. Hurry.”

You don’t even attempt to suppress an evil chuckle as you turn your palm over just above his girthy cock, spilling cool lube down his shaft. He gasps slightly, and you rise up on your knees to smooth the remainder of the lube from your hand onto your entrance. You are already extremely wet from all of the anticipation and nervousness, but you definitely don’t want to give him the satisfaction of touching his cock with anything but your pussy, so this is an ideal way to show him who is in control tonight.  

He gasps and squirms as the lube coats his excruciating hardness, and the cool temperature contrasts with the angry rush of blood pulsing within it. But the exquisite ropes Yeosang tied continued to hold his powerful arms fast. You can’t help but admire Yeosang’s artistry, but you are not going to let your eyes linger there long with this glorious cock slicked up and waiting for you. You raise yourself over him and hover, just a moment longer than he’d like, until he begs again for you to fuck him. As soon as you hear San’s voice singing, “It’s you... it’s you.-ooh-ooh-ooh...” in the song, you lower yourself slowly onto his immaculate erection, allowing yourself to adjust to the size and angle of it until he is completely inside of you.

His eyes roll back, and he gasps again, panting as he struggles to comprehend the intense sensations. You wait for his eyes to return to yours, and you smile smugly as his eyes sweep over your body in appreciation of your efforts. You can tell he’s fighting the overstimulation between the ropes, the cock ring, the music, and the view, so you give him time to show him how patient you can be. 

You know you look hot as hell, and he knows that you dressed for his eyes tonight. So, despite your performative, haughty affect, he knows that you want this as bad as he does, and you’re going to take this ride for all it’s worth. You smile lightly at him before asking, “Are you ready?” He looks a little surprised by this question, but nods at you. You lift yourself three-quarters of the way off of his wide cock before dropping yourself down hard upon it and causing you both to gasp and moan together at the intensity. You shift your hips lightly to adjust to the feel of him as the song restarts. Keeping eye contact with him, you reach a hand up to your mouth and lick your index and middle fingers, sucking on them for a moment before bringing them down to begin stroking your clit. He groans and shifts his pelvis beneath you, but you do not move your hips. You circle your fingers and moan lightly, ignoring his protests as you feel him filling you up with his magnificent cock as you focus on the pleasure burning under your fingertips. 

He can’t seem to tear his eyes from you as the chorus of the song continues in both of your ears. You are feeling extremely aroused by the sensation of holding yourself still on top of him as you continue to work your clit toward climax. You feel your core gripping him as you come closer to your release, and he begins to whine as the song restarts again. You tilt your head back, allowing your hips to move back and forth just the slightest amount to the beat as you reach your orgasm. All of your movements are for your own gratification. You cum hard and only look at him once your body stops shuddering. You begin to feel the straining of his hips beneath you. He has a pained expression as he gasps from the vision atop him that you hope will be etched into his brain for the foreseeable future. 

After a moment’s pause to allow both of you to catch your breath, you wait until a round of the chorus begins again, and you begin rocking back and forth, riding him smoothly and rhythmically to the beat as you lean back to place a hand behind yourself on the bed. You can feel his cock pummeling your G-spot now, and you begin moaning with only your own pleasure in mind. Unsurprisingly, the music is perfectly timed for riding him this way, and you give him a small, devious smile before biting your lower lip and closing your eyes—effectively blocking out his look of bewildered arousal.  

You continue to ride him to the rhythm of "It’s You” while you reach up and tease your nipples through the lacy bra until they are clearly raised beneath the sheer lace fabric. You watch his face as his soundtrack repeats in the background, and you push yourself toward another release. His arms flex against the restraints again, and his thighs twitch as he lies there uselessly, helpless to do anything but experience the intense pleasure of being your personal fuck toy. He grits his teeth and groans as he clearly wants nothing more than to get hold of your hips with his hands and thrust into you or even to flip you onto your back and drive his cock into you with every ounce of his strength. But this is not his time. This is your time. And even though you’d never have dreamed of taking charge like this, you decide to tell him exactly how you feel.

“Do you like this?” you ask with a slight smirk. “Do you like this pussy fucking you, Sanna?” His head falls back again as he gasps and nods. “Do you see what you were missing, Sanna? You could have had this. I know you want to pound me now; you could have pounded this little pussy a week ago, remember?” He groans audibly and gasps, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorr—ohhhhh ahhh 씨발 (ssibal).” You can see he is struggling to control his urges now, and the headboard is creaking dangerously under the strain of his strong shoulders as he fights his desire to break free. The internal struggle is becoming more than he can handle, but you’re not quite ready to set him free just yet. 

You slow your hips and plant yourself fully on top of his cock so he can feel himself all the way inside you. You begin flexing your muscles to clench around him, and he chokes and pants as he tries to control his desire. You stop moving altogether and regard him coolly. He takes several steadying breaths before looking back at you, trying to anticipate your next move. You look down at him and finally ask, “Are you ready to fuck me properly now, Choi San?”

He practically cries at this, and you suddenly fear for the headboard as another loud creak tells you you’d better just untie the poor man before he breaks it in half. “Yes. Fuck. I will do anything. Please. Yes.” You slide off of him without warning, and he flinches as his sloppy cock slaps him in the gut when you let it drop out of you. You move up to where you can untie him, but decide to kneel over his face as you do, and he makes attempts to lick your pussy with his mouth, but you do your best to remain just out of reach.  

You free his arms, and he releases a sound unlike any you have ever heard that is between a groan and a growl—a sound that sends shivers up your spine and almost triggers your own orgasm just at the desperation of it. You are dizzy from the high of controlling this powerful man and taking your pleasure at his expense. He quickly guides you onto your back before pulling your legs back toward him and lowering himself over you. He barely has to aim as his cock is primed, and your body is so hot for him that it slides right in as he slams himself fully into you. He’s so desperate that he forgets to take the earbud out, and you can barely hear it anymore over the pleasure throbbing in your core. 

Both of you gasp at the intensity as every ounce of anticipation between you collides and sends fireworks through every cell of your connected bodies. The delicious pain of his pounding eclipses all of your senses with waves of pleasure. The chorus hits yet again as you feel yourself lose control.  

Your orgasm hits hard as you arch your back, and you let out a throaty, feral scream that would probably be heard on the fourth floor if your accomplices in the living room hadn’t organized an extremely loud video game competition to mask the sounds of you passionately forgiving San for his transgression. At the sound of your release and the sensation of your body gripping him so tightly as you reach your orgasm, San is no longer able to control himself, and he shudders and pounds fiercely into you as he desperately fights to cum around the cock ring. His entire body tenses, and his breath comes in sharp, staccato exhales until one last powerful thrust relieves him of a week of built-up desire. 

You feel him release a week’s worth of cum into your core, and a huge smile spreads across your face as you gaze up at him in complete rapture. When he finally stops spasming into you, your body shudders in echoes of residual pleasure, and you giggle up at him. He blinks as if trying to figure out where he is in space and time, and you feel a jolt of electricity when he finally refocuses his eyes and looks down to see you gazing up at him affectionately. Your smile broadens as you see the dimples appear in his relieved grin. He reaches up and swipes at the earbud to remove it before holding it up toward your face and saying, “This was evil.” You look at him with an impish grin. San chuckles and then collapses dramatically on top of you, laughing and groaning but not moving a muscle, and the earbud is lost in the sheets. You remove yours as well and tense your core around him, causing him to groan again. 

You gently kiss him on his temple and his cheekbone before he raises his head and presses his lips to yours in a deep, sensual kiss. You marvel at the shivers this sends to your core as you should be completely fucked out at this point, but San’s kiss still sets your nerves on fire in the best way. Your tongues caress each other, and you hold the side of his face with your hand before reaching up to run your hand through his sweaty hair.  

He reluctantly breaks the kiss with a little shudder and shimmy of his hips before laying his head back on your shoulder.  

You know, between the day’s exertions and the week of pent-up arousal, you have literally exercised his demons tonight. And you can’t wait to do it again sometime. You giggle and gently roll him off to the side to clean yourself up and remove the ring from his beautifully spent cock. You can’t resist sucking his softening dick into your mouth for a moment, savoring some of the cum that is still working its way out because of the ring. He gasps and tries to pull away at the oversensitivity, and you giggle as his cock slides back out over your tongue. He flips you back onto your back, growls playfully, and presses his body weight back on top of you, causing you to moan in pleasure and threaten him with another good time. He kisses you again, passionately, to shut you up, and you relax into his strong arms and return his deep kisses with what you hope is a kiss that lets him know how deeply you care for him and how glad you are that everything is now right between the two of you.  

Chapter Text

You relax into the warm glow of having finally been good and properly fucked, and you find yourself lulled by the slow, rhythmic breathing of San as he drifts off to sleep. You realize you don’t want to get stuck there under his weight once he’s fully unconscious, so you gently shift him off of you and move quietly to slip out of the room. He murmurs unintelligibly in protest while you are getting dressed, and you lean back to kiss the pout off his beautiful lips. He sighs happily and relaxes into the bed. You tiptoe toward the kitchen to get something to drink and a little snack. All of the nervousness built up over time from the anticipation, plotting, scheming, and execution of San’s release definitely has left you craving some carbs to replace what you burned off. You still feel a little shaky but for completely different reasons now. 

You can hear the boys still playing video games in the living room loudly, and as you turn on the kitchen light to find a beverage, they all let out a collective cheer, and their hollering makes you jump out of your skin. You look out at them in alarm and see that they’re cheering at the sight of you, completely ignoring whatever was going on in their competition; you roll your eyes, purse your lips, and turn with exaggerated annoyance before ducking your reddening face into the refrigerator—the cool air soothing your fierce blush of embarrassment mingled with pride. You can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. It’s a testament to their closeness that they show so much glee at the different dynamics of the agreement; you find yourself secretly looking forward to the next member who needs to get ‘punished’ because it was such a good time for all.

It’s still early, and you haven’t had a chance to do your room decor shopping with Seonghwa. You’ve really wanted to spend more quality time with him, and the incredible intimacy the two of you recently shared has made you miss the casual closeness that you two already had. You calm your fiery, blushing face before peering around the corner back into the living room to inquire about Seonghwa. Yeosang looks up at you, smiling fondly, and Yunho and Jongho both give you impressed nods and smiles before going back to their intense competition. You see Seonghwa gazing at you thoughtfully from the corner before he sees that you are looking intently at him, and he gathers himself up, offers an incredibly fake attempt to stretch and yawn, and mutters something about heading off to bed. The rest of the members are so absorbed in their game that they don’t appear to acknowledge him as he excuses himself. 

Seonghwa grabs his laptop to help you shop for your room since your personal and work laptops were both assassinated by the tree. You decide to join him in his room so that he doesn’t have to move his charger or anything. He gets the two of you settled in his bed, sitting up against the pillows, and he finds you a spot to put your iced tea on the bedside table when he suddenly perks up that he’d like something to drink, too. Your face blushes again, as you feel a little guilty that you grabbed yourself something but hadn’t thought to ask Seonghwa if he wants anything. While he happily trots off to the kitchen to grab his own snacks, you look down at the laptop to see what site he has opened for you to begin your shopping. You see that he’s pulled up a site that looks like a Pinterest board to show you some ideas he’s collected for your room. Your heart swells as you picture your darling Hwa collecting ideas and envisioning your room there with them, and you can’t ignore the overwhelming, warm, fuzzy feeling that he clearly wants you there for the foreseeable future. It wouldn’t make sense to decorate a room that is only temporary, and even though Seonghwa can be extremely romantic, he also has a brutally practical side. You know he would have probably told you to wait until you’re more settled if he had any inkling that you wouldn’t be staying in that room for long. You trust his intuition and begin scrolling through the cute, vintage-styled items he’s saved in the list for you. 

A couple of targeted ads slip by, and you generally ignore them, forgetting that you’re on Hwa’s account, not your own. Yours, too, is often full of suggestions for clothing or lingerie. You spent a week trying to find a specific brand of seamless underwear to wear under your boring work clothes and saw all manner of sexy lingerie ads for months afterward. Your thoughts shift back to the present, and you realize, with annoyance, that you’re still wearing the uncomfortable but sexy black lace bra, so you unhook it beneath your tank top and launch it over the side of Hwa’s bed onto the floor. 

You continue to scroll when Seonghwa comes bounding back in and jumps into the bed next to you to get a look and see what you think of his suggestions. You show him the items that you want to get so far; he has great ideas and seems to really grasp your eclectic sense of style. He even found a beautiful stained-glass lamp with precious little birds in the pattern that would look amazing on the small desk by your window. He beams at your praise and takes the laptop from you to show you his ideas for some curtains and some art that he hopes you will like. As he scrolls down, waiting for the images to load, a couple of pictures of beautiful silk and lace camisole sets with matching panties float by in the images, and his hand shakes, noticeably, as he seems to be trying to scroll faster now. 

When you glance up to his face, he looks concerned but trying to regain his poise. You gently place your hand over his to draw his attention to you, when he stops scrolling but stares somewhat blankly at the screen, you softly clear your throat and he slowly turns to look at you before lowering his eyes self-consciously to where your hand rests on top of his. “It’s okay,” you say to him emphatically, but he doesn’t raise his eyes. “Those are absolutely beautiful.” He gives a small shuddering sigh. “I think they are lovely.” He looks up at you, hesitantly, and you decide to take a guess at the crux of the issue: “Did you save those for you? Or for someone else?” you deliberately leave a long pause between the questions, hoping he will give you some response one way or the other, though you’re fairly certain you know the answer. “Hwa?” he looks up at you and almost seems fearful. His look breaks your heart, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes as you register his panicked, self-conscious expression. 

“I think they would look lovely on you, dear one. They are beautiful and with your collarbones,” you cluck your tongue at him and clear your throat. “Honey, you can wear literally anything. Those would be so hot on you.” He looks up at you, his large eyes, like yours, seem to be moist now, and he gives you a small nervous smile. You lean over and place a lingering kiss on his cheek, which he leans into before you sit back and tease, “But first, we need to get my room figured out. Right now, it’s as unstylish as San’s room. I need your help!” He bursts out laughing at your brutally honest but accurate judgment of San’s minimalist decor, and you both go back to scrolling through the options. You glance back up at him to see the relief and joy that has flooded his face as he proudly discusses his plans for bringing some much-needed aesthetic to your bland room. 

You suddenly realize that your iced tea is running low, so you look at Seonghwa with big eyes and ask him to get you some more. He laughs and pats you on the head before taking your glass and heading back down the hall to get you a refill. As soon as you hear his steps recede, you grab the laptop and scroll to his saved camisole sets, and quickly send the links to your own email before scrolling back to the last items you had viewed with Hwa. You make a plan to order him something as a gift later. He returns, beaming, with a fresh iced tea for you and a little plate with 약과 (Yakgwa), his favorite honey cookies. The two of you nibble at the treats and focus on narrowing down the items you need to make your room more comfortable and welcoming.

After the curtains, several new pillows, the pretty stained glass desk lamp, and a few other items have been ordered, the two of you are relaxing against each other as you have so many times before. He suddenly chuckles to himself, startling your brain back from its aimless wandering in the ether. When you look over at him, he has a silly smile and pokes his tongue out from his mouth before reaching down to tug your tank top up and expose your lower belly, which is rounded and soft, downright doughy in comparison to his svelte figure. You are tempted to chide him but are too curious about the sparkle in his eyes, so you hold your breath and wait to see what he does next. 

Seonghwa gently pokes your lower abdomen with the pads of his graceful fingertips, his eyes lowered, as a fond smile tugs at his full lips, not quite reaching to his cheeks. “Squishmallow,” he says, more to himself, with a deep chuckle, and you love the way his perfect mouth forms the syllables—the slightest difficulty releasing the “ll” sound from the back of his throat. His fingers slide across your belly as his palm flattens to lay across the warmth of your soft flesh. 

You’re fully aware that you have the body of an eighteenth-century peasant; no matter how hard you try to change it, there’s always that extra layer of padding that is probably genetic—protecting your ancestors from famine: potato and otherwise—you remind yourself to thank them later as you relish his joy at your body’s ample softness. You begin to giggle and reach your head out to kiss his shoulder. He feels you shift and moves his head to meet your mouth in a tender kiss, catching you off guard. Your body suddenly awakens to the desire to have his hands on you more, and you press in to deepen the kiss. He matches your intensity and presses your lips apart with his tongue to kiss you more passionately as he rolls his body to curve toward you. You lift your leg up over his hip and shift your weight to move your body on top of him, and he rolls his hip back toward the bed as you straddle him. He shifts his hands from your belly to your full hips and presses you down as he flexes his hips up toward your heat. He continues to kiss you deeply, and you begin to moan at the pressure of his sudden erection grinding into your pelvis and the firm grip of his hands on your hips. 

You shift yourself back slightly to pull at the hem of his shirt; he reluctantly withdraws from the kiss to pull his shirt off, and you swiftly remove yours while he does. You shift one of your knees off from him, and he reaches out to try to pull your hip back until he sees that you are removing all of the clothing that creates a sudden obstacle to the two of you fully experiencing each other’s bodies. He quickly lifts his ass and removes his pants and underwear before looking with admiration at your satin panties, trimmed with a wide lace that has the pattern of roses on it. You watch as he tenderly fingers the lace, and you kiss him deeply when he feels your gaze and looks up to meet your eyes. You slide the panties off and return to him before an impulse strikes you, and you reach down and begin to slide them up onto his legs. He looks at you, confused at first, then a little amused, then alarmed, as he sees you are seriously putting your panties on him.

You know they won’t fit him properly, but you have a sudden intense need to know what that lace looks like against his skin and how his body would respond to being in this particular item of clothing. You watch as his already dilated pupils completely dominate any visible iris left in his eye; he appears so aroused now that his eyes are almost glassy. You watch in amazement as you slide the panties the rest of the way up over his extremely hard erection, and it flexes eagerly under the sensation of the delicate lace. You glance at his face as he now looks almost blissful, and you lean down to press a lingering kiss on his cock through the panties before blowing hot air through the fabric and listening to him groan and throw his head back in anticipation. 

You straddle him again and plant yourself directly over him, sitting effectively on top of your own underwear now, as his increasing arousal is unmistakable under the thin fabric layer. You lean over to kiss him passionately again, and he returns his hands to your fleshy hips and presses you down as his pelvis thrusts up to meet your heat with renewed vigor. You gasp at the pressure and sudden pain in your nerves as he grinds so hard against you that you see stars. You laugh a little, and he pulls back to view your face nervously, and you kiss the bridge of his nose before telling him, “You’re crushing me, dear one. Why don’t you put that beautiful cock to good use?” He chuckles and looks around as if for inspiration before he reaches down and slides his cock out from the side of the panties, leaving the lace still visible across his abdomen and holding his cock straight up for you to lower yourself onto him. You tut slightly, realizing you’re still a little sore from the pounding by San. You scoot down to the edge of the bed and lay on your back, pulling him to come stand between your legs where he can easily see the panties on himself and watch, if he wants, the place where his cock disappears inside you as he thrusts into you. He groans a little in understanding and anticipation and quickly moves to take his place between your trembling thighs. 

He presses the swollen head of his beautiful cock against your slick entrance, and you squirm encouragingly as he teases you by rubbing it up and down your slit. You whine again and buck your hips up as he grins at you, the hint of his tongue visible at the corner of his devious smile. You laugh and begin to fondle your own breasts, tugging on your nipples and massaging around them until they rise to the occasion, which distracts him from his teasing, and you enjoy showing him that you know how to have fun whether or not he chooses to give you what you truly want. Mercifully, he doesn’t call your bluff and moves to slide himself inside you while he keeps his glassy eyes on the pretty lace just visible above the place where his cock disappears into your welcoming little pussy. You, too, look down to watch him thrusting into you while wearing your panties and enjoy his face as he marvels at the thrill of it, and you feel a sense of connection and possessiveness toward Hwa. You know that you would protect this dear, precious man at all costs, and gods help anyone who would ever cause him the slightest irritation in your presence. 

You are almost distracted by your thoughts as you watch him delight in the experience of fucking you while wearing your underwear when you realize that he is working himself up quite effectively and increasing his pace. You refocus on the sensation and begin to rock with him and squeeze your muscles to meet his incredible hardness and bring him closer to the edge. When he shudders a little, you reach back up to caress your nipples and ask him to come down and kiss you. He slows his thrusting and lowers himself over you to give you a deep, searching kiss. He continues thrusting with a controlled, even intensity as he moves to press himself over top of you, and you lift your hips to wrap your legs up behind him. He moans into your mouth as the angle changes, and his body responds to the new sensations of your walls around his throbbing cock. As your clit is now getting additional attention from the stroking of his body and the friction caused by the presence of your panties across his abdomen, you begin to feel the tingling sensation radiating through your body that your orgasm is rapidly approaching on the horizon. 

You kiss him passionately and enjoy the building pleasure as the two of you move together toward climax. You reach down behind him, lifting your thighs further out of your way as your hands seek out his perfect ass. Your hands find the edge of your panties, where his flexing muscles propel his hips to thrust his glorious cock inside of you. Your hands connect with his ass cheeks and grip them as you slide your hands under the panties, the presence of your hands calling his attention to the sensation of the fabric there on his ass. The sudden awareness and excitement caused by this realization sends his arousal beyond his control. His body shudders, and he begins fucking you hard and fast as he chases his release. The unexpected shift in his passion and intensity sends you over the edge, and your climax causes you to clench your muscles tight around him. Your pussy spasms around him as you moan and swear at the intense pleasure flooding your body. Before your vision has a chance to clear, Seonghwa straightens to stand back and look down at the lace panties above his cock as he thrusts into your wrecked pussy. He grins slyly with approval at the view before his face contorts with determination. His eyes roll back and close with a flutter, his breath comes in gasps, and he shudders and pounds you through his spectacular full-body orgasm that makes your toes curl just to watch. 

He collapses on top of you, resting his twitching member still inside of you. You resist the urge to giggle a little, feeling giddy at the sensation of the slick fullness, but you hold back, knowing your muscles will force him out if you do. You experimentally flex your muscles around him, and he gasps at the oversensitivity before looking up at your face with affection that makes your heart stop for a moment. He kisses you again with a satisfied sigh before slowly pulling out of you and seeking a nearby towel to clean up his mess. He sheepishly remembers that he’s still wearing your panties, and he slips them off before he also realizes they are effectively soaked by your combined fluids. He sets them off to the side before gesturing for you to crawl back up into the bed, and he slides up to join you. The two of you fall into a contented sleep as his graceful fingertips trace your soft curves before grasping around your round stomach and pulling you close as he breathes deeply into your hair. When you awaken hours later, naked and a little sore, you shimmy back into his arms before realizing that it is daylight and you should at least head back to your room if it is not yet time for you to start your day. 

A jolt of guilt strikes you as you suddenly catalog the activities of yesterday, and you resist the urge to chide yourself for being intimate with two people in such a short span. None of the regular metrics apply in this situation, and you were with them both in very different but very meaningful ways. You laugh a little at this rationalization before thinking

Top of the hierarchy, bitch.

You remind yourself to avoid any sort of slut-shaming since you’re in a very clear, responsible arrangement. Still, it does seem a little excessive as you shimmy your sore hips to determine whether some form of pain reliever is needed. 

Like a kid in a candy store.

You giggle at yourself again. You vow to maybe be a little more conscientious about your activities in the future if only to prevent physical injury.

Chapter Text

You stumble back to your room to plug in your phone and earbuds, smiling deviously at the memory that flashes through your mind upon seeing the earbud case again. You glance at the time and are ecstatic to see that you still have two hours to sleep until you need to get up for the day. You quickly jump under your covers and fall almost immediately back asleep.  

You awaken to the sound of voices in the hallway before cursing under your breath that they interrupted this precious bit of bonus sleep you were lucky enough to get. When you look at your phone again to decide how mad to be, you gasp as you see that you apparently slept through your alarm. Rather than the usual fear of being late to work, your fear at this point is that you will catch hell from the boys, who will delight in making fun of you for being late because they’ll more than likely attribute it to the pounding you took from San last night. Not that you’re ashamed of that by any means; you just hate the implication that you’re that fragile. You also find a subtle blush creeping into your cheeks as you think not only could you have taken more, but you did take more. But you don’t want them to know that, necessarily. You have no worries that Seonghwa would tell anyone about your activities, and you’re pretty certain that the two of you were quiet enough not to have been detected. The idea of getting ribbed about oversleeping because of San for the next week or two makes you physically cringe as you hurry to throw on some clothes and force your hair under your favorite lazy girl cap before bolting down to the kitchen to see if anyone still wants breakfast.  

As you dash down the hall, you hear the boys talking and laughing excitedly in the living room, and you stall a little, not wanting to run straight into becoming the butt of their jokes. You can just make out San’s voice, and you strain to hear if you can guess what he’s talking about by his tone. You round the corner toward the kitchen as you hear him say something about “It’s You,” causing the entire room to fall silent. You could hear a pin drop, and the absence of sound is stifling. You stand frozen in the doorway to the kitchen. 

In spite of your better judgment, you turn to look into the living room, where the entire group now sits as still as statues. Yunho, Yeosang, Jongho, Mingi, and Hongjoong sit facing toward you. San, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung are sitting on the sofa facing away from you. All of the boys facing you suddenly notice you standing there and turn their shocked faces toward you, still wide-eyed with their jaws dropped in astonishment, and you feel an instant fiery blush flood your cheeks.  

Yeosang chokes a little on his coffee and sputters as he tries to cough up the inhaled beverage. It appears he had been mid-swig of the mug in his hand when San mentioned their unit song, and as he fights to regain his composure, he looks at you with his coughing turning to laughter. He is vastly entertained and perhaps a bit impressed if you’re reading the eyebrow flash correctly. It’s not clear whether his coughing or his laughing is dominating at this point, but he slaps his thigh in an effort to get his spasming lungs under control. 

You feel yourself panicking now at the attention and the fact that the whole group now knows what you did last night. You look instinctively to Hongjoong, who looks a little stunned—and possibly horrified—until he meets your eyes and sees your bright red, embarrassed face. He looks at San, then back at you, and begins to grin in spite of himself as he nods at you in approval. Mingi is laughing so hard that he’s now clutching his sides and kicking his feet, swaying perilously close to falling off of his chair. Yeosang continues to laugh and begins to applaud; he stands and extends his clapping hands toward you before bowing in approval of the delightfully twisted retribution you exacted on San.  

Hongjoong sees Yeosang applauding and stands to join him. San is now looking down at his lap in feigned defeat, and to everyone’s surprise and amusement, Seonghwa, too, joins the standing ovation. San looks up at Hwa, a stare of shocked betrayal creasing his regal face, and Seonghwa just looks down at him with a smug, unapologetic smile. Jongho stands and offers you an enthusiastic salute with a stoic look of approval and continued applause. Mingi tries to stand but cries out, as apparently, he has a stitch in his side from laughing so hard, so he lets out a whine as he continues to clap from his position doubled over on the chair. Yunho remains seated, but he, too, is clapping and laughing a little sheepishly as his ears turn an impressive shade of red. You can't see any reaction from Wooyoung, who is still facing away from you. You can see that he has placed his arm around San's back, but otherwise, there is no obvious movement from him. You silently hope that this doesn't come back to bite you in the ass later if he decides to be offended over it. As the others look on, still laughing and applauding, San looks down and shakes his head sadly, though you catch a glimpse of his dimples as he grins at his lap before you dash toward the kitchen to escape the raucous congratulations and further exclamations of astonishment.  

Yeosang is the first to come into the kitchen as he’s looking for more coffee. He is still chuckling to himself, and he stops to regard you as if seeing you in a whole new light. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head, impressed. “That is so good.” He chuckles again before singing lightly to himself, “It’s you... it’s you,” laughing. He finishes pouring his coffee and turns to look at you again. He looks deep into your eyes, his twinkling gaze highlighting his amused expression, before leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your cheek. “You are a little scary.” You laugh, still feeling completely embarrassed, but you appreciate that he is giving you so much credit. None of it would have been possible without his skilled contribution. “You helped!” you blurt out, trying, in vain, to shift some of the attention away from your role in the action and pointing to your arms to indicate the restraints he tied on San for you. “The shibari was so beautiful. I loved it. Thank you!” you add quickly. 

He nods with humility, so you continue, “I would love to try that sometime if you would want to tie me up.” He looks at you, his eyebrows raised, “Oh?” “Yes!” You say eagerly, “I’ve always wanted to try that! Any time!” You glance at him to see that he looks surprised and intrigued. His eyes are huge now, and his pupils have rapidly dominated his irises. “I would enjoy that,” he says, and he traces his finger down your forearm as if imagining his ropes there. He suddenly seems to remember himself, so he gives you a little bow before taking his coffee and heading off down the hall toward the shower.  

You chuckle to yourself at this turn of events, as you did not anticipate San would tell them what you did to pervert his unit song, nor could you have predicted how much it would entertain them to hear just how evil you’re capable of being. You know that it will take San quite a while to hear that song without instantly flashing back to memories of his release from punishment, and you know they’re planning to use the song on the setlist for the tour, which makes the revenge all the more satisfying. You're certain you won’t have to ask anyone for assistance in calling the memory back to his mind once in a while, either. 

Like all good times, though, your extracurriculars are frequently interrupted by responsibility. The pending comeback has the boys extremely busy and tired, so you have to find a way to put the genie back in the bottle, so to speak, because the agreement has opened up so many possibilities that your curiosity can’t reasonably be sated all at once. Which is fine honestly, because it gives you so much to fantasize about while you wile away the hours doing laundry and prepping until the boys get home from fittings, practices, meetings, and appointments.  

You find yourself fighting off a sense of bittersweet loneliness that is unlike any other you’ve ever felt before. Sure, you’ve had lovers you’ve had to be apart from for days or weeks. You tried long-distance relationships, which were so exciting when you spent time together and so deliciously painful when you had to be apart from them but could pour your heart out to them in a letter, so you know the pang of loneliness that comes with missing someone you love. You’ve had breakups that caused you to miss someone who turned out to be, in reality, so different than who you’d convinced yourself they were, and the painful loss wasn’t of that person but of the idea of them. You were desperately missing someone who never truly existed. 

But the sensation of missing the boys, particularly when they make that little hop over to Japan and are gone for five days at a time, hits different now that the agreement exists between you. Sure, you always missed the hell out of them whenever they weren’t home, but now that there are so many unexplored possibilities to imagine, you feel devastatingly alone and almost twitchy as you walk the empty halls of the second floor. You can’t help thinking how it feels like that one year you wished and hoped for a snowy, white Christmas, and you were elated to have gotten your wish—complete with a couple of snow days off of school. The idyllic Christmas morning dawned, with nearly two feet of snow still sparkling on the ground, and everything was absolutely perfect until you saw what Santa Claus had left you next to the Christmas tree: a shiny, new 10-speed bicycle just like the one your bestie had that you’d been coveting since the previous summer. The pain of having everything you ever wanted, all at once, combined with the complete impossibility of actually enjoying it, was some of the most exquisite torture you’d ever experienced in your short life up to that point. You could visit your beautiful bike in the garage when you were out doing your chores, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to ride it for the next four months. It was absolutely devastating. You’ve come to realize that this was only the tip of the iceberg of the complexity of joy and misery that can occupy the same heart and mind simultaneously. 

The small silver lining, of course, is that for now, you can have your music any time you want, so you indulge yourself and update your neglected playlists. As 'Hush-Hush' comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, you try to find something to do that will allow you to move your body and shut off your brain. You decide to get some of the big tasks, like vacuuming and mopping, out of the way today and plan to take a cool shower and maybe a short nap when you’re done. You don’t expect your boys home for several more hours, so this seems like a perfect reward for soldiering through another day of missing them and staying tough so you can be supportive. The last thing you’d want to do is be needy at this point, and you still feel indebted to them for how long you were out sick, and they took such good care of you.    

Keeping your shit together is the least you can do for them.   

It’s a point of pride that you have everything handled for them at home. Their beds are made, their laundry is done, and there are plenty of healthy snacks waiting for them in the fridge. You’re particularly proud of a new plan you came up with for the members who like their smoothies or protein shakes. You know the protein shakes get boring over time, so you’ve created some little “kits” in the freezer with special ingredients like frozen fruit, powdered peanut butter, cocoa, matcha, yogurt cubes, or whatever strikes your fancy. You looked up the ingredients in your translation app and painstakingly wrote labels on the cups with the ingredients and the instructions to add coconut water, oat milk, or even cold-brewed coffee before blending the contents. These little ‘grab and go’ smoothies have been a big hit, and you greatly enjoy coming up with new flavor combinations for them to try. 

You are still fighting an uphill battle with Hongjoong because, let’s be honest, his self-care situation is a fucking shitshow; there’s just no way to sugarcoat it. Last Tuesday, you found a sleek, graphite, and mother-of-pearl pill organizer at the shops on your way to KQ to pick up dinner for movie night with Su-bin. You brought it home and forgot all about it while you were sick and had all of the other drama going on.  

Now you are transferring your laundry pile to the bed to make a hasty attempt at folding it; the bag slides off the chair, exposing the gift within, and you dash off to stealthily fill it with a day’s portion of all of Hongjoong’s vitamins because you know he is still sound asleep from a long day running choreo with BBTrippin’.  Later that morning, you slip the prepared case into Hongjoong’s messenger bag while handing him his smoothie and kissing him gently on his jaw before watching him saunter toward the elevator. 

Chapter Text

The boys’ schedules are increasingly brutal as comeback is imminent, which is a stark contrast to your boring, slow days of mindlessly cleaning and prepping things in the empty dorm. Their busyness is always inversely proportional to your workload around the dorms. While you miss the lazy evenings watching K-dramas and cuddling on the couch or sleeping in Seonghwa’s embrace, you are enjoying a bit of feeling the old, familiar, giddy excitement of wondering what the new album will be like. You feel like you’re on the other side of the looking glass now, though, because while you don’t know more about the album than you did when you were oceans away, you are so much closer to the information. You devilishly wonder if you asked one of the boys if they would divulge any spoilers. But you also are one to relish surprises, and you realize you actually don’t want to ruin the surprise. You’re along for the ride and always cheering them on, so you’re happy to wait in solidarity with all ATINY worldwide. 

It also occurs to you that you have no idea what the boys will need or want during this time because you’ve never been through this with them before. You wonder how they might want to blow off steam after the comeback is over. The thought sends a fresh wave of butterflies through your stomach and sends a giddy shiver up your spine.  You put on your ATEEZ Complete playlist to hear ‘Dazzling Light,’ and you smile to yourself, wondering what new songs you’ll be adding to this extensive list soon.  

You are working on updating your recipes to higher protein and reduced sugars and salt so that the boys get what they need to look and feel their best as they head into comeback. Seonghwa especially loves it when you replace the 잡채 (Japchae) noodles with kelp noodles, and he can eat as much as he wants of the delicious veggies and beef. You find ways to substitute leaner meats for the traditional short rib meat. You are always asking the boys for feedback and appreciate that the boys will tell you when something is good or what they would like different in the future. You’ve developed a system of ranking your recipes in your notes from zero to eight stars so that you know who likes which recipes the most. You are still searching for the perfect fried chicken recipe to make as a thank-you treat for Yeosang for all of his support during your illness and his perfectly executed role in San’s release. 

You’ve finished the basic household chores, cleaned out the refrigerator, and are once again back to browsing some recipes for ideas of what to order next week. You double-check the schedule and see that the boys will barely be home, so you know that this is a good opportunity to stock up on ideas and comfort foods for the time after comeback. You find a recipe for 보쌈 (Bossam), which would be a great use for the pork shoulder you’ve been meaning to use up, and it goes really nicely with the fresh  김치볶음밥 (Kimchi-bokkeumbap), which is kimchi fried rice that you had planned to make anyway. You scan the list of ingredients and figure you have most of those items. There are a few that can be quickly ordered from the app that you occasionally use to supplement the weekly KQ order. You decide to also make some 북어국 (Bugeoguk), which is a great soup to restore their energy after hours of heavy exercise, and it will keep well for several days if, by some miracle, there are leftovers. 

Having finally decided on a plan, you find yourself dancing a bit around the kitchen again, prepping your vegetables. “Shaboom” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist with the perfectly cheery driving rhythm to get you moving. You work quickly to get your pork shoulder on the stove as it will need to boil for an hour; brine the napa cabbage for the pork wraps, then turn to work on your oyster salad. As you work through your list, enjoying the fresh smells of ginger, garlic, spicy gochugaru chili flakes, and 새우젓 ( Saeujeot) you are sure you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. When you turn and glance at the doorway of the kitchen, you don’t see anything but a slight movement of the curtain from the breeze coming in the dining room window. You laugh at yourself because you had forgotten you had propped the window open when you were working on the dried pollock soup earlier this morning. Your phone buzzes, calling your attention back to where you’d set it on the countertop as “Outlaw” starts up, and you go back to see who’s texted you.  As you approach your phone, you notice a large amount of steam coming from your pork pot on the stove, so you jump over to turn down the heat to prevent it from boiling over. Satisfied that you’ve turned it down sufficiently to avoid having to clean sticky boiled pork water residue off of the burners later, you grab your phone to see that it is Yeosang who has texted you.  

Your heart flutters a bit because your mind keeps drifting back to Yeosang’s shibari skills, and you had planned to ask him for a date the week after comeback is done. Your plan was to offer to make whatever he wanted for dinner and then hopefully get some rope play time in afterward. When you hit [Translate] on his message, you gasp sharply when you see his words: 

I can’t stop thinking about what you said the other morning.  

Are you certain you would like to try the rope?  

YS  

You fire off a response without a moment’s thought because 

Hell yeah you want to try the rope:  

I would love to try the rope. 🪢  

I am very inexperienced, but I will try my best.  

I trust you, and I think I would enjoy that a lot. ❤️  

You hit [Send], and immediately, your imagination starts to wander. You have heard the stories of people who like to do rope just for fun, as a sensory activity. You’ve also heard of people who enjoy using it as a sexual game or for other kinky pursuits. You wonder if Yeosang is the type to want to do other things after his partner is tied or if it is the tying itself that he enjoys. You don’t have to wait long for a response, which is honestly reassuring because clearly he’s as enthusiastic about this idea as you are: 

Are you free tonight?  

YS🌹  

Holy fuck.  Well, so much for making a special dinner and easing into it.   

I am free as soon as I get dinner cleaned up.😊  

What time do you want me to be ready?⌚  

Your finger hovers over the [Send] button because you really want to know if anything else will be involved, but you are not sure how to even start that conversation, especially over translated text. You decide against attempting to ask directly if he wants more than that, but you add: 

What do I need to wear?  

You figure this is an innocent enough question, but it may give you some insight. You turn back to your prep to distract yourself as you wait for his response. It seems like it takes forever, and you’re hopeful he’s trying to navigate the same delicate concerns as you are because your mind has started to drift to fantasies of what he could do to you after he has you tied up. Your phone finally buzzes again, and you jump before punching the [Translate] button with a shaky finger: 

We can plan for 20:00.  

You can wear as much or as little clothing as you feel comfortable.  

I find that fitted clothing or less clothing is best because it does   

not get in the way of the ropes.  

(...)  

You see the typing pause and find you are holding your breath before another string of characters pops up and you hit [Translate]: 

For myself, I prefer to be nude when I am working with rope.  

If that is not comfortable for you, I can wear gym clothes.   

YS 🌹  

You let out a tiny squeal of excitement when you read this. You’ve heard the stories about how he generally prefers to be naked, but he must have been on his best behavior up until now because you haven’t seen anything to suggest that this was actually true. Though you also chuckle and groan at yourself because you know if you let him tie you up, it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing: you’re only going to get the chance to touch him if he wants you to. You realize you have left him hanging as you run through this little scenario in your head, and you hope he isn’t sweating, wondering if he’s overstepped, so you quickly respond: 

I am comfortable with you either way.   

I want you to do what you prefer.  

I am looking forward to you showing me what you like.❤️  

You hit [Send] and try to ignore the fire starting deep in your belly and take a deep breath to calm your nerves. It’s a long way until eight o’clock, so you better find some way to distract yourself. “Deja Vu” comes on and you shake your head to clear it before returning to your prep. On the upside, eight o’clock means there’s plenty of time for a good shower and perhaps some time on the internet to find out exactly what you’ve just gotten yourself into.  You finish up your prep and set things to simmer or chill in the fridge before dashing down the hall to shower before everyone gets home.  

While you stand naked in the bathroom, waiting for the shower to heat up, you can’t resist scrolling through some pictures of different forms of shibari restraints. There seems to be a wide variety of options for different types of ties, and you figure you are in way over your head. Everything looks so pretty, and you have no idea what it would feel like or what you would want, so you just amuse yourself by scanning the photographs before becoming aware that you’ve lost track of time. You groan and hope there is still some hot water left as you quickly jump into the shower and realize you’ve set it too high. You let out a small shriek before trying to duck around the water and turn the temperature down to something a little less demonic.  

As you work through your shower routine, you think that it probably matters less what you’d like to try and more what Yeosang feels confident in his ability to do. You did see some recommendations for rope bottoms to know and discuss their limitations and interests, as well as doing some warm-up stretching beforehand. You chuckle a little as your hypermobility has always made you lazy in that area, but you’re still going to be careful to avoid overdoing it just because your body happens to be absurdly flexible—you're still susceptible to injury if you’re not careful. 

You make a mental checklist of the things you think you do not want to try and take your time working your way through your hygiene routine and styling your hair up and out of the way in anticipation of this evening’s activities. You are still unsure what to wear, as he pretty much left it open to your interpretation. While you have no problem stripping off your clothes in bed, the idea of being completely naked, exposed, and tied in any number of potentially unflattering positions makes you apprehensive. It’s a slightly nauseating feeling of extreme arousal intertwined with a buzzing nervousness, and it’s not easily identifiable whether it’s a good feeling or not. You decide, based on the presence of this feeling alone, that you’ll probably at least wear some form of underwear and maybe a bra. The chest ties you saw online looked absolutely beautiful, though, and it doesn’t look like they’d be as good if one was wearing any form of bra underneath. You throw on a fitted camisole and cheeky lace boy shorts and call it good before throwing on your favorite loose, fluffy, cable knit sweater in emerald green, and a rust-colored pair of corduroy pants rolled up at the hem to reveal your skeleton socks and a pair of vintage penny loafers. 

You dab a light shimmery eyeshadow over your eyelids and in the corner of your eyes, as well as under them, and finish your look with a light powder, blush, and lip stain. If the pictures you saw online are any indication, you may be sweaty or otherwise disheveled by the end of this, so you’re not going to overdo the preparation. Plus, you don’t necessarily want to field a bunch of questions from the nosy boys who will notice if you’re suddenly all dolled up. You can only count on their fatigue to make them a little oblivious; they’re usually looking for some form of diversion, and making you blush with probing questions seems to be rapidly developing into one of their favorite pastimes these days. You don’t want to give them any more ammo when you’re already nervous as it is. 

You duck back into your room to put away your robe and suddenly stop in your tracks. There, on the bedside table, in the small vase, is the long-stemmed rose Yeosang gave you when you came home from the hospital. You keep purposely forgetting to throw it out because you’re not ready to admit that it’s getting too wilted. You move closer to inspect it and notice around the blossom, there is a delicately tied little harness of jute cord—the best debauched use you can think of for your mom’s favorite shabby chic gift wrap accent. You chuckle to yourself and wonder how long that’s been there and how the heck you didn’t notice it before.  But this is often your experience in day-to-day life as your hyperfocus and obliviousness battle for control of your squirrelly brain cells.  

Seriously. How long has that been there?!  

You delicately run your finger over the blossom’s tiny shibari addition and laugh at your cluelessness until your mind flashes back to Yeosang’s text messages. You rip your phone from your pocket and scroll back up to see if your hunch is correct: 

Are you free tonight?  

YS🌹  

Well, fuck me running. There it is.  

You shiver as a rush of chills makes every hair on your body stand up for a split second until you shimmy your spine and remember to breathe again. He must have tied that on there sometime today. Running your hands over your forearms nervously, you suddenly notice your rings and decide to remove all of your jewelry, just in case, because it seems like a prudent thing to do. You may not have much experience with ropes, but you figure the fewer things to get tangled up, the better. You dab on a tiny bit more of your other favorite cologne, Phantom parfum by Rabanne, because you couldn’t resist the adorable little robot-shaped bottle it comes in, and you love the spicy, earthy fragrance. Having nothing else to do to occupy your brain, which is now a fizzling tangle of nerves like a pile of live electrical wires, you head back to the kitchen to get dinner finished in time for the boys to get home. Since you have no reason to hide from anyone this time, and you now live in the same dorm, it puts you at the awkward disadvantage to have to occupy the same space with everyone, casually, until the two of you retreat to his bedroom. 

You jump and then laugh when you suddenly hear the rice maker ding and the elevator door open at the same time. You try to regain your regular expression in time for the first member to round the corner. But it just so happens that Wooyoung is the one rounding the corner in a huff, with Yeosang trailing after him and looking determined. You quickly close your mouth when you realize you’re staring at the empty hallway where they just passed by. Mingi and Seonghwa come in just a pace behind them and are chattering about something as they stop to dig some tea out of the refrigerator and sniff curiously at the delicious smells coming from the pots and pans on the stovetop. You smile warmly at the two of them; Mingi makes to tousle your hair but sees that it’s styled and opts to pat you on the head with a sweet smile and gives a little air kiss down at you. Seonghwa gives you a side hug and kisses your forehead before pulling back and then leaning in to sniff your neck lightly. You giggle at the sensation and pull back from him, blushing. He looks at you, eyebrows raised quizzically and then nods his head toward the hall without asking his question aloud. You giggle and look down at your feet before pulling him down closer to whisper in his ear, “Yeosang.” He pulls back quickly, and his eyebrows are even higher now, his full lips forming a perfect “O” as you raise your finger to your lips to shush him. He nods knowingly and kisses your forehead again before turning to head to his room, calling over his shoulder, “Have fun!” 

You chuckle to yourself again as you quickly snap back into focus and move to set the dining table. Dinner goes off without a hitch, and the boys enjoy the meal heartily, their appetites vastly enlarged by the increasing number of hours they now spend each day practicing in their heavy showcase fits and layers under the hot stage lights. You relish their enthusiasm for food and know that they will be able to rest and recuperate well with a healthy meal and a little downtime. You notice that you haven’t seen Yeosang, Wooyoung, or Hongjoong at dinner yet, but this happens sometimes when the members want to shower first. You realize that you actually didn’t see Hongjoong return with the others, so you figure he is likely to be at the studio late after practice. He often seems to become consumed by ideas or things he wants to edit after his body has completely exhausted all of his physical energy. He is the type who also needs to clear out his brain in order to fully succumb to the inconvenient mortal need for sleep.  

You notice Hwa looking at you thoughtfully as you space out in the general direction of the dinner table, where the flurry of activity has finally begun to slow as the boys are getting full and finally feeling sedate.  You return his gaze with a tender smile before returning to the kitchen to get a head start on the dishes. Eventually, the boys finish their dinner, and you clear the dishes to put away the leftovers in case those who didn’t eat want some later. 

You glance up at the clock and see that it’s nearly seven-forty. You stifle a little groan as you’re not sure what’s keeping Yeosang or if you will have to reschedule your date. You also realize that the two of you didn’t really make arrangements as far as if he’s going to come and get you or if he wants you to knock on his door at eight o’clock. It didn’t seem important before, but now, not knowing if he’s still planning on your shibari date, you don’t feel confident enough to go knock on his door without some instruction to do so. Normally, if someone asked you on a date, you’d make plans as to who is picking up who and where, so this is a totally twilight-zone situation where nothing makes sense because you technically already live together. But it feels like it would be too invasive to just go to his door at this point.  

You figure the only reasonable way out of this bizarre conundrum is to use the method of communication he’s been using to set up the date, so you grab your phone out and try to figure out how to nonchalantly text him that you want to make sure he’s still planning on spending time with you. You feel vulnerable and small to even have to ask, so you shut off the kitchen lights and head back to the privacy of your room where you can message him (and react to whatever he says back) without an audience.  

Hey you  

I didn’t see you at dinner.  

Are you okay?  

Are we still on for 🪢🌹tonight?  

You hit send and try not to panic. You place your earbuds in, and ‘Cyberpunk’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You throw yourself back across your bed and weave your fingers into your new crocheted throw that you ordered with Seonghwa. You’d normally insist on crocheting your own, but you haven’t had the attention span to even consider anything like that lately. At least this blanket offers a somewhat homey touch to your room, and the familiar texture of the stitches is a comforting feeling under your nervous fingertips.  

You try not to watch the clock or the messaging app for the little (...) of his pending reply, but you’re struggling. ‘Silver Light’ comes on, and you lose the battle, glancing at the messaging app to see no changes and the clock to see seven fifty-five p.m. You groan and curl up into a ball on your bed, poking your fingers into more of the gaps in the crocheted blanket as if playing your own tiny game of Twister. You are beginning to question whether it’s a good idea to be pulling the stitches over each other as your fingers become tangled in the yarn, and you’re suddenly aware that your nervous fidgeting is going to damage the blanket. You sigh heavily and pull your fingers free before allowing your arm to flop back onto the bed and turning your face up to the ceiling. You relish the stretch in your back as your legs dangle over the side of the bed, and you close your eyes and try to relax. You’re not sure if you’re more nervous now about what you had planned or if you’re nervous that it may not happen. You groan and look at your phone again, swinging it back up over your face with such haste that it almost slips from your fingers and clocks you in your impatient nose. You gasp as you clumsily catch it just in time, and your heart pounds at the near miss. You swear you still felt the impact, somehow, as if your brain’s warning signal was to make you feel what it would be like if the phone fell on your face.  

You roll your eyes at your own recklessness and look at the phone again.  

Fuck.  

There is a message from Yeosang, and you’re not sure why you didn’t hear a notification or feel it vibrate. Now you’re afraid to look at it because you know it could mean disappointment just as easily as it could mean everything’s fine, and you’re two minutes away from getting to check off something major from your freaky bucket list. You consider the time, how close it is to eight o’clock, and decide to rip it off like a band-aid. You open the message and hit [Translate], looking away while the Hangul characters shift into your language as if to give the app privacy while it completes the delicate task. 

Yes, we are still on.  

I had a snack after practice.  

Wooyoung needed to talk.  

I am ready for you.  

Come to my room when you are ready.  

YS 🌹  

You struggle for breath as you now realize that this is happening, and you have to force yourself to stand and walk to his door. You pat yourself down, feeling over your pants, sweater, and hair, and realize you still have the earbuds in as ‘Illusion’ tickles your giddy nerves. You pull the earbuds out and shut off the song, placing them back on the charger. You decide to bring your phone, just in case, and take a quick glance in the mirror before heading silently down the hall to Yeosang’s room.  

Chapter Text

You struggle to force your shaking hand up to knock at his door, but you manage to make a vague tapping sound with your knuckles. Yeosang’s cheerful baritone comes through the door, calling, “Come in!” and you carefully open the door to slip inside. You silently close the door behind you and turn to look around the room. The sight in front of you causes you to gasp, and you suddenly feel weak in the knees.  

Yeosang stands just a few feet from you, wearing his robe and slippers; his bare legs are visible below the robe. You see, just past him on the bed, he has a neat line of various ropes and cords, all organized and carefully separated in delicate coils. When you look back to meet Yeosang’s gaze, he smiles at you reassuringly and waits for you to adjust to your surroundings. He’s lit several candles around the room and various other small lights that appear to be crystal lamps or other enclosed bulbs gently illuminate the space with a soft glow.  

You take a small step forward, unsure what to do next as you look at the line of ropes on the bed again and then down to notice the extremely soft rug beneath your feet. You suddenly realize something about his bed that you had not noticed before; he has a wrought iron canopy instead of the headboard that the other members have. You never gave it much thought before, but it is taking on an entirely new meaning in the current context. You suppress a chuckle as you’re a little surprised you hadn’t thought about that heavy metal structure being anything but aesthetic before now. He follows your eyes to see what you are looking at and chuckles a little at your dumbfounded expression before extending his arm toward you and asking you to sit on the fluffy rug with him.  

He gently guides you to the floor, as he seems to have noticed that you are a little unsteady on your nervous legs. When you are seated comfortably on the rug, he lowers himself to kneel across from you, carefully keeping his robe closed and looking at you calmly. You giggle nervously and quickly apologize, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. I’m nervous.” You look down at the rug, and he reaches out to pat your knee before saying, “It’s okay. I will tell you exactly what to do. But first, we need to talk about what we want to happen.” You gulp, audibly, and he continues, “I am going to use the translation app because I want to make sure we are both understood for this part, okay?” You nod gratefully, and he retrieves his phone from the pocket of his robe and starts the translation. 

“I have been practicing shibari for about seven years. It started as something fun in high school, and I have continued learning about it because I enjoy it so much. I enjoy the artistry of it, as well as the sensuality of the close connection between the thrower and the receiver of the ropes. I also find it very arousing, but I do not always do it for sexual contact. That depends on who I am working with and what is agreed upon beforehand.” He hits translate and gives you plenty of time to absorb the meaning. You don’t really have anything to add, so you simply look up at him and nod earnestly once you’ve read it. He continues, “I need to know what level of physical contact you are desiring through this—whether you wish to engage in sexual or sensual acts or not is completely okay with me, but I will not engage in anything that you do not explicitly consent to before we begin. If you change your mind and ask for more, we will end the scene. If you change your mind and say you no longer consent to sexual acts, any acts will stop if they are started, and I will ask if you wish to end the scene or continue with just the rope.” He hits translate and waits patiently again. 

You read this and give a little shiver of anticipation. You certainly don’t want to find yourself hog-tied and begging for dick, so you’d better take this opportunity to speak up. You flip the translation before you begin, “I understand. I want you to tie me, and I want to have any and all sexual contact with you that you want to have with me, with a few exceptions.” You pass it back to him, unsure if now is the time to talk about limits or if you’re getting ahead of him. 

He reads your message and nods with a reassuring smile before handing it back to you to continue. “I do not want to be tied around my throat or in my mouth, and I do not want to have anal sex.” You feel a hot blush fill your cheeks and bravely pass the phone back to him. You are suddenly getting hot all over and you realize that he may have turned up the thermostat in his room to make it more comfortable when the two of you are wearing less clothing. But right now, sitting here nervously in your sweater and corduroys, you’re starting to really sweat.  

He nods again and seems to be thinking carefully before he responds, “We will take things very slowly at first. I do not know if you will be ready to have any penetration this first time, and I definitely would not ask you to do anal when this is your first time with rope. You may find that just being restrained is pleasurable and that more stimulation would be overwhelming, so I will be checking in with you frequently to see how you are doing, and I will need you to tell me.” He pauses for emphasis and passes you the phone back. When you respond with a small “Okay,” he nods and takes the phone back to continue, “I use the stoplight system: red means stop everything immediately, and the scene ends. I will remove the ropes quickly. Yellow means you need to slow down, or something is bothering you, and we need to figure out what it is before we continue. Green means that you feel safe and comfortable and are good to continue. Black means that I need to cut the ropes off immediately and end the scene because something is very wrong either physically or emotionally for you.” You read this and shudder a little, and he looks at you before clucking his tongue gently and saying, “I have not had anyone say ‘black’ before, but I always want you to know that it is an option. This is for your safety and comfort. We are just exploring, not trying to push any of your limits because we don’t know where they are yet.” You sigh with relief at this and give him a small smile and a grateful nod. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “If you do not respond to the check-in, I will end the scene. Of course.” 

He reaches up to brush a little of your hair back from your face, which is now starting to become sticky with perspiration. “Hot?” he asks gently, and you nod emphatically. “Did you decide what you want to wear?” You nod again and begin to remove your sweater. He stands and takes a step back, respectfully, before reaching out to collect it from you once you’ve removed it. He sets it gently over an armchair in the corner before returning as you fumble with your belt. He guides you back up to standing before he then kneels down in front of you. You stare down at him awkwardly, trying not to shake, as he tenderly unfastens your belt and pants and then looks up at you. “I will be very close to your body while I am tying you, so you will need to get comfortable with my touch. If you allow me to help you undress, this can make it easier for both of us. Is that okay?” You stare at him wide-eyed before nodding and watching him in fascination. He gingerly unzips your pants and slides them gently down over your hips and the crest of your ass before sliding them down your legs while allowing his hands to glide along your skin as the pants reach your ankles. You shiver with pleasure, and he looks up to check on you and gives a slight smile as he sees you grinning at him and now shimmying a little at the goosebumps his touches have raised along your entire body.  

He places a hand confidently on the back of your calf and offers his opposite shoulder for you to balance as you lift the other leg to allow him to slip the pants off of you. When he repeats this on the other side, he turns back to your skeleton socks and chuckles before leaning to remove the socks. You watch him doing this as though he is serving your body, and you are struck with the emotions of being so completely cared for that you feel a little lump in your throat that is only eclipsed by the rising fire in your belly at his close physical proximity to your heat and the fact that you are nearly positive he is naked beneath that robe. 

 At this thought, your eyes track to the folds of his robe, and you take a deep breath unconsciously. He sees this shift as he places your socks aside, and he reaches his hands up to your thighs before placing a small kiss on each thigh, just above the knee. You reach down and gently caress his hair, a soft moan escaping your lips and your head lolling back ever so slightly. He utters a sound of deep, feral need and unabashed approval as he reaches up and kisses you on your mound, causing you to gasp a little more wildly this time and fight the urge to grab onto his hair more passionately. 

As he stands, the robe begins to part slightly from his body, and you can see that it is being held at a distance by his increasingly hard erection. He follows your gaze again and chuckles as you look up at him in wonder. He reaches his hand up and traces the side of your cheek before holding the side of your neck in his palm and pulling your face toward his for a tender kiss. You moan into his mouth despite your best effort to tame the raging fire in your belly. His other hand slides around your waist to the small of your back and presses you close to him as his mouth parts to explore yours. His tongue presses into your mouth, and the fervent pressure of the strokes of his tongue, the soft but urgent pressure of his lips, and the confident grip of his hand on the side of your neck is intoxicating, causing your knees to buckle slightly as you pant and whine trying to keep up.  

Yeosang gently begins stroking your lower back with his fingertips, which sends goosebumps radiating across your back again as he gently pulls back from the kiss and releases your neck. The change in sensations helps you redirect your strength into your knees, and you shift your weight nervously in anticipation of what you hope will come next. He looks up at you, and the look of arousal in his glassy eyes makes you gasp lightly, and you grin, despite your efforts to look calm and collected. He chuckles at you and ducks his head slightly as he reaches out to clasp your hand in his and guide you toward the line of ropes on the bed. He steps behind you and uses his body to direct you to stand in front of the first coil of rope. You pause, unsure what to do next. 

“Touch the ropes. I want to know which ones feel good to you,” he says, gently freeing your hands from his and placing his palms on your hips while his body remains pressed against yours and you groan a little as you bend forward to pick up the first rope because you can feel his hardness pressed up against your backside. The first rope is a relatively plain one that doesn’t feel particularly remarkable. It doesn’t seem scratchy or terribly smooth, a synthetic form of some kind of rope. You quickly put it down. He chuckles a little at this, and you shrug sheepishly. You pick up the second rope, and it is a smoother, satiny-feeling rope with a pretty purple hue. It is quite a bit smaller in thickness than the first rope, and you wonder if the small diameter might make it feel sharp. You shrug a little and place it back down, turning to the third rope. The third rope is the thickest in the row and seems to be made of similar hemp or jute-like the little one he tied on the rose in your bedroom. You give a noncommittal shrug but place it slightly off-kilter as you like the thickness of it but worry about the texture on your somewhat fragile skin. When you get to the next one, you let out a little excited squeak, partly because he has started massaging your hips with his strong hands and also because this one is a deep crimson linen one but with a thickness more closely resembling that of the jute rope. He lets out a groan as he squeezes your hips and presses himself against you, and you feel his head nod against your shoulder in agreement. You carefully turn to face him, giving him time to anticipate your movement and release your hips from his amorous grasp.  

You smile up at him as you hold the pretty crimson rope out to him in your hands, offering it for his approval. He looks down at you adoringly and nods before taking it from your upturned palms and placing a tender kiss on your forehead. Having made a selection, you are suddenly unsure again of what to do next. You glance back at the rug, then at the bed, and back to him. He smiles at you patiently and guides you to kneel on the rug before tugging at the hem of your camisole with a questioning look on his face. You nod in understanding and quickly pull it over your head to expose your bare breasts as he clucks his tongue in appreciation. He takes the camisole from you and places it with your other clothing before coming to kneel before you, his hard cock fully tenting his robe now. He lays the rope beside the two of you on the rug and reaches up his hand to gently stroke your breasts from the side, underneath to the center of your ribcage, and across underneath the other breast, causing you to shimmy and giggle at the ticklish pleasure. He places his hot palm to cup one of your breasts to drive away the ticklish feeling and then leans forward to suck your other nipple into his mouth. You gasp and arch your back toward him, and your head lolls back slightly before he gently steadies you with his other hand behind your upper arm.  

You raise your head back up when he releases your breast and rocks back onto his heels. He picks up his phone, starts up some rhythmic, soothing music in the background, and sweeps the line of ropes from the bed and into an open trunk at the base of his bed. When he returns, he has several more lengths of the same crimson rope, and your breath hitches in anticipation, as you’d almost forgotten what the two of you had initially planned for this evening. He smiles with appreciation at your reaction before placing the ropes with the other one already on the rug and reaching up to untie his robe. Now you really gasp because you were vastly unprepared for what this man was packing under his robe. He smiles more broadly now as you gape at him unabashedly. It’s almost a shame that the rest of the world is unaware just how “statuesque” he truly is. He definitely could have been sculpted by the gods.  

He gently lowers himself in front of you again, his hard cock bouncing as he reaches the floor. You reach your hands down and jam them under your thighs to prevent yourself from reaching out for it. He chuckles at you and nods, before saying, “I want to tie one on your chest,” and he traces the outline of the area with his fingertips, causing you to shudder with pleasure and nod. But he looks back at your hands and says with a smirk, “But perhaps we should tie your arms first so that you don’t have to try so hard to be good.” He laughs a little at this, and you look up at him with big eyes and nod. 

“Okay, okay.” he says with another chuckle. He stands and walks behind you, speaking gently before beginning, “First, what color are you now?” “Green,” you say confidently. “Okay, and what are we going to tie first?” “My arms,” you respond quickly. “Good,” he praises. “I want you to tell me ‘yellow’ right away if you feel anything change from green, okay?” “Yes,” you say obediently. You hear him kneel behind you, followed by a light zipping sound as he begins to unfurl the rope, and it slides across the floor. He tenderly guides you to pull your arms up across your lower back to meet with your wrists close together in the center of your back. He holds your forea rms steady for a moment to allow you to adjust to the position before you feel the rope gently glide around your wrists several times. He makes a few more twists of the rope and then guides it around your torso several times before securing it, and as you relax your arms, you can feel that they are securely resting on your lower back, held by the rope but not cinched tightly. It almost feels like a sling.

He clucks his tongue, and you feel him shift to stand as he says, “What color are you now?” You say, “Green,” right away, then hum lightly and shimmy your hips with a little smile.  He comes around to face you now, and he looks down at you fondly, causing you to almost forget that he’s standing there with his exquisite erection at your eye level. You lick your lips as you watch him pass, and he tuts at you before returning with another section of rope.  

“I think we should try a leg tie and see how you feel about that,” he says, thoughtfully sizing up your thick thighs as he, too, wets his lips with his tongue. You can’t resist, so you look up at him with big eyes and practically beg, “Kiss me first? Please?” He smiles at your small voice and leans down to kiss you passionately, causing you to moan and squirm toward him, and he suddenly breaks the kiss. “That’s enough of that!” he says with a chuckle and pulls back quickly, causing his cock to bounce at the sudden movement, and you catch the glimmer of pre-cum there in the candlelight. You smile sheepishly at him, and he is once again focused on the task at hand.  

He gently helps you shift off of your knees and into a seated position with your knee bent toward your chest. “Color?” He checks with you, and you gaze up at him adoringly as you chirp, “Green!” He nods and begins to slide the rope around your thigh and up to the top of your knee, twisting and securing several ladders of rope around your bent leg down to your thigh and around your ankle, effectively tying your bent leg into a pretty triangle. “How is that?” He asks. “Green. I like it,” you say with a grin, almost surprised at how much you are enjoying the sensation of gradually losing your freedom of movement. “Okay. I am going to do the other one now, alright?” “Yep!” and you obediently bend your other leg and hold very still to allow him to tie it. He beams at you proudly because he can tell you are doing your very best to be compliant.  

When he’s finished the second leg and you’re effectively bent up at the knees, he looks up at your face and appears to want to kiss you again, but he remembers the last time and thinks better of it for now. He looks down at your full breasts and presses his lips together before sensually wetting them with a slow slide of his tongue, bringing the blood flow more obviously to his perfect lips. He looks up at your eyes and pauses before he finally asks, “How would you feel about a breast tie?” He seems cautious now, but you are really enjoying yourself, and you say, “Green!” causing him to laugh and nod as he’s impressed at what a quick study you are. He carefully selects a slightly smaller diameter of rope and begins working around the area over your bust and working down to underneath while effectively trapping your breasts between the ropes, causing a delicious squeezing sensation that presses them to a rounded fullness with the ropes holding them out slightly from your body. He gazes at your face, his pupils completely blown, and he asks, “Color?” “Ggg-green.” you stammer slightly as your body is beginning to feel fluffy between the sensation of the furry rug, the buzzing warmth of the ties on your legs and the hugging sensation of your arm restraint. You realize you probably look like you’re stoned, and you don’t care at all. You lick your lips again and look up at him, staring at his mouth, then at his eyes, and you don’t even bother to ask this time, “Kiss me.” He looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch before he captures your mouth with his. His searching, dominating kiss completely eclipses all of the other sensations in your body. You moan desperately as the pressure from your arousal sends powerful surges up your belly. You find yourself tilting backward partially due to the pressure of his intense kisses and in an effort to slide your ass closer to him and get your desperate pussy within range of his enticing cock.  

He chuckles slightly as he pulls back to watch you squirm your way toward him. He reaches out and pulls the front of your ropes to raise you back up, causing you to whine until he places his mouth over as much of your breast as he can fit in his mouth and sucking hard. You let out a surprised yell, and then a moan as the sudden movement, the tug on the ropes, and the painful pleasure on your breast send another pulse of stimulation through your core. You begin to whine as he sucks fiercely on the tender flesh of your breast. He reaches up and grasps the other with the hand that is not holding your ropes fast, and he rolls the nipple through his fingertips a few times before pinching it hard while simultaneously resuming sucking on your breast hard enough to raise the blood to the surface in a perfect little mark. You arch your back and moan, gasping and squirming desperately until he finally releases and asks you what color you are now. “Grrrrreen,” you moan desperately, “But I want you bad. Oh fuck. Please. Yeosang.” He chuckles and looks up at your face before looking down at your breast and stroking the pretty purple crescents that his sucking has left on your breast. “I know,” he tuts lightly before looking back up at you with glassy eyes, “But they don’t match. We have to be fair, you know.” You’re already agreeing with a nod before you realize that you are just far too obedient for your own good.  

He begins to suck hard on the other breast while pinching and tugging at the opposite nipple as you whine and squirm and beg unintelligibly beneath him. You at least wish you could touch him, but you can’t, and you begin to feel childish and helpless. “Please... I want to touch you,” you pout, and he stops sucking on you to regard your face. Seeing something in your eyes and your pathetic tone, he straightens up. “Color?” “Green!” you practically yell at him. “Okay. Okay. I know you want it. Tell me what you want me to do.” “Fuck me,” you whine, and you practically throw yourself backward on the rug, which you realize immediately was a bad idea because you have no way of catching yourself. He quickly flexes his bicep and cinches his hold on your chest before he looks at you somewhat sternly and says, “You need to be patient. I can‘t have you hurting yourself, okay? Can you be patient? I promise I will give you what you want.” You stare up at him with big eyes as he lowers you onto your back by the ropes across your chest, and he sits back to regard your tied legs.  

Oh shit. My underwear.  

You curse yourself at the sudden realization that you definitely do NOT want those panties in your way right now. He sees your facial expression crease with frustration, and he smiles at you a little too nicely. He leans over and kisses each of your inner thighs before sliding his fingers over the top of your slit, your tied legs falling nicely away from your hips to leave your entire pussy exposed to his touch. You let out a throaty whine again, and he holds a finger to his lips as he looks down at you. He suddenly thinks of your arm tie and grabs a pillow from somewhere behind him to offer you for your upper back and head to keep the pressure off of your forearms and shoulders. You murmur in appreciation before you are back to whining and squirming beneath him, causing him to chuckle and redirect his hand to your pulsing clit. He traces the lines of your slit around it, watching you sweat and twitch with desperation. “You can cut them off. I don’t care. I want you. I need you!” you begin to beg again, “Please, Yeo...” he smiles up at you fondly before placing his fingers into his mouth and grinning slyly as he slides them under your panties and straight inside you. The sudden stretch of his two fingers and the pressure against your walls makes you clench your hips and grit your teeth, moaning and bucking at the intensity. You gasp and pant desperately, still begging, “Please, Yeo. I can’t. I need you. Please. Oh fuck.” You feel tears beginning to fall down your cheeks, and you feel like you will actually die if he doesn’t fuck you right here and now.  

Something about your tone or the desperately wanton tears in your eyes snaps something within him as well, and he quickly withdraws the fingers before grabbing hold of your legs by the ropes on your thighs and pulling you roughly toward him, causing you to moan in triumph as he slides your panties aside and drives his exquisite cock inside you with one fluid motion. You arch your back and practically scream with the intense pleasure that sears your insides and causes you to see spots. He pulls back, watching his cock as he holds your thighs and admires the way your skin looks in the crimson ropes. He looks back at you, and you suddenly see him, face contorted with pleasure, pupils blown, and sweat glistening at his temples and running just down his jaw before he leans toward you and begins thrusting inside you passionately, a slight twist of his hips as he withdraws causing your body to spasm with the pleasure. You are at your absolute limit, and he looks up at you before sucking your breast into his mouth hard again, and the painful pleasure of it sends you over the edge, causing you to practically scream at the orgasm that rips through you. He laughs and gently places a hand over your mouth, even though it is well beyond too late.  

You aren’t even back to consciousness enough to feel bad about the level of noise you just made. You’re still floating as you feel him pounding into you, the rocking of his thrusts almost as soothing as the sounds of the ocean as you feel like you’re far from the shore. You relax into the rhythm of it as he pummels you with his increasingly rapid thrusts, and the ropes now seem to hold you in a comforting cocoon. His panting is getting throatier as he pushes closer to release, and you’re content for him to continue this until you can almost fall asleep to it, despite some vague awareness in the back of your mind that this might be hurting a little bit. You can’t quite pull together enough of your brain to decide if it hurts, and he suddenly shudders hard and gasps, his open mouth crossing yours as he presses panting kisses to your slack lips. He rests there for a moment before coming to his own realization. He shakes his head a little before looking at you and pushing back up over you to regard your face closely. You smile at him dreamily, vaguely aware of the hot sensation in your pussy as he has just left you sloppy, the snug feeling of your wrapped limbs, and the post-orgasm aftershocks, and you love it.   

He looks down at you, his eyes suddenly focus, and he curses under his breath. You look at him with an innocent look of concern, causing him to check his expression and look down at you tenderly. He sighs and gently reaches up to smooth some stray hair out of your face before kissing you sweetly across your lips, your nose, and on both of the apples of your cheeks, causing you to giggle lightly and hum.  “Color?” he asks you, and you wonder what language that is. It doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard before, but maybe you’re in one of those dreams where your language doesn’t make sense anymore.  

“Color?” he repeats, a little more clearly. You know you’re supposed to say something now, but you can’t remember what, and you wish he would just let you curl up and sleep. You blink at him slowly before smiling and saying, “Shhhh,” but it comes out a little slurred, which causes you to giggle like you’re drunk.  

He curses again and reaches down to quickly begin removing the ropes from your legs, causing you to whine pathetically when your legs are finally free and able to stretch out straight. He rolls you to your side to remove the ties on your breasts and arms, which makes you cry out as the blood flow returns rapidly to them. He quickly rolls over to the other side of you and holds you tight against his chest, wrapping his leg over yours and shushing into your hair. You whine a little more, and he says, “You did such a good job. You were wonderful.” He plants a kiss on your forehead, and you snuggle happily into his arms and sigh. You can hear his heart beating, and it seems fast, but you’re still a bit rummy, so you ask, “Color?” He chuckles a little before softly brushing his lips against your forehead again and saying, “Green. You?” You snuggle into him again and say, “Yeah. Green. Good,” before you doze off. 

Chapter Text

You wake to someone gently kissing your cheek and smoothing a hair away from your face before realizing that you have a pain in your hip and your body feels quite stiff and a little chilled in places. You try to roll over off of your sore hip but realize that someone is holding you. You blink hard to try to see who is holding you, and as your eyes adjust, you recognize that you’re gazing up at Yeosang. The rest of the memories begin to slowly wash back into your mind like the tide coming in, pulling the confusion back out to sea with every wave of memory that remains. He smiles down at you softly and murmurs, “Ah.” as you smile weakly at him. He feels you shifting beneath him and he seems to suddenly remember why he was waking you up. “Want to move to the bed? Or would you like to go back to your own bed?” You are still having a hard time processing language, so you just mumble, “Bed,” and he chuckles before raising himself up and reaching out to assist you.  

You are shocked at how wobbly your legs still are, and you gambol awkwardly toward his bed while he guides you with his arm supporting your back. You look down to see where the bed starts so you don’t run straight into it, and you notice the little purple crescent moons across your breasts, which makes you smile and giggle a little. He pauses before seeing where your eyes are tracking and chuckling to himself. “Pretty,” you say as you trace one little crescent with your fingertip. He nods and continues to gently direct you to the bed. You collapse into the mattress gratefully and mumble your thanks as he covers you with several layers of sheets and blankets before crossing to the other side of the bed to join you. He pulls you close again and you nuzzle into the warmth of his chest and enjoy the strong grip of his arms around you as you quickly slip back into a deep sleep.  

You wake to find yourself dreaming of shibari ties and realize you’re half tangled in the sheets of an unfamiliar bed. The black wrought iron bars, in stark contrast with the white walls in the morning light, bring you back to your senses, and you smile slyly at the memories from last night. You smack your lips and gingerly try sitting up, checking carefully to identify if there are any areas of pain in your body. You squint in the sunlight as it seems that Yeosang left the blackout curtains open, and only the sheer curtains offer you any protection from the cruel volume of daylight. You see that he left you a bottle of water on the bedside table, and you feel a bubble of warmth in your chest as you turn to retrieve it.  

You groan a little and sit the rest of the way up before turning to slide your legs out of bed. It is at this point that you detect the soreness in your legs and abdomen; the pain comes sharply up your hamstrings and through your abs as you lower your legs over the side of the bed. Your breath comes in short pants as you attempt to slide your ass closer to the edge, and you feel a little protest from your arms as well as your abs at this concerted effort. You sit there, a little dizzy in the pain, and grumble to yourself, glaring around the room when you see that you are completely alone in this struggle. Your clothes are nicely folded on the armchair, and you wonder, if it’s taken you this long just to sit up, how long is it going to take to get over there and get dressed?   

You’re tempted to just lay back down and go back to sleep, but you’d much rather be in your own bed, and you know you really need to go take your medication. Pain is always so much worse when you can’t ignore it, and not having your meds means you hyperfocus on things like pain, so you know you must get to your room if you want any relief.   

You reach down a foot to stand on the floor, and as soon as you place it down on the floor, a sharp pain shoots up your leg, causing you to cry out and fall backward onto the bed. You gasp, and the sudden pain, in combination with the feelings of utter abandonment, causes you to begin to cry. All of this is so devastatingly cruel in comparison to the amazing feelings you had last night with Yeosang. You don’t have any fight left in you, and the brain gremlins are having a fuckin’ orgy in your mind, saying all sorts of terrible things about why you find yourself currently alone and how this is probably the fate you deserve.  

You sob into the comforter and choke a little, and the combination of the desperation of your cries with the lack of breathing room in the blanket causes you to gag. You groan and let out a little yell of frustration before punching the bed and forcing yourself up. You may be a total whiny, pathetic loser, but you’re not going to go out like a chump. You angrily force yourself up out of the bed, and you stomp over to the chair and begin slamming your clothing back on with aggressive movements that will likely increase your pain, but something about the intentionality of it makes it bearable.  

No matter what it takes, you are not going to be found here still in this bed, crying like a wuss.  

They can find you crying in your own bed like a big girl.   

You stifle a laugh and snort back the tears threatening to run out of your nose. You glance around the room, locate your phone, and grab it to head back to your room. You don’t bother looking at the time; you can tell by the silence on the floor that the boys are gone for the day, so it doesn’t matter. But you do wonder if there’s a message for you or something, at least. You realize maybe it’s greedy and you’re just pitiful because Yeosang did hold you most, if not all, of the night last night. And you have no idea how long the two of you slept on the floor because you were unable to move yet. None of that seems to matter now because you’re alone here and in pain and feeling so very, very small.  

You choke back another sob at this thought and dash quickly back to your room. When you get there, you realize that you have nothing to drink to swallow your meds down, but you have used all of your internal fortitude just to get yourself back here. Now that you’re crying pathetically again, you simply collapse into the bed and wail angrily into your pillow at how much everything literally hurts—physically and emotionally.   

You aren’t sure how long you have cried hysterically into your pillow, completely out of control, for reasons you can’t even entirely comprehend. You feel like you’re destined to be alone forever, that no one will take care of you except when it suits them, and you’re such a pathetic loser for feeling so lonely in this moment.  

  No one promised you anything and nothing anyone does is ever enough for you.   

You can’t believe people even waste their time on you in the first place.  

Your brain gremlins are throwing an absolute rager this time, and even though some tiny, wretched part of your brain remains lucid to this fact, you can’t seem to get the hiccupping, crying, and gagging to stop. You don’t even remember crying this hard when your childhood dog had to be put down. Your brain gremlins love pointing out how ludicrous this is and what a shitty person you are for feeling so fuckin’ sorry for yourself.   

Holy shit. If the boys could see you now, they’d be so grossed out.  

You gasp a few more times and try desperately to stop your tears because now you have a pounding headache, and you realize that you also have had no caffeine yet today. You might even be a bit dehydrated from all of the exertions last night. You grunt angrily again and harness your inner warrior to try to force yourself out to get something to drink so you can take your meds. You know, without a doubt, that it will make you feel better, but your brain gremlins have you nearly convinced that you don’t deserve to feel better. You picture your inner hulking bitch grabbing several of those little gremlin fuckers by their scrawny little necks and bashing them together before taking the controls and forcing you off your ass and out to the kitchen. You grunt like a troll as you rip your bedroom door open and stomp down the hall to the kitchen. There are several chilled coffee beverages in the fridge, which are not your favorite, but they’ll do in a pinch because you can shotgun them faster than you could a warm beverage. You start chugging one before remembering that you still have to get your meds down, so you dash back to your bedroom and choke down the little pile of pills that will both focus your brain and dull your stiff aches and pains. You flop exhausted back onto the bed, curl into the fetal position, and fall back to sleep as hot, silent tears continue to stream down your face. You let out a shuddering sigh, hoping that when you wake again, they will have taken effect, and hopefully, you’ll have some relief.  

Several hours later, you wake to the buzz of your phone and a jolt of adrenaline. You can feel your eyes are puffy and sticky, and you fumble around to find your phone. It is ringing, which is odd, because no one ever calls you on your work phone. You blearily peer at the call ID and can’t see enough to know who is calling you, but you see a small 🌹 by the number and vaguely remember having put that symbol into Yeosang’s contact card yesterday while you were waiting for eight o’clock. You groan and pick up the call, “Hello?”  

Yeosang gives a huge sigh of relief before he begins speaking, “Hi. I was worried about you. Are you okay? You didn’t answer my messages.” There is a long, pensive pause, and your lip starts to wobble uncontrollably. You’re horrified at how easily you slip back into unhinged sobs. You manage to stammer, “I’m o-o-okay. No, I’m not. I’m sad. I don’t know. I’m not okay.” You choke and sniffle and try to control your breath because you can barely hear over your own gasping and the pounding in your head.  

“Okay. I’m on my way,” he says simply, and you are a little taken aback by his matter-of-fact delivery and lack of any form of sympathy in his tone. You stare at the phone, realizing he must have hung up after he said this, and you start to panic because you’re not even sure what his schedule is supposed to be or what your pathetic meltdown is going to mean for the comeback practices. You know there is so little margin of error during this time period that the boys have persevered through insane injuries and illness to get through it. Your emotional breakdown is definitely not reason enough for causing him to miss any of these responsibilities. You’re a tough person—you know that somewhere deep down—you'll be fine. But right now, all you want is for someone to hold you and tell you that you mean something—anything—to them.  

You close your eyes tight and wish they didn’t feel so puffy. You can only imagine how awful you must look. You curl back into the fetal position and press your face to the cool side of your pillow while you wait for Yeosang to come rescue you. This is beginning to be a pattern you are not super fond of. The number of times you’ve now been reduced to a slobbering, whimpering mess with these boys is really damaging your deeply held belief that you are actually a badass.  

You’re not fooling anybody.  

You’re not a badass.    

You’re a cinnamon roll.  

The door clicks open, and you hear someone’s clothing rustle as they rapidly approach the bed. He leans gently over your shoulder to look at your face, and you sniffle lightly before chuckling sheepishly. You don’t look at him because you’re terrified of how bad your puffy face probably looks. In retrospect, you wish you had been chugging water and putting ice packs on your eyes while he was on his way from wherever he was to try to reduce the swelling.  

He clucks his tongue at you before sliding up behind you and curving his body around you, pulling you close with his arm. You whine a little and snuggle back into him before taking a deep shuddering breath to say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just woke up, and you weren’t there, and I... I couldn’t... I can’t stop...” and you start crying again. Yeosang squeezes you tight and murmurs into your hair, “You’re okay. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” You whimper, “Of course it’s my fault. Whose fault would it be if not mine?” He chuckles a little, and you whine through another gasping sob.  

“It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I knew last night that we played too hard because I saw you slip, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. I’m so sorry.” He presses his mouth to the side of your neck, just below your ear, and holds it there in a prolonged kiss. Your brain struggles to process this information. You are still confused, so you say to him, “Phone?” and you feel him roll away from you to remove something from a pocket before starting up the translation app. When he rolls back, he repeats his thoughts in Korean before holding it out to you, “I saw that you were going into rope space, which is like a trance from the sensations and the rope, and I should have known that because if that happened, you would probably be in a delicate state today. Some people call it 'rope drop.’ It’s a crash that happens because of the endorphins. I thought we took it easy enough last night, but maybe not. Some people find it easier to get into rope space than others. You might be one of those people, and that means I need to take better care of you. I’m so sorry.” He shudders slightly as he squeezes you, and you lean into his sweet breath on your ear.  

You flip the translation and try to think of what to say. “I didn’t know that could happen. I thought it only happened when people did pain stuff, like flogging or whatever.” You give a nervous chuckle before continuing, “I don’t blame you. I’m so sorry I’m so pathetic. I don’t want you missing important things because I’m being ridiculous.” [Translate]   

He tuts as he reads the translation. "It’s not your fault. Yes, we should be careful in the future so that you don’t have to be alone after, just in case; but it’s not a bad thing that you need more aftercare. If you hadn’t noticed, I enjoy taking care of you, and I like feeling needed, so in the future, we will just make sure we have planned ahead for extra time together afterward. Okay?” You sniffle at the devastating sweetness of his reassurances; you realize this is exactly what you need. You roll over toward him to kiss him sweetly, and he doesn’t hesitate to kiss your lips passionately and then kiss your tears away from your cheeks and swollen eyes. You duck your head under his chin to avoid further scrutiny of your messed-up face, and he hums lightly as he holds you. Your shuddering breaths begin to calm, and you relax into the warmth and safety of his solid embrace.  

After what seems like hours, and you’ve fallen in and out of sleep several times, you feel a slight movement of Yeosang’s shoulder above you as he works to do something with his phone. You murmur curiously and glance up at him through your swollen lids, and he smiles down at you before finishing his text and leaning his chin on your shoulder. “Hungry?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe and causing you to giggle. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly, but you’re sure you must be by now.   

“Thirsty,” you state confidently, as you know your body has done all sorts of bizarre reorganization of your remaining fluids. He nods in understanding before there is a light knock at your door. You hear it open softly, and Hwa’s deep voice, just above a whisper, says something to Yeosang. Yeosang leans back over his shoulder and replies to him, saying something in Korean. You giggle slightly at the vibration of his deep baritone against your back. He strokes your hip lightly before you hear the door close, and he wraps his arm back around you.  

Several minutes pass, and there is a light knock at the door again. When Seonghwa enters, he holds a small tray with some tea and snacks. Yeosang rolls away to get up and out of the way, then turns to help you sit up against your headboard. He watches you tenderly as Seonghwa places the tray on the bedside table and sits beside you, placing his palm on your thigh as he hands you a cup of tea. Hwa nods up at Yeosang, who thanks him in Korean, before moving to the opposite side of the bed and waiting for you to take a sip of the tea. Once he’s satisfied that you’re coherent and taking in some form of nourishment, he reaches down to stroke your cheek and tilt your chin up toward him. “I need to go take care of some things,” he says reluctantly, and you suddenly realize he is still wearing his jacket. He must not have hardly moved since he came in here hours ago to rescue you from your distress. You sigh contentedly and shimmy against the pillow at your back, and he chuckles at you. “You are okay here with Hwa?” he asks, already knowing the answer. You nod up at him with your best attempt at big eyes despite your puffy eyelids. He smiles weakly and gently cups your chin as he bends to place a tender kiss on your lips. You moan lightly at this, as you are still feeling vulnerable, and he hums back at you before pulling away and sliding his hand from under your chin. He nods at Hwa and quietly leaves the room.  

You awkwardly take another sip of your tea before turning to look at Hwa sheepishly. He meets your gaze with an unwavering look of compassion and affection that nearly stops your heart. You take another gulp of the hot beverage to try to sear away the constricting feeling growing in your throat again, as your raw emotions are just as sensitive to kindness as they are to cruelty at this point. He rubs your thigh gently with his palm as he seems to know that too much tenderness may make you feel worse. He turns back to the table beside you and retrieves something in a bowl with a clever smile on his face. You look up at him curiously, watching his hand, and begin laughing immediately when you see that he has brought in your stash of frozen grapes that you usually hide for TV-watching sessions. He smiles broadly at your reaction and gently pops one of the frozen grapes into your mouth. You focus on the delicious cold sensation sliding down your throat after the hot tea, and you close your eyes as you fully enjoy the contrast.  

Seonghwa tends to you throughout the evening, and you hazily wonder if you’re going to be in trouble for missing your dinner duties. You know you’ve placed plenty of items in easy reach in the refrigerator, so you cross your fingers that no one is too put out by your absence. After some extensive Hwa cuddles, giggles, and more snacks, Yeosang returns and hand-feeds you chocolate bread for dessert. You kiss him deeply and thank him, ensuring that he feels every ounce of your gratitude and sincerity before twining your fingers in between his, and finally, you feel balanced enough to fall into a relaxed sleep.  

Chapter Text

The last few mornings have passed in a blur, as many of the boys have already left before you are up to start breakfast. This happens more often lately, based on their schedules, and no one expects you to be up at the ass-crack of dawn. Most of them hate eating breakfast that early anyway. You prepare all sorts of grab-n-go options, so you know you’re not leaving them to completely fend for themselves. You usually manage to get Jongho a quick omelet and protein whip for his coffee before suddenly the dorm is silent again.  

This morning, in the cool, easy silence after their hasty departures, you finish restocking your smoothie stash and the other quick snacks, banchan, and dosirak, in case the boys want to take something with them tomorrow. Seeing that your tasks are pretty much completed for the day, you take the rare opportunity to stretch out on the sofa and enjoy having the television all to yourself. You find, with amazement, that your old Netflix password still works, and you cringe as you realize you’ve been paying for the subscription all this time, having completely forgotten about it. Instead of berating yourself for being irresponsible and paying yet another “ADHD tax,” you mentally high-five yourself because this is going to be such a treat to relax and watch an old, familiar show.  

You find, as you’ve noticed before in your life, that when you are stressed, you are more in the mood to watch your favorite movies or shows because there are no surprises. You don’t have to contend with the risk that you may not like a plot twist, character, or ending. You scroll through the listings and find that they have recently added the old animated “Anastasia” movie that you were completely obsessed with as a child. You loved everything about the movie and were equally infatuated with the roguish Dimitri as you were captivated by the beautiful, naive Anya.  

The comforting scenes, rich, colorful backdrops, and romantic soundtrack soothe your lonely heart, and you find yourself drifting off to sleep. You’ve rolled yourself into a fuzzy burrito in the fleece blanket from the back of the couch, and the edges of it lightly muffle the sound coming into your ears. You’re starting to have some weird dream about a mysterious music box and a fabulous if not extremely heavy, sparkling tiara when you hear a little shout from the entryway. You groan and turn to peer over the piled-up blanket toward the noise to see Hongjoong staring between you and the screen—his hand over his mouth and his eyes wide. He quickly lowers his hand to apologize for the noise before tiptoeing over to you and sitting down in the middle of the couch, carefully avoiding your bent knees to nestle himself into the crescent formed by your hips and stomach where you lay curled on your side. 

He smiles affectionately at you and pats your back lightly before turning his attention back to the screen and becoming absorbed in the swelling music. You can hear as he softly sings along. He quotes the lines to no one in particular, “Together in Paris. I love this part.” He looks down at you again, his eyes sparkling as he tuts lightly and says again, “Sorry I woke you. You should go to bed.” He moves to stand, and you grab his hand and squeeze it lightly. He turns back toward you and smiles fondly before leaning down over you to kiss your forehead. As he does, his bag swings forward slightly, and he claps a hand against it to prevent it from smacking straight into you. He chuckles awkwardly and suddenly remembers that he has the vitamin case inside. He proudly hands it to you, opening it to display its complete emptiness. You look up at his beaming face and can’t help laughing at how adorably proud he is that he took care of himself today.  

With your help, of course.  

You just become aware of Yunho, out of the corner of your eye, who had apparently stopped to watch part of the movie as well. Yunho now stands, dumbfounded, with his mouth agape at the vision of Hongjoong and his empty vitamin case. Yunho’s gaze bounces between your face and the empty case multiple times before he shakes his head to clear it, chuckles to himself in disbelief, and saunters off down the hall. You give yourself another mental high-five and take the empty case from Hongjoong before standing up to give him a big hug. He bounces slightly as he hugs you; he’s clearly so proud of himself. You gaze up at his adorable face, and he looks down to smile at you fondly; he knows how much you love helping him. Your heart flutters as you drop your gaze down to his perfect lips, and he knows exactly how to repay you for your thoughtfulness. He leans down and kisses you tenderly, pulling you tighter into his embrace and pressing the kiss beyond the tender ones you’d previously shared.  

The passion of his kiss, the pressure of his body against yours, and the fresh pangs of loneliness you felt earlier in the day make everything seem much more intense. You moan softly into his mouth as your tongue searches for his, and your body awakens to the sensations and begs for more. He chuckles slightly as he starts to pull away. He places a gentle kiss on your nose before tutting and saying, “I have to go shower.” You smile sadly and nod. “I know.” He looks a little closer at you, with concern, before adding, “I wouldn’t mind company tonight after I shower. I have to sleep because of the schedule tomorrow, but I would like to hold you if you are comfortable sleeping in my bed tonight.” Your heart skips a beat.  

Holy shit, the tenderness of this sweet man.  

You nod again and release him with a light pat on his ass to send him off to the shower while you go refill his vitamin case and change into your pajamas. You almost wish you had a onesie or something because you can only imagine how hard it will be to spend an entire night with Hongjoong and not have either of you develop a case of wandering hands. The only other time it was attempted, the pair of you failed miserably until, of course, daylight and full awareness dawned on you both. This time, the willingness is there, but practically, you wouldn’t do a single thing to jeopardize his preparation for a comeback. You finish getting ready for bed and promise yourself that you will absolutely put your foot down with him that if he even tries to get fresh with you, you’ll go back to your own room. And that’s that.  

Resolved to absolute chastity, you slip into his bedroom and let yourself in under the covers of the familiar bed you made just hours ago with fresh linens. You marvel at the coolness of the sheets and their light fragrance when you hear the door click shut; the lights turn off, and Hongjoong shuffles toward the bed. You hear something soft that you seriously hope isn’t a wet towel fall to the floor and feel the comforter and sheets pull back before the bed dips, and he slides in beside you. He moans sweetly into your hair, smacks his lips, and kisses your shoulder before saying, “I’ve missed you.” You roll over toward him to relax into his embrace when the coolness of his damp skin makes you shiver and giggle. He looks down at your face self-consciously as you reach out to pull yourself closer to him. You stop, frozen, when you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt. He is watching your face now in the dim light filtering in through a slit in the curtains, and you can’t tear your eyes from his as your hands begin to scan his body lower in hopes that you will not confirm a rising suspicion. 

He begins to crack a smile before you get to the evidence of his true intentions. You playfully pull your hand back quickly with a look of mock dismay, “No! Oh, that’s not what we agreed on. You said you have to sleep! I need to go.” He laughs and pulls you back as you start to pretend to roll away from him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know,” he says, grinning devilishly now, and you’re rolling back toward what you’re now aware is his naked body. You bite his jaw and growl at him playfully, “I don’t want to get you in trouble! You need to sleep!” He chuckles again as he wraps his arms around you and leans toward your mouth, “You are overdressed,  Naui Haneul.” He begins kissing you again, more passionately this time, as his hands work behind you to reach up under your shirt and down under your waistband to feel your soft hip under the pressure of his palm.  

You c an’t h elp yoursel f, and you moan between his kisses while attempting to free yourself from your shirt. You break the kiss to pull the offending article over you r head before he is pressing himself up against you adamantly, and you feel the electricity of your exposed breasts and his bare skin connecting. His hands search over your back, your shoulder blades, and up to your full breasts, lightly teasing your nipple before turning back down to slide unde r your waistband. You groan into his kiss and pull back slightly to wiggle out of your pants and underwear before returning to him, placing your naked thigh over his hip and feeling something hot and hard bump against your other exposed thigh. He moans deeply now and pulls himself closer to you, returning his mouth to yours in a desperate kiss.    

Your hands have begun to wander now while he plays with your breasts and grips your ample love handles firmly. You run your hand down along his back, then lower still, to caress his muscular, round ass and squeeze it. After lightly massaging his ass and stroking your fingertips along the line where his ass ends and his leg begins, you begin sliding your hand back up to his front and over his hip, deliberately moving so much slower than you want to in order to prolong his anticipation. He is kissing you so passionately now that both of you are struggling for breath and lightly nipping at and sucking on each other’s lips as it becomes evident just how much you’ve missed each other.  You pause the drift of your hand on his hip, pressing your thumb gently into the curve of his hip bone before inching it lower toward his cock. You bite his lower lip and pull it back gently with your teeth as he squirms his hips, attempting to move his straining member closer to your teasing hand. You deftly slide your hand back up and over his abs before licking across his open mouth and tutting at him softly. “So greedy,” you chide him, though you know your face betrays your lust as every cell in your body is screaming for him to be inside you. You finally relent and slide your palm down below his stomach and down to circle the base of his cock.  

He moans again and gasps as your hand finally brushes up the length of his impressive erection. He seems to be holding his breath until you lower your hand to the base again to grip him in your palm. You pause just a second longer than is necessary before beginning to gently slide all the way up from the base to the tip, rolling your fingertip up over his slit and spreading the precum that you find there all over the velvety head. He moans softly, taking a long, deep inhale through his teeth, and you feel him flex forcefully in your hand before he returns to kissing you and groping your breasts more fervently now. You push yourself back from him, which elicits a small whine from him that is immediately silenced as he realizes you are sliding down under the covers toward his perfect cock, which now rhythmically flexes involuntarily in what is probably the best compliment you’ve ever received in your life.  

You hear him gasp above you as you let a hot breath out over the moist tip before placing your palm behind to steady it and licking him all the way up from the base to the slit. You let your tongue linger there and press into the slit ever so slightly, which elicits a shuddering gasp from him. You feel his thighs flex as his hips jerk with pleasure, and he tries to rut up to force more of himself down your eager throat when you pull the swollen head back into your mouth and swirl your tongue around the tip, alternating between light pressure of your tongue on the tip and slow, sensual drags of it flattened and sweeping across the head. You suck hard for a moment before letting the head slide out of your mouth when you break the suction. You slide your palm back to brace the shaft with your hand as you sensually lick around the underside of the head and nip lightly at the edge. You moan lightly against the tip as your tongue caresses it with increasing pressure. You hear him draw in a sharp breath and feel his hands searching for something to grip before coming to rest on the sheets because he doesn’t seem to trust himself not to accidentally pull your hair in ecstasy.  

You enjoy the sensation of his body shuddering with pleasure as he lightly pants and swears under his breath; you show no mercy as you relentlessly swirl your tongue around his entire girth with increasing pressure. After you’re satisfied that you have licked over every inch of him, at least once, you position your mouth over the head and give him a single, hot exhale of warning before slipping your lips over the tip and deftly taking his entire cock into your mouth down to the base, fighting to relax your throat as his whole body tenses and spasms at the sensation. His hand flies instinctively to your hair, and he holds on for dear life mercifully without actually pulling it. You hold fast, willing your throat to relax as your eyes water at the fullness, before sliding back all the way up to the head and swirling it around your tongue. As he shudders with the sensation and flexes his pelvis toward you, you swallow him again down to the base, and he lets out a raspy moan. You pick up your pace and slide your hand around the base of his cock to increase the sensation as you begin working back and forth, varying the pressure of your tongue and softly moaning with his cock pressed to the back of your throat. As you work on his desperate cock, you can feel your own wetness as your hips start to rut involuntarily, and your ass raises up, increasing the deep arch of your back. Between his increasingly vocal encouragement, swearing, his pelvis flexing toward you, and your own emptiness, you know you are going to have to make a judgment call very soon. 

You feel the perspiration lightly coating your skin as the pace and temperature under the blankets increases. You debate whether to finish him with your mouth as you continue to work him between your lips and down to your throat. You moan lightly at the thought of him cumming down your throat, but you are also seriously tempted to pull back and beg for his full hardness inside your empty, wanton pussy. Considering his busy schedule tomorrow and since you know how generous he is, you don’t want him to feel obligated to rally and go another round if you get him off with your mouth, so you pull back and carefully slide your face back out of the covers to the mercifully cool air of the room.  He pants and turns down to kiss you without a word; he knows exactly what to do next. 

Reading your mind, he rolls himself over you and pulls the sheet over the both of you before returning to kissing you hard and grinding against you. You pull your knees up, and he throws his head back with a raspy moan before sliding his hand down to feel how wet you are for him. His fingers trace your slit and around your slick entrance before he reaches down to spread some of your wetness over the head of his weeping cock. He swears under his breath as he feels how primed you are for him. He takes his incredibly hard dick by the base and presses the velvety tip against your slit. With a whine, you shift your hips slightly to ensure easy alignment.  

He looks down at you with appreciation. His damp hair falls over his face, partially obscuring it, but he keeps his eyes on your expression as he slowly slides himself inside of you until you are completely full of him. You gasp audibly and can’t control your eyes from rolling back as he allows his excruciating hardness to stretch you fully before lowering himself over you and kissing you deeply as he moves to thrust into you. He moves with controlled speed; he is taking his time, but there is power and intensity behind his driving thrusts that inspires you to open your legs as far as they will go for him, and you arch your hips to ensure that there is nothing keeping him from maximum penetration. You moan as your body appreciates the intensity of his technique, the depth of his connection, and the startling contrast of his pounding cock with his soft, raspy moans and fluttering kisses across your lips, cheeks, and jawline each time just as he starts to withdraw. The incredible control he demonstrates is sending heat throughout your entire body, and it’s evident that the two of you have looked forward to this for so long. 

You are suddenly overcome by a deep, warm sense of connection, longing, and affection that surprises you, and you fight to stifle yourself as you feel an urge to tell him how you feel about him. You are frankly surprised at the speed and ease with which those three dangerous words come to mind and attempt to pass your reckless lips. You bite hard on your lower lip to prevent any overzealous declarations and try to return your focus on the intense pleasure building between the friction of his powerful thrusting and the surreal sensation of the dream of him actually coming true. You can’t believe that this isn’t another “be careful what you wish for” cautionary tale.  

He shudders slightly, and your wandering mind snaps back to the action. You reach up and caress his strong back with your hands, enjoying the light perspiration now present there. You slide your hands down and rest them on his ass as you feel him flex with each thrust. He kisses your mouth hard this time, and you moan deeply, and your hips clench around his hardness. He groans into your mouth, and you whisper to him the magic words: “Harder. Please. Oh my god. Jjoongie. Harder. Oh fuck.” He instantly grants your wish and begins increasing the speed and power of his incredibly hard cock, driving down your walls and making you see stars. You begin panting and moaning in tandem with his breath, now more focused with the exertion. You bring your knees back up and arch your back slightly, surprising him with the change in sensation as he continues to pound into you. He responded so well to your last request, so you try another, “Fuck me harder. Oh my god. Yes. Jjoongi--” your voice is cut off as the powerful thrusts, in combination with your encouragement, overwhelm him, and he is going to have to give in to his orgasm. “Oh my god, yes, baby. Cum for me. Fill me up. I want you inside me. Oh fuck...” your breath gives out as he grunts, and you feel him start to spasm, which sends you over the edge, cumming hard around his pulsing cock as he releases deep inside your core. You force your eyes to roll back to earth as he pants into your ear and chuckles softly, uttering something that sounds a lot like his favorite swear word in Korean.  

You sigh deeply and allow the waves of pleasure to wash over you as you turn to face him and steal a passionate, grateful kiss. The two of you linger in this moment, enjoying the effortless closeness of the kiss that calms all of your thoughts to a dreamy silence. After an indulgent interlude, he groans lightly and laughs before kissing your forehead and rolling back, away from you, onto his back. You turn and rest your leg over his stomach, mindful to leave room below your thigh for his twitching cock. He reaches down to fix the sheet over the two of you before reaching back up around to hug you tightly.  

He embraces you for what seems like forever before you feel him starting to relax into unconsciousness. You can feel his cum starting to slide out of you, but you don’t dare move or shift. As he drifts off into sleep, his arm slips away from your shoulders, and his palm comes to rest on your breast. You shiver at the intimacy and comfort of this contact and allow the warmth of it, in combination with the endorphin high of your orgasm, to lull you off to sleep.  

Chapter Text

You are brought back to your senses by a light moaning breath across your forehead, and your brain begins to reconnect with your body from the blissful, post-coital slumber. You slowly become aware of an arm still resting across your shoulder, the hand still cupping your breast comfortably. You also feel an intermittent pressure on your bare leg, and after a quick mental mapping of the landscape, you get a rush of arousal when you realize what it is. You gently pry yourself away from Hongjoong before ducking under the covers to investigate the source of the unyielding hardness pressing against your thigh.  

As you slide down toward the culprit, you breathe in the hot scent of him—the combination of his natural scent with undertones of sweat and sex still lingering on his skin. He smells so good it makes you dizzy. You resist the urge to lick him from his navel to the base of his cock. You prefer to take your quarry by surprise.   

When you find yourself face-to-face with Hongjoong’s impressive morning wood, you suck in your breath sharply as you feel another jolt of arousal through your core. You lick your lips before reaching out to grasp the base of his insanely hard cock and taking the head into your mouth. You swirl your tongue over the tip and slick him with your saliva before sliding your tongue down around the sides quickly and returning to the top to slide his throbbing member into your mouth and down into your throat. You take him into your throat until your lips meet the top of your fist around the shaft, and as you slide back up, your fist strokes him to follow your mouth back upward. You work him up and down slowly, pausing to lick around the head and caress him with your tongue only briefly before returning to the stroking motion.  

You hear a raspy moan, and he smacks his lips above you as you realize he’s starting to wake up more. You slide his hardness all the way back into your throat again, holding him there as you feel him flex on your tongue. You hear a slight gasp from him as he is now fully awake and aware that he is receiving an ideal wake-up call. He groans and stretches his limbs, which also causes his member to flex again, and you begin to work your mouth up and down more fervently now. You realized, once you started sucking his cock, that you were a little disappointed not to have brought him to the finish this way last night, so you’re not about to miss this opportunity. He moans again, which makes your hips flex involuntarily, and you continue to work diligently up and down, your lips chasing just behind your hand, firmly stroking him. You swirl your tongue against his perfect dick, ignoring the occasional gag reflex and the resulting tears streaming down your cheeks. For being a short king, he sure was blessed in a way that is absolutely testing the capacity of your jaw. You fight through the pain to continue working him and listening to his delicious, breathy sounds above you.  

He is panting now and flexing harder in rhythm with your strokes as he tries to press himself further into your throat. The only thing saving you now is your fist gripping the base to prevent him from accidentally choking you. You work as quickly as you can without obstructing your breath and listen as he rasps and moans, swears, and grips the sheets. You feel his thighs flexing as his hips thrust toward your face, and you are relentless in your efforts as your saliva runs down over your fist. You suck lightly at the head of his cock and slide over the tip before rushing him back entirely into your throat. You shift over onto your knees so that you can use your other hand to cradle his balls and lightly stroke them. At this sensation, he gasps loudly, and you can’t control a moan around his excruciatingly hard cock. He responds immediately to your moan, and you continue to rapidly suck him off while moaning as often as you feel the urge. This is clearly driving him wild as his hands now reach down to find some part of you to touch.  

You don’t want to give in just yet because you know if you stop to kiss him, you’ll end up begging for a morning session, and you really just want to send him off on his day with the memory of waking up to your mouth getting him off. You pull back until he slides from your mouth with a pop and a whine. You quickly say, “I want you to fuck my mouth.” and you can hear him gasp and feel his whole body shudder at the idea. You boldly slide him back into your mouth and take him all the way to the base, where you pause for a moment before sliding back to place your fist around the base and prevent him from overwhelming you. You moan lightly as you wait for him to slide his hips away from you. He reaches down to hold onto your hair before he begins thrusting his perfect cock so hard that it makes you gag violently, but you laugh and pull back to give him space to thrust. Hongjoong hears your laugh and takes this as a sign that it’s safe to continue, so he meets your mouth as you return from the tip to allow him to fuck your mouth as far as he wants. He shudders again and moves his hips to enjoy your throat. You continue to drool and work him as quickly as you can, and he is now moaning consistently and beginning to pant and swear between whispering words of praise. You are starting to feel lightheaded from the heat beneath the sheets, but you are fully committed to getting his cum for breakfast.  

You moan again and continue sucking him off, matching the perfect pace with your swirling tongue movements and following the rhythm of his hips. He is really close now, as you can feel his muscles twitching more, and you begin to slide as quickly as you can and moan as though you were getting fucked by this glorious cock. “I’m going,” he gasps in warning, half-heartedly trying to pull your hair back to save you from the massive load that he has built up through all of your attentions this morning. You let out a deep, long moan that you can hear causes him to catch his breath, and you work his dick as though your life depends on it. Immediately, he begins to spasm in your throat as his whole body is tensed, and he is gasping. You swallow as quickly as you can and pant around his shaft as your arousal makes you see stars. Something about the sensation of his orgasm sets off fireworks within you; even if you don’t climax with him, the endorphin rush is almost as good. You wait until he shivers lightly to slowly slide him out of your mouth, sucking aggressively at the tip to ensure that he doesn’t drip on himself. You giggle when he shivers and whimpers, and you kiss the tip lightly just to watch him squirm again. You emerge from the covers rosy-cheeked, smacking your lips, and smiling up at him adoringly.  

He looks at you with his flushed face and glassy eyes before heaving a sigh of contentment and leaning down to kiss you deeply. “Good morning,” he says gently with a slightly hoarse chuckle. “Mmmmm. Good morning,” you say, shimmying your hips up to wrap your legs between his and lightly grinding against his thigh. You silently recall how different it was the last time you woke up in bed with him. He chuckles at you again before wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head. “What time is it?” he asks sleepily. “I have no idea,” you say honestly. Given that neither of you has heard an alarm clock yet, you take that as a sign to relax back into a sleepy embrace.  

What feels like a half-second later, the alarm on his phone goes off at full volume; you jump and almost smack at Hongjoong as you try to smash the source of the sound. Your brain finally catches up with your fight-or-flight response, and you suddenly realize the meaning of the audio assault as well as the specific title and genre of the song. “It’s You” is blaring from his phone alarm as it vibrates on the bedside table, and you gag as you attempt to stifle whatever sound is trying to escape your surprised throat. You almost yelled but also laughed or made some sort of triumphant cheer, and it seems that you, too, may have unwittingly made some sort of conditioned response to this song. You start to feel a little sorry for Pavlov’s dog.  

You are starting to giggle and whine like a sleep-deprived four-year-old, and you have no idea where your self-control went until it dawns on you that your meds are in your bedroom. In the time it takes for you to come back to your senses of the who, what, where, and whens of things, Hongjoong has awakened, silenced the phone, and fallen back onto the pillow groaning. He suddenly looks up at you through one eye and crazy hair to see you sitting up with your hands over your mouth, your face red with unidentifiable emotions, and your own hair likely sticking up in every direction. You’re also stark-ass naked.  

So, there’s that.  

He smacks his lips and says, “Good morning. Again.” and your heart leaps in your chest. The events of last night and early this morning set loose a whole flock of butterflies in your stomach and make your heart falter in competition with their fluttering wings. You chuckle slightly as you turn toward him and slide your naked body back under the sheet by him before leaning over to delicately kiss him on his eyebrows, his eyelids, his nose, each cheekbone, and his chin before finally pecking his lips, causing him to pout and then grumble as he rolls over you and takes the deeper kiss that he is tired of waiting for.  

You giggle and lick his lips, feeling his naked body straddling you and a quick twitch of his cock across your mound. You glance down under the sheet and say, “Don’t. You. Dare. You have to go to work!” He chuckles and whines, “I know. I’m sorry. I know.” Suddenly, his alarm is going off again as he must have only snoozed it, and “It’s You” is blaring from his phone again. He looks nervous all of a sudden, and he leaps off of you to turn it off. You’re laughing in spite of yourself, and when he looks back at you sheepishly, you ask, “Really?” with an incredulous laugh.  

He looks guilty and flounders for words before he says, “What? It was so funny. You're awesome,” and as he says it, you wonder why he’s the one who’s blushing then. But it seems like the two of you don’t likely have time to dive into the complicated dynamics of exactly why he’s proud of how you perversely fucked San in sanctioned retribution. “You need to get ready, right?” you realize your phone is in your room, so you reluctantly slide out of the bed into the cold air to locate your clothes and go get your phone and meds. He whines again before saying, “Yes. I don’t want to.” He pouts and then gets an idea, “I need you. I need your help.” You slide your sports bra on and stop to look at him, waiting for him to tell you how he needs your help. Now he looks guilty again as he says adorably, “I need your help in the shower.” He waits a little to see your reaction, and you give him a single blink, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He smirks as he continues, “I have this spot I can’t reach. It’s right—” he struggles to point to an area between his shoulder blades and twists his head and arms various ways to try to demonstrate his ineptitude at reaching that mystery spot. You are forced to admire all of the ways his muscles slide and ripple between his lean limbs, pecs, and upper back as he does this silly demonstration, “—it’s right there, see?” He looks at you, eyes big with hope. You laugh at his adorable plea. “You want me to take a shower with you?” you deadpan.  

You are an asshole before caffeine and meds. He may as well know it now. Even if you’re faking it.  

He tries harder to make his eyes big and his pout bigger. You laugh and quickly tell him to stop, “Okay. Okay. I’ll go get my stuff. Okay?” He immediately drops the performance and jumps out of bed, his half-hard cock swinging along with him, and you can’t stifle a groan as you know you’re not getting through this shower without ending up with that inside some orifice or other if the state of it just at the idea of showering together is any indication... He looks back at you with a cheesy grin as he dashes around to find his clothing for the day and you slip out across the hall to your room to grab your shower items. You won’t do all of your hygiene in front of him, but you may as well get everything together since you really don’t know how this is going to play out. Your stomach does a little flip again as you consider the possibilities.  

Jeebus. Again!?  

Chapter Text

 You slip into the bathroom and see that he’s not there yet, so you stand obviously at the mirror with the door slightly open so that he will see that it’s you and won't hesitate to join you. You only have to wait a moment before he slips in the door and shuts it quickly. His robe hangs untied across his body, and as soon as he moves his arm, it opens freely to show you that he is still perfectly naked. You let out a little moan as you see his naked body by daylight, and a familiar arousal flares up in your core. He chuckles and pulls at your clothes with a little pout, which you address with faux seriousness, “Stop that. You want me naked? Make it happen.” and you give him a bratty look with your hands held in a shrug at your sides. His eyes narrow playfully, and he responds, “Oh yeah? You are going to make me do it? Hmmm. I don’t think you know who’s the boss around here.” You giggle as he pulls off your shirt and struggles with your sports bra, so you discretely assist him to keep it from slowing down whatever is happening right now. 

He spins you around to face the sink, and you instinctively brace yourself with your hands on the countertop. He quickly slides your pants and underwear down to your ankles and slides his hands back up your bare legs as he says seriously, “You do know who’s the boss around here, right?” Your breath catches, and you shudder as hot lightning shoots up from your groin. “You are,” you say in a near whisper. “I am, what?” he says, his voice low and steady as his hands slide across your bare ass. You gasp and whisper, “What do you mean?”  

You can’t believe this is happening. There is no way he’s going to make you say it.  

“You should say, ‘You are, Captain,’” he instructs before lightly slapping your bare ass with the tips of his fingers. You choke and shiver before you say, “You are, Captain,” a little above a whisper. 

Holy fuck. Oh, my gods. 

“That’s right,” he growls into your ear, making you bite your lip and stifle a whine as all of your nerves light up. He slides away from you to go turn on the shower, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye to appreciate his naked form as he saunters to and from the shower. He catches you looking, and suddenly, he has a devious smile on his face that kicks off your hair-trigger adrenaline rush yet again. When he gets behind you again, he makes eye contact with you in the mirror as he lightly bites your shoulder, causing you to shudder and moan while arching your back to lift your ass to him. “Do you like that, Naui Haneul?” he licks the spot he bit while he watches your reaction in the mirror. “Y-y-yes,” you stammer. He looks at you with one eyebrow raised, “Yes, what?” before he smacks the other side of your ass sharply with his fingertips. “Yes, Captain,” you say quickly, a little more loudly than before. He thumbs the area he just slapped and rubs his thumbs in circles over the reddening flesh; his face is tilted down, and you can’t see his expression in the mirror because he’s standing in the shadow behind your head. He seems suddenly absorbed in watching his fingers slide over your bare ass. Hongjoong grips it tightly with both hands and watches his fingers press into your soft skin; the pressure is intense but not painful, and he groans and pushes his hard cock up against the center of your backside as he pulls you toward him. You hold your breath, not daring to move.  

He comes to his senses again when you shift your weight nervously and continue to watch him in the mirror. “You have a beautiful body, you know that?” He remarks while squeezing his strong hands around your full hips now and looking you up and down as if he’s trying to decide which part of you to devour first. You watch him, mesmerized by this change in his mood. He suddenly looks up into the mirror, and his fiery eyes meet your shocked face as he asks again, “You know your body is beautiful?” You stare at him and just manage to squeak out, “Yes, Captain.” He clucks his tongue at you and says in a lower, raspy tone, “Good girl,” without dropping your gaze. A sound escapes your lips that you have never heard yourself make before. Your knees buckle, and you nearly fall onto the counter, your hands useless in the effort to slow you as you descend. He seemed to be prepared for this as he slid his knee between your slightly spread legs before he said it, and he uses his hands on your hips to keep you from listing to either side. Your muscles reengage, and you’re able to catch yourself just before your sore slit lands on his hard thigh.  

He lets out a wicked chuckle at this and looks up at your reflection with a calculating smile. “Oh. My good girl likes that,” he says, squeezing your hips again while watching as you let out another desperate moan and grip the counter for dear life. “I wonder what else my good girl likes.” You stare at him in the reflection, still wide-eyed and struggling to regulate your vision and your breathing at the same time. He reaches up from behind you to cup your full breasts with both of his hands as he watches your nipples stand up and the goosebumps crest over your flesh. He smiles slyly again as he watches this reaction, taking your nipples between both of his thumbs and forefingers to roll them, and this action distracts you so that when he suddenly bites a little harder on your shoulder than you’re used to, you bite your lip to stifle a cry. He looks up at you and winks before releasing you so he can move to check the temperature of the water. You turn slightly toward him as he opens the shower and extends an arm to indicate that he wants you to get in first. You swallow a nervous gulp of air and take his extended hand to step into the shower.  

He steps in behind you and seals the gaps so that no cold drafts will come in. Hongjoong gently guides you to step into the perfectly soothing stream of water before running his hands all over your body and working your hair to ensure that every part of you gets a moment in the warm water. You look up at him through the droplets falling through your eyelashes, having no idea what to expect. He smiles down at you and tilts his head to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. His lips are firm against yours, and his tongue parts your lips decisively, without any wasted energy or sloppy haste; his kiss somehow conveys both the intensity of his desire and the formidable control he can choose to exert over his emotions if he wishes. You match his energy and follow his lead until you are gasping, and your hands, which have hung uncertainly at your sides, now feel desperate for some part of him to cling to, to find an embrace to match the fervor of his kiss. He shakes his head lightly as his lips recede from yours, “Uh-uh,” he murmurs, telling you ‘no.’ You moan lightly, in spite of yourself, and he chuckles as he slides a finger up from your hip to the tip of your nipple through the streams of water and lightly flicks your nipple before looking back up at your face.  

He moves the finger up to his lips to shush you and says in a low voice, “You have been so good, Naui Haneul. You deserve to feel good, too. But you need to be patient.” You simply stare at him, unsure what this means. He turns and retrieves a bottle of shampoo and pours it into his palm before reaching down to gently lather it through your hair, and he smiles when you place your hands on his hips for balance. The little glance down he gives calls your attention to his cock, now at half-mast, as he focuses his efforts on you. You shift your hips a little at the sight of it, and he flexes it for you to watch before chuckling at you. You quickly tear your eyes away and back to his perfect face, his sloping jaw, and that slightly offset grin he now has on his face, where you can just see his tongue behind his deliciously sharp, gleaming teeth. You stare at him, mesmerized. 

He turns you gently to rinse your hair under the shower before pouring another soap into a soft mitt and beginning to wash your body in circles. He is utterly focused now, and you stand there awkwardly while he dedicates his full attention to taking care of your body. He moans a little as his hand rises and falls down the curves of your body, as he seems to greatly enjoy the changes in topography between your hips, ass, calves, breasts, and stomach. He doesn’t shy away from washing the less sexualized areas, but he diligently cleans your body as though every part is as valuable as any other. You try not to let your throat clench at this, and you seriously wonder why it is so overwhelming for you when someone really makes an effort to take care of you. The tenderness and sincerity of this ritual nearly brings tears to your eyes. You purposely tilt your head back under the water to wash away any tears that were attempting to form at the edge of your lids.  

He finishes the task and looks up at you adoringly before pulling your body close to his. You shiver a little as your bodies touch, causing you to realize that his body is quite chilled from being wet by the mist outside the warmth of the flow of the showerhead. He chuckles a little and holds you around your waist while he leads you to turn in a little half-circle so that he can get into the water for a moment. He releases you and reaches up to soak his hair before he quickly grabs the shampoo and washes his hair with ruthless efficiency. He opens his eyes when the danger of soap getting into them has passed, and the water runs clear from his scalp; he smiles gently and chuckles as he catches you standing there, watching him, nervously clasping your fingers in front of yourself, completely unsure what to do next.  

You suddenly get an idea and quickly reach down to get the wash mitt. You put it on and fill it with the soap before turning to wash his body. You run the foamy mitt over his shoulders, his pecs, around his biceps, and down to his hips. You make a tiny, playful “Oop” noise and veer your mitt away from his cock because it finally looks like the monster has gone back to sleep. He chuckles at you, and you look up at him with full, unashamed adoration in your eyes. You nearly gasp as it seems he’s looking at you with very much the same affection. You cough lightly and then say snarkily, “So, where’s that spot you can’t reach?” He laughs and turns to flail again, pointing between his shoulder blades. You laugh and begin circling the mitt in a soapy massage of his back, pressing hard enough that it causes him to reach out and brace his hand on the wall to avoid slipping forward. He moans and leans into it before he suddenly seems to remember his original plan. 

He spins around and catches you by the wrist below your soapy, mitted hand with a devious smile. “That’s enough,” he says, holding your wrist firmly in midair while looking straight into your eyes. “You have been so very good. Would you like a reward?” You stare at him but realize that there is really only ever one answer to this question, so you meekly say, “Yes, Captain. Please,” and he smiles proudly. “Good girl,” he says, and his arms shoot out to catch your waist as your knees give out once again. When you regain your balance, he gingerly reaches back to turn off the water and kicks the shower open. He reaches out for a towel and wraps it around your shoulders before turning you back around to face him and pressing your bodies close to one another. 

“What would you like for your reward?” he asks, gently pushing back a strand of hair that is stuck to your face. When you hesitate, he gives you an options: “Would you like to cum for me?” You let out a desperate moan of surprise, and he chuckles, “I’ll take that as a yes,” and you stammer, “Yes, Captain. Please.” He nods at you and then asks, “How would you like to cum? Would you like my tongue? Maybe my hands? Or my cock?” At this point, you feel it flexing back to life between the two of you, and you let out another involuntary groan as your hips press toward him. “Mmmm. I like that,” he says in response to your increased arousal. “Okay. Do you remember who is in charge here?” You stare up at him wide-eyed before quickly saying, “You are, Captain.” He nods, “Get on your hands and knees.” He gestures for you to do so on the plush bath mat facing the bathroom door. You lower yourself to your hands and knees and notice how your arms and thighs are both quivering uncontrollably. “Spread your legs out a little more,” he says as he moves to get behind you. You slide your knees further apart on the rug, and he clucks his tongue in approval, “Good girl.” Your stomach clenches, and your back rounds as your head falls forward, and you let out a pathetic gasping whine.  

He chuckles again behind you, and you try to breathe as you hold that position, shivering from sheer anticipation. He reaches down and slides his hand up your inner thigh to your slit, and you gasp and roll your head, bucking your hips slightly, before attempting to focus on holding your position. “Ohhh. You are a good girl. You are so wet for me,” he says with a satisfied sigh as he slides his fingers back and forth between your folds and over your clit. He removes this hand and switches to the other, starting on your thigh and moving back up, as he did on the first side. He traces the line where your legs connect to your mound, and this time, when he slides his fingers between your folds, he dips one inside you, just to the first knuckle. When you gasp and buck slightly, he playfully smacks your ass with his free hand. You whine and pull forward instinctively, and he removes the finger before instructing, “Hold still.” You freeze, unsure what in the actual fuck is happening and trying desperately not to think of what time it is and how late he’s going to be if he keeps this up. He, too, seems to realize it’s time to cut to the chase. 

“That’s right. I think you deserve a reward for waking me up like a good little alarm clock. I wish I could wake up that way every day,” he says with a chuckle before sliding his palm over your stinging backside and then around to your heat. His fingers circle over your clit, and his other hand spreads your ass cheeks as you can feel his eyes upon you. You are unable to feel self-conscious as he has just worshipped your body in the shower and is now generating so much pleasure from your clit that it’s all you can do not to shake all over. “Do you like that?” he asks with a dry chuckle. “Yes, Captain,” you reply and allow your head to fall forward when he moans and presses his extremely hard cock against your backside in response to your answer.  

Your ass raises instinctively to give him better access to your entrance, and his hands sweep over your thighs to grip your hips. You can hear his lips as they spread into a wide smile. He stares down at you for a moment before asking, “Are you ready for your reward now?” This question sends your body into spasms as you arch your ass up again and whine, “Yes, Captain. Please. I’m ready.” He groans and drops his hands; you hear him spit lightly into his palm before he quickly rubs it over the head of his cock, grabs your hips, and thrusts deep into your core without hesitation. Your arms nearly give out as you moan loudly, and he pulls almost all the way out, keeping his hands on your hips for leverage. He moves it back halfway in before pulling nearly all the way out again, and you whine and buck your hips, arching your back, wanting nothing more than his full hardness inside you. He chuckles a little and slams forward into you, causing you to moan louder and whine at the intensity while bracing your arms to keep from being pushed flat on your face.  

You start to rock your body back and forth on your hands and knees, effectively fucking yourself on his exquisite erection. He chuckles at you and allows it, keeping his hands on your hips only to keep your bodies aligned. He groans and sucks in air through his teeth, and you begin to work faster, slamming your ass so hard against him that your breasts are audibly hitting you with each thrust. He slows you slightly and instructs you to touch yourself the way you like it. You reach back and begin to stroke around your clit, gingerly sliding your fingers past it to feel where his excruciating hardness disappears inside of you. He slaps your ass, and you quickly slide your fingers back up to your clit. “That’s right. Touch yourself for me,” he says as he resumes his thrusts, and the intensifying pleasure causes you to drop forward to your elbows, and you lower your head to your forearms, with your ass completely in the air for him. You continue to rub your clit as you moan and buck, but are losing your rhythm because of the intensity, so he begins to take control—slowly thrusting into you while you continue to work your fingertips across your bud. You are panting and whining now, feeling incredibly close to what feels like the mother of all orgasms. He experimentally slaps your ass with a free hand, and when you ignore it, he chuckles a little and begins fucking you harder while you obediently stroke your clit. You brace yourself with your head on the rug and reach your hand up to tweak your nipples. You can feel your increasing wetness, and you press back toward every thrust, causing his pelvis to sharply collide with yours every time he buries himself inside of you.  

You begin to feel the electricity sparking inside you. It feels like you will disintegrate and explode into a cloud of frenzied atoms at the intensity of the pleasure as you near your peak. He senses the loss of control within you and begins pounding into you as though your lives depended on it. As you hear his panting becoming deeper and sharper, you feel his cock beginning to spasm inside you, and the pressure of his hands squeezing your hips makes it difficult for you to move. The sensation of him cumming inside you sends you over the edge, and your muscles clench down hard around him as you practically howl at the intensity of the pleasure. He can hardly move to thrust as your body locks up, panting and gasping through your orgasm. All at once, your legs and hips give out, and you slide your knees out to the sides to lie spread-eagled across the bath mat with a satisfied groan.  

He is forced to withdraw from you as you slip away from him, and quickly grabs a towel as he looks down at you, splayed on the floor on your belly. He chuckles a little and murmurs, “Good girl.” You moan as you shiver and shudder with the aftershocks, but do not move. He wipes his dripping cock off with a nearby towel and reaches down to stroke a finger through the mess now leaking out of your slit. “So beautiful,” he says, and you giggle, unable to move. He grabs the towel and cleans you up before gently encouraging your legs back to a more comfortable position and rolling you onto your side, where he lies down next to you and kisses you passionately.  

You suddenly gasp as you realize that much too much time must have passed by now. He looks down at your panicked face and chuckles. “It’s okay, Naui Haneul. I’m number eight today.” You roll your eyes and think how useful that information would have been earlier. He laughs and kisses your nose before scrambling up and offering you a hand. “But I do need to get going!” he says quickly. You groan as you roll your eyes heavenward again. You giggle and throw on his robe to dash from the bathroom and get his vitamins, phone, AirPods, and snacks so that he won’t be late when he finally gets going. You’re just finishing up a beautiful goji berry smoothie for him when he dashes by the kitchen and stops to smile at your messy, partially dry hair and rosy cheeks, standing there wearing nothing but his robe and handing him all of his things to tuck into his bag. He kisses you deeply and pulls away, sucking at your bottom lip as he releases the kiss. You moan again lightly, and he tuts before saying, “You are amazing. I lo—“ he suddenly stops and looks a little panicked, but he recovers smoothly, “I adore you.” You heave a sigh of relief at the narrowly averted awkwardness and kiss his jaw before smacking his ass and chiding him, “You better hurry up. You’re going to be late!” You swat him on his ass again as he tries to get away from you. 

 “WHO’S IN CHARGE AROUND HERE?!” he yells theatrically at the top of his lungs as he makes his way into the elevator. You dash around the corner, sliding into the entryway after him before quickly dropping to your knees, opening your robe wide to display your nakedness, and saying, “You are, Captain,” with a wicked grin on your face. You can just see the look of absolutely delighted devastation on his face as the elevator doors close, and he’s forced to go mind his responsibilities for the day.  

 You find yourself laughing hysterically like a lunatic when he’s well on his way because  

What the fuck is your life now!?  

You’ve always known Hongjoong works hard. 

But who would have thought he plays this hard, too!?  

Chapter Text

 As the comeback preparations completely consume all of the boys’ waking hours, you spend extra time planning new recipes and cleaning out the back of the pantry and the freezer. You’ve pretty much scoured every last nook and cranny of the kitchen before realizing that you’ve left yourself precious little to do during the time when you’re going to be really bored and lonely when tour starts. You groan as you pull your upper body back out of the bottom shelves of the cupboard and throw your sponge into the sink behind you without glancing to verify if you’ve hit your target. You blow a puff of air to push back the hair that has fallen over your face when you leaned all the way in to scrub the back shelf. “Utopia” plays on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you grab a quick swig of your tea before attempting to stand and checking out how numb your legs are from the prolonged awkward position on the floor.  

You limp a little as your legs protest the maltreatment, and you make your way to the oven to check the progress of your stuffed kabocha squashes that are roasting there. You’ve modified the recipe a bit to include some of the Vermont apple curry seasoning and some of the fall vegetables, like sweet peppers, eggplant, and parsnips, that are also included in Sapporo Soup Curry that Hongjoong loved so much from his trip to the Sapporo Ice Festival last year. A pot of chicken thighs braises next to the squashes in the oven. For a little crunchy surprise, you’ve made some little parmesan crackers to garnish the final dish. With the fall weather really settling in, you hope that the fresh vegetables and hearty lentils will warm them up without making them feel weighed down. “Sunrise—Atmospheric Mix by Spacecowboy” comes on your playlist, and you turn to assess the state of your to-do list for the day. You are slightly impressed at the amount of work you’ve gotten done, and you realize that avoiding other tasks or worries definitely motivates you to keep busy. You’ve been trying to look forward to comeback, manage your loneliness, and not freak out about the fact that tour is starting again soon, and you have no idea how you’ll cope in an empty dorm for almost six weeks. You’ve arranged some time to go help Nam Timjangnim with various tasks during some of that time, but the bulk of your plan is to deep clean the dorm and practice some new recipes. You may even get a chance to get some training from the KQ nutritionist, who usually just consults with the boys individually based on their needs but may have some insight and suggestions for your recipes. You cringe a little, hoping they won’t have too much constructive feedback, but you’d rather know what you can do better than not be told, so you’ll take your licks and make sure you improve moving forward.  

All of a sudden, you realize that it’s Monday, and you haven’t gotten any recommendations from Jongho for shows for you and Su-bin to watch. You’ve run through most of what he’s recommended in short order, and it’s sad to think that if it’s this difficult to get his recommendations now, it’s going to be damn near impossible when tour starts when your boys are literally thousands of miles away. You take a huge swig of your tea again to fight back the constricting pain in your throat, and you swipe through your phone to find the texting app. Pulling up Jongho’s contact and opening a new text message, “Gravity” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you can’t help grinning from ear to ear. This has to be one of the coolest songs you’ve ever heard, and you wonder what the show it was created for is like since it’s one of his early original soundtrack (OST) projects. 

So fuckin’ good.   

As Jongho croons in your ear, you try to figure out what you’re doing on your phone since your brain has seemingly wandered off again.  

Oh yeah. Text Jongho. 🎶 chorus Gravity🎶  

Excuse me, good Sir John Go Chowee,🛡️🤺  

Can you please recommend a drama for my  

Fair lady, Jeong Su-bin. Kindly recall that she  

Possesses a strong will and prefers the shows  

Which would horrify and frighten all but the most  

Stalwart knights.  

Yours with sincere gratitude,  

~콩쥐 (Kongjwi) 👸👑  

You hit [Send] while you giggle at your ridiculousness. You and Jongho have found your own way to make the translation app bearable since it’s more difficult to convey meaning and your unusual brand of humor without body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice. When either of you is in a particularly good mood, you try to word your texts to make the translation come out super weird and make each other laugh. You also make it a point to try to butcher the spelling of his name at every opportunity because you know it annoys the shit out of him, and you want him to feel special because you love bugging him. At some point, he started addressing yours to “Kongjwi” which you looked up online and found it was the Korean version of Cinderella. You’re not sure if this is a compliment or an insult, but that’s often how Jongho’s humor lands—especially through the app. 

콩쥐  

나는 젊은 아가씨를 놀라게 할 드라마를  

선의로 추천할 수 없습니다. 🦄  

제가 그 분의 덕을 지키고 그 선한 부인의   

의기양양함을 지켜드릴 수 있도록   

제 결정을 직접 전달하겠습니다.  
유감스럽게도 
최종호🛡️⚔️🏯 

[Translate] 

I am planning a drama that will surprise the young lady.  
 
I cannot recommend it in good faith.   
 
I will keep his virtue and that good wife   
 
So that I can protect your elation   
 
I will communicate my decision directly.   

unfortunately   

Choi Jong-ho  

You reread it several times and even throw it into another online translation app before feeling like you may have to go learn how to work an automatic defibrillator device... 

I cannot in good faith recommend a drama that would frighten a young lady   

that would alarm the young lady.    

That I may preserve her virtue and protect the good lady's    

the good lady's virtue    

I will convey my decision in person.    

I regret to inform you that the   

final issue  

Wait... is he saying he wants to tell her in person? Or me in person?  

Before you have a chance to fire off a reply, another text comes through: 

당신의 데이트 시간은 언제입니까?  

[Translate] 

When is your date?  

Oh shit. Uh-oh.   

Okay.   

This could be good.  

You try to think what to do. Of course, you want to protect Su-bin from any unnecessary distress, but you also have been wanting to have her meet the boys, or at the very least, Jongho, for a long time. It seems like the longer she avoids it, the weirder it gets. Maybe this is a great way because she won’t have time to stress over it ahead of time. 

We live in the same building, for crying out loud. She could have met them any time by accident!  

You are still in awe of how she’s managed to avoid crossing paths with ATEEZ before, but you suppose that if she was careful, it was probably possible. You shift your weight back and forth nervously on your feet before flicking a loose pepper seed across the counter and making a decision. You quickly fire off a response to Jongho, completely forgetting your little game: 

We have dinner at 19:15 and start our show at that time.   

What should I tell her if she asks what show we are watching   

Before then?  

Also, we usually watch in her room,   

So, is that going to be weird for you? 😯  

You think about the reserved nature of both of these two and how awkward Jongho would be if you invited him to what basically amounts to Su-bin's bedroom. The idea of making them both so uncomfortable makes your skin crawl a little.  

Shit. That’s not going to work.  

Before you respond to tell him you definitely need a better idea, he responds: 

I will make a reservation at Cine de Chef in Gangnam District.  

We will have dinner in the small theatre there.  

I will have the van pick you both up at 19:00.   

Can you tell her it is a surprise gift from management to you two?  

Will she fall for the ruse?  

You stare blankly at the message with your mouth hanging open stupidly.  

I have no idea what she’ll believe. I’m not sure I believe it.  

You open and close the text window several times while opening and closing your slack jaw several times in sync with it, unsure how to respond.  

I can try. When will you get there?  

I don’t want her to faint in public. 😅  

You’re joking, but also... not really. Now it seems like this was a really stupid idea, and you’re just going to be a third wheel. You don’t want to abandon her there on what could basically be considered a surprise blind date, but also, you can just picture yourself sitting there while they speak to each other fluently, and you stare blankly at a movie without subtitles.  

Oh well. She’s been a great friend. Stop being selfish. This is going to be fun for her, even if she doesn’t know it.  

The least you can do is be there for moral support. You’re snatched from your mentally horrifying vision of being the old maid chaperone as “MATZ” comes on your playlist at the same time as another message from Jongho pops up: 

If you think it will be best, I can enter the theatre   

After you get there and order drinks.  

Or I can be there when you get there.  

I can’t get back to the dorm to ride with you there,   

But I think that is best as a car trip is more awkward.  

You can’t help but agree with him there. Having to ride for a half hour to Cine de Chef with Jongho with Su-bin putting her head between her knees to keep from hyperventilating in the van sounds horrifying. 

Okay, meet us there, but let us get seated and  

I’ll order her a drink then you can bring them in?  

That would be funny!  

Waiter and Lead Vocalist Choi Jongho!!  

You crack yourself up and hit send.  

Okay, this might actually be fun.  

I like that. Okay. Good plan.   

See you tomorrow night when you get there!  

Jongho  

Holy shit. Hell yeah. Let’s do this.  

You realize that you’ll want to give Su-bin enough of a heads-up to plan for a night out in Seoul without giving her any time to overthink or ask too many questions. 

 That could be a challenge.  

You take a stab at it and figure there’s always the old fallback excuse of the language barrier if she backs you into a corner: 

Hey girl,  

I just got a weird message from management.  

They said I get a movie night at Cine de Chef as   

Part of a one-time bonus.  

I have no idea??? But it’s free dinner, and they said  

It is good for one week. Can you go with me tomorrow?  

I can’t do next week because it will be expired.😯  

Please say yes!!! We can have a van take us at 18:45.  

You hit [Send] and hold your breath before tossing your phone aside to make sure your chicken thighs are almost done braising. You also barely remember that you haven’t set up the rice maker yet, so you get that all loaded and check your schedule again. The bootleg of “RHYTHM TA” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you can’t suppress the devilish grin that is growing on your face as you think of the subterfuge you’re about to pull on poor Su-bin and how amazing it’s going to be. You’re always down for a good, heart-warming prank. The message from Su-bin isn’t long; you hope she’s too tired to question the plan: 

Okay. That sounds fun.😊  

See you! Thank you!   

You try not to lurk as you watch the boys file through, grab dinner, and spend various amounts of energy conversing or head straight to their rooms to do a quick live video with fans or take their showers. You can definitely see that they’re giving everything to prepare for this comeback, and there is very little energy left over for shenanigans.  

Hongjoong is late again, and you carefully put away the leftover food, creating a little special dosirak box for him, planning to ensure that you hand it off to him personally if you’re able to catch him in the morning. You write his name on it in Hangul in case he does come home in time to eat something. You decide to go to bed a little early and spend some time checking your wardrobe options for tomorrow’s movie date. Your smug smile returns as you thumb through your clean laundry pile, and “Feeling Like I do” comes on your playlist to make your heart flutter in sympathy for poor Su-bin.  

In the morning, you wake early unintentionally, but that happens when you actually go to bed at a decent time. Your body doesn’t seem to know what to do with the regular amount of sleep. You jam your earbuds in as you stumble to the kitchen to grab some caffeine. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes and think about what you plan to accomplish today. It suddenly hits you that it is technically your day off, but with the upcoming tour and everything, you feel like you want to work any day the boys are actually home to benefit.  

You are debating whether or not to just do as you please at this point, and you see the shiny mother-of-pearl vitamin case on the countertop next to the dosirak box in the sink, empty. Your heart leaps in your chest, and your sleepy lips nearly split at the sudden, wide grin that spreads across your face. Just seeing those two empty boxes—clear tangible evidence of your success in taking care of your boys—makes you forget there was ever a debate whether you’d be tempted to not work today. You bustle about getting yourself some sort of obscenely caffeinated beverage while you bop around and refill Hongjoong’s vitamin case. You also pull out last night’s curry squash and chicken leftovers before suddenly deciding to make them into steamed buns. You dash around to get a dough fermenting quickly in case the boys will want some to have the delicious, warm buns for breakfast or to take for lunch later. “Aurora” comes on your playlist, and you can’t imagine that you’ve ever felt happier at a job in your entire life. 

You dance around chopping the leftover squash and chicken into small pieces, throwing in some pinenuts and jujubes, along with some extra curry seasoning and a couple of generous dashes of rice syrup. You nearly scream and drop the rice syrup bottle when you spin around, mid-dance, to almost crash straight into Wooyoung, who is standing with the fridge open behind you, silently staring at you, unimpressed. You self-consciously pat down your bedhead and turn to place the bottle carefully on the counter before bowing a quick greeting and stepping further back out of his way.  

He looks at you a little longer than is comfortable, but he says nothing. The lack of expression in his eyes almost makes you feel as though you are invisible. It’s as though he has decided you’re not even worth the energy to glare at anymore; he’s doing his best to convey that you do not exist. Which, in the grand scheme of things, seems like an improvement. 

It’s fucked up, but it’s better than him being a dick.  

You wait, silently holding your breath and wishing you had anything else at this end of the kitchen to work on, but you’re pretty much stuck there until he gets whatever he came for and gets out of the way. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to stay long, and he’s out of your way momentarily. The rest of the morning passes unremarkably—save for a wink from Jongho as he passes by the kitchen. A little roll of excitement through your stomach makes you giggle for a moment until it’s rapidly followed by a bolt of nervous energy, and you find yourself wishing for the obliviousness that Su-bin currently doesn’t know she’s enjoying.  

You fumble through the rest of your day until you’re ready to get to the van at 6:35. You go up to the fourth floor to see Su-bin so she won’t have to wait in the garage alone. When you get to her room, she appears to have understood the assignment, thank goodness, because she looks cute and put-together despite having just finished a long day of work. This Cine de Chef appears to be a nice little restaurant theatre set-up, from what you’ve seen online, and you’re grateful that it’s not like the movie theatres you’d go to back home. You generally would go to movies dressed like you’re hitting the convenience store for snacks at two in the morning in your pajamas. But given that this is an introduction of two people you really care about, you want them to both be able to put their best foot forward without stressing over it too much.  

The van ride passes in relative silence. Su-bin doesn’t have much to say about work other than there was a lot to do, and you’re struggling to find interesting things to say because of how little you could ever tell her about what happens on the second floor. The two of you sit comfortably and watch the lights of the city blur by in the cool autumn evening, enjoying the toasty, warm air coming from the van’s heater. 

When you arrive, you’re relieved that there is a nice valet parking drop-off, and you and Su-bin scramble out of the van and dash into the theatre to avoid the biting breeze coming in across the brick walkway. You’re greeted by a blast of warm air and delicious smells as you enter the lobby area. You both look up in awe at the stunning decor and chandelier of the lobby’s vaulted ceiling. You walk hesitantly toward the reception desk and notice that around the corner from the desk is a beautiful dining room with several patrons having meals at elegant tables. You pause to stare for a moment as your brain attempts to triage the layers of concerns that arise at this vision of other people in the wide-open restaurant space. The noise of a nearby kitchen captures your attention, and you are momentarily distracted as your eyes sweep across the classy dining room to find the view of the open kitchen where men and women in pristine white chef coats bustle around each other fluidly to cook and design the beautifully presented food on the gleaming white plates. You cough lightly and turn your attention back to the reception desk. 

The hostess bows and smiles, patiently waiting for the two of you to finish taking in your surroundings, and you glance at the desk to see the posted menu and movie package options. Apparently, Tuesday night is “Ladies Night,” which makes you giggle a little. The packages are listed with movie only, dinner only, or dinner and a movie. You pause for a moment, wondering how on earth you could have dinner with Jongho in the restaurant, which appears to offer very little in the way of privacy in its arrangement. 

The hostess looks at you expectantly and you hesitate, realizing that you did not plan out with Jongho how you would discretely indicate to staff that you are meeting him here under his reservation. You grab your phone and pull up the translation app before typing in, “We are here to meet a friend. I believe he has made a special reservation for 19:15? It is a surprise to my friend, Su-bin, next to me, so please do not indicate that there will be someone joining us. She believes it is just the two of us.” You tap [Translate] before holding it up to show the hostess. As an afterthought, you slide your KQ ID badge over to her as well. She glances at it, and you try to ignore the judgmental eyebrow raise at your photograph before she nods knowingly, and you exhale a huge sigh of relief that, apparently, the staff has communicated the plan well. 

The hostess retrieves several menus, catches the attention of a server nearby, and begins to walk you away from the restaurant. Su-bin hesitates, and you link elbows with her to drag her along with reassurance and to prevent her from stopping to ask anyone any questions. The hostess leads the two of you to a sleek black elevator and you enter, checking your hair in the mirrors before thinking to grab a selca of you and Su-bin. Given that most of your activities have taken place in your comfortable clothes, watching shows and stuffing your faces with no regard for appearance, you realize you have no pictures of the two of you together. You definitely feel that you’ve reached the point in your friendship where you should have some pictures of memories together, so you flip your phone camera to reverse it and lightly jiggle Su-bin's arm to indicate that you want a quick picture. She obliges shyly, and the two of you scoot back into the corner of the elevator to snap a photo just as the doors open at your apparent destination. 

The hostess exits, holding the elevator door open with her palm and gesturing for the two of you to step out onto the sixth floor. The floor is covered in a deep red carpet with black and grey walls and accents; the modern yet classy design is void of any unnecessary decor but still communicates an elegant and luxurious feel. You watch her, fascinated, as she walks toward the double doors of the theatre and you link your elbow back through Su-bin's arm and follow the hostess into the impressive theatre. You gasp lightly as the lights are up in the theatre, and you can see it is set up with posh burgundy chairs and several small lamps illuminate tables that are interspersed between clusters of chairs facing the large movie screen. The hostess leads the two of you down the center row of the theatre, and you suddenly see a couple of servers waiting at the opposite side to enter with a larger table and an extra chair. You ignore them and hope that Su-bin does not question what they are doing there. 

The hostess waits for the two of you to seat yourselves in the two center seats of the row. You struggle lightly with your bag and sweater before finding a convenient hook for you to hang your coat and bag behind your seat. Once the two of you are seated, the hostess hands you each a menu and enquires about your drink orders. You set your translation app open on your thigh so that you won’t have to have her repeat herself or offer additional explanations. She cocks an eyebrow at you, and you grin deviously before she shyly responds that she would probably drink a small glass of wine. You nod at her approvingly and inform the hostess that you would like a bottle of the house white wine and two glasses. She smiles curtly and exits, leaving you to continue to grin at Su-bin, trying very hard to contain the giggles accumulating under your ribcage at what will happen when your wine comes out. She smiles shyly at you again and continues to browse the menu, looking a little overwhelmed at the choices.  

You try, in vain, to focus your attention on the menu as you nervously wait for Jongho to arrive. You note that quite a few of the menu items are French dishes, and you are entertained as you suddenly put two and two together with the name of the restaurant. Casually, you flip to the back of the menu, where there is a short biography of the chef and includes information that all of their cooks are trained professionally by Le Cordon Blue. You scoff at this unlikely but not unwelcome coincidence and return to trying to decide what of all of these amazing dishes you’re going to order. 

After several minutes, more servers enter carrying a table and other items and stop just in front of the two of you in your seats. The servers place the cloth-covered table in front of the two of you while a third chair is added next to your seat on the left-hand side. Another server enters and sets the table with silverware and service for three, and Su-bin looks up at you with concern. She assumes, initially, that there must be some sort of misunderstanding until she sees the twinkle in your eyes and watches the corners of your mouth twitch as you fight to contain the huge grin threatening to break free. She leans back from you slightly as if to distance herself from whatever bullshit you’ve got up your sleeve at this point, and you turn to watch the servers set the table like it is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen, while your face turns crimson to match the decor. 

The servers complete their task and bow politely before exiting to the lefthand side of the theatre. You’re facing Su-bin on your right, wondering which side Jongho will enter from, when you see her eyes go huge and her face drain of all color minus the adorable little ovals of blush she applied before the two of you left the dorm. She glances at you in panic and sees the large smile winning the battle with your self-control, and you begin to giggle. She still looks horrified, so you gently reach out your hand to place it over hers, hoping to steady her. Her other hand flies to her mouth, and she sits, quivering, as you hear a familiar voice behind you say, “안녕하세요, 만나서 반갑습니다 (annyeonghaseyo, mannaseo bangabseubnida).” You turn and beam up at Jongho, who has a cloth napkin draped across his arm and holds a bottle of wine and three glasses in a perfect imitation of the well-practiced manner of a formal server. He smiles down at you with his adorable cheeky grin, and you gesture for him to join you as you pick up your phone and begin typing furiously before hitting [Translate]. 

“I’m sorry; I know it’s a surprise, but I wanted you to meet him, and he wanted to share a good movie before they leave on tour soon, so it seemed like a good time to do that. Please don’t be mad. He’s so very nice. Don’t be scared. He’s very normal.” You hand it to Su-bin with an emphatic look, leaving Jongho to attend to the task of pouring the wine while she reads. You can’t help but be slightly grateful for this private means of communicating, which under other circumstances might be quite rude but, in this case, can be shrugged off as a necessary evil of language barriers. She reads it with a blank stare before handing it back to you and trying to breathe. She doesn’t say anything, but you squeeze her hand reassuringly and see her draw a deep breath. Jongho tuts lightly to himself as he compares his ability to evenly pour the glasses and effectively drains the bottle, trying to balance out the three portions with a small chuckle before turning to offer the first glass to you and then another to Su-bin, who waits for him to set it on the table rather than risk accidentally touching him or bumping the glass with her shaking hands.  

A server comes in and bows apologetically before asking something of Jongho, and his answer makes Su-bin's eyes fly wide again. You glance down at your app and see that the server asked if we are still planning on the premium coursed dinner, and Jongho affirmed this choice. The server gently takes the menus from the two of you and exits. Jongho raises his glass and clears his throat, allowing you a moment to clear your translation app and reset it to translate what he says next as you and Su-bin hold up your wine glasses. You and Jongho politely ignore the trembling of Su-bin's hand as she does her best to keep her glass aloft. “To good food, great entertainment, and hopefully, new friends.” He says before nodding to Su-bin and tilting his glass. To both of your surprise, Su-bin clinks her glass and then drains half of it before setting it down with a deep, shaky breath. You try not to chuckle as she stares up at the movie screen with flushed cheeks as though willing the movie to start and save her from attempts at small talk with an idol.  

Jongho handles the situation with his trademark calm and reassuring charisma. You essentially watch the conversation unfold through your app, though you don’t interrupt much as you are too curious about what will happen next. He gently speaks to her, asking questions about how she likes working for the company, what she likes to do for fun, and asking about her little brother. This draws a surprised look from Su-bin as Jongho explains that you’ve mentioned to him about her trip to see her family, and she seems genuinely touched by both his memory and his apparent interest in her life outside of KQ.  

She begins to respond a little more comfortably by the time the second course arrives, and Su-bin suddenly realizes that the three of you are still alone in the theatre despite having been here well past the original showing time listed. Jongho explains, somewhat sheepishly, that he reserved the theatre because he doesn’t often get to go out to movies, though he greatly enjoys cinema. He tells her that the CEO owed him a favor—though he doesn’t go into detail as to why—and he tells her that he called in that favor to have the theatre this evening. He apologizes to Su-bin for surprising her and for somewhat hijacking your evening, but at this point, she’s relaxed enough to inform him that it is okay, and she’s grateful for all of his show recommendations, so she’s glad to get to come to this movie with him. Now it’s Jongho’s turn to blush, and you busy yourself with your app to avoid calling attention to yourself in this moment of rare progress.  

Whether it’s the wine or just Jongho’s easy-going nature, you’re not sure, but watching Su-bin respond to him with more of her usual personality is refreshing. You’re starting to feel like that third wheel you were afraid of, but you realize that this is actually a delightful way to watch this blossoming friendship unfold firsthand. You love watching them make snarky jokes, cutting observations, and offer increasingly bold tidbits of their shared passion for dramas; they seem equally able to make each other laugh, and you’re more than content to observe this interaction casually. 

The rest of the food and the evening pass with rapid speed. The table is removed following the dessert course, and Jongho takes the theatre chair closest to Su-bin. This is definitely a good sign because if either of them were not feeling comfortable, you would anticipate him taking the seat next to you to prevent worsening the situation. You sigh contentedly and lean back into your seat as the theatre darkens and the movie begins. When the movie finishes, you sleepily gather your things as Su-bin and Jongho apparently have more energy and more things to talk about.  

They continue their conversation animatedly, and you’re too tired to bother pulling out your app to effectively eavesdrop at this point. You follow them out of the theatre as a content and proud third wheel, and the three of you dash into the van, waiting in the valet area to return to the dorms. You’re racking your brain, trying to find a way to duck out of the goodbyes, but you’re struggling as you know there is the added awkwardness of the fact that you all live in such close proximity. You decide to fully commit to being the best wingman ever and just open your app as the van bumps over the first speed bump entering the garage, you cry out exaggeratedly and quickly say into your phone, “I have to go! My bladder is full! Thank you Jongho! Excuse my rudeness!” before hitting [Translate]. You point it toward both of them to quickly read, and you are jumping out of the van before it fully stops and dashing to the elevator with dramatic haste. You slide your card and don’t bother looking back over your shoulder, though you’re pretty sure you can hear the two of them chuckling awkwardly in the van behind you as you jump into the elevator and smash the second-floor button. 

You walk gingerly onto the second floor as the elevator opens, taking your time to remove your shoes. You position yourself expectantly on the couch facing the elevators and open your translation app while you wait for the doors to open. More than a couple of minutes pass, and you start to become nervous as several rounds of butterflies bloom, flutter, and die sickeningly in your stomach while you run the best-case and worst-case-scenario reels. Finally, the doors open, and Jongho strolls out, whistling to himself. He stops suddenly when he sees you sitting there staring at him, bug-eyed, waiting for any form of news. He looks shocked but begins to laugh, heartily at your expression and maybe with a little bit of self-conscious nervousness. He shakes his head at you as he removes his shoes, and you proudly notice the little hints of red blush rising to his cheeks that you swear weren’t there when you left the van a few minutes ago. He nods at you and gives you a quick thumbs up before making to walk to his room. You gasp indignantly and quickly say into your phone, “Well? What did you think of her? Were you surprised?” before hitting [Translate] and looking up at him, daring him to avoid giving you some better feedback.  

He grins and looks down before running a hand over his hair and speaks into your phone haltingly before handing it back to you, “She is amazing. I am glad to have met her. I’m so glad you told me about her.” He looks like he wants to continue but thinks better of it, and he starts to walk away before you stop him by placing your hand on his forearm where his coat is draped. “Thank you, Jongho. For dinner and the movie, for all of your drama recommendations, and for being a friend. I appreciate you!” [Translate] He reads it and takes a long, meaningful look at you before nodding and saying, “천만에요(cheonman-eyo),” which means “You’re welcome.” He saunters off down the hall toward his room, whistling again, and you get up and dash after him as you realize, quite suddenly, that you actually do have to go to the bathroom. 

Chapter Text

As you wake up, you’re jumping at a knock at your door. You groggily say, “Come in.” as you’re not sure what time it is, who it is, or what’s going on, and you’re not about to get up out of your nice warm bed yet if you don’t know why. The door swings open rapidly, causing you to jump again as you’re suddenly aware of the towering forms of Mingi and Yunho, who are standing at the edge of your bedroom doorway, staring at you with shit-eating grins. You hazard a bewildered glance up at their eager faces and then down to their outstretched hands, which hold a bucket hat, a couple of masks, and some sunglasses. Mingi, of course, has his sunglasses already on his head. You tilt your head to the side and look at them, their infectious joy causing your smile to widen. You realize that they both look extremely pretty and are already wearing some amount of makeup and their hair is messy but appears to be styled that way.  

Mingi nods and says, “땅콩 (ttangkong), 우리는 당신을 데이트에 초대하고 싶습니다.” You stare at him blankly before rolling out of bed with a groan, holding up a single finger to the two of them and pushing past them as they step out of your way, confused. You hear Mingi nervously say something to Yunho, who murmurs a response but pauses to wait and see what you are up to. Keeping your finger raised to indicate that they should continue to wait, you stumble down the length of hallway to the kitchen to get something to drink to wake up your brain. Once you’ve accomplished this, you pull out your phone and open the app before you point it at Mingi and ask, “Again?” When he repeats himself, you hit [Translate] to see that he said, “Peanut, we want to take you on a date!”  

You blush in full force as you look up into his beaming face and glance at Yunho who is also smiling at you hopefully. You glance between them before saying, “Okay. Right now? What do I need to wear?” before hitting [Translate]. Mingi’s reply is translated as, “Yes! Right now is best. You can wear what we wear.” You take this to mean that your clothing should match their casual attire, and you nod before dashing back to your room to figure out how to date the Twin Towers in effortless style. 

You note that it has been quite cool lately, and you prefer to wear layers. You return to the entryway just a few minutes later, having thrown several tank tops with different necklines on, followed by a thin cardigan with a long line of brass buttons down the front and then a fuzzy cardigan over top. You added a vintage faux pearl necklace to your usual pendants and put on your Doc Martens with the wide laces. You drape your shoulder bag across your body before smiling up at your two favorite giants and asking, “Where are we going?” Yunho slides one arm around your shoulders before he says, “It’s a surprise.” You chuckle nervously as you allow him to guide you into the elevator, Mingi in step behind you. 

The elevator opens into the garage, and immediately, you hear the echoing rumble of a nearby engine running. There is a black van waiting for the three of you, and Mingi jogs ahead to open the sliding door for you and Yunho. “Thank you,” you mumble awkwardly as you attempt to crawl into the back seat. You can’t help wondering how on earth these two will fold their lanky bodies into this vehicle, but you realize at once that they have years of practice, and they slide into the van with ease. Yunho slides into the back seat beside you, and Mingi takes the seat directly in front of him. “Here,” Yunho says as he hands you a bucket hat and a mask. You grimace at the bucket hat and Mingi barks out a laugh before he is silenced by a look from Yunho. “Sorry,” Mingi says sheepishly before adding quickly, “You are very pretty!”  

You cringe as you put the bucket hat on, but you appreciate that they are looking out for you. You look between their smiling faces and sparkling eyes before asking again, “Where are we going?” Yunho sees your nervousness so he takes pity on you and says, “Phone.” You pull out your phone and set it to translation before handing it to him. “We are filming our vlog. We have a date at the art gallery.” You’re unable to hide your excitement at the idea of visiting a gallery, but you are concerned about the idea of filming and being in public with them. You swap the translation before asking him, “We are going to a public gallery? Did you want my help with the vlog? Is that why you asked me to come?” Yunho laughs heartily when the translation appears. “No, no, no. We want to take you on a date. We will film the vlog ourselves, but we wanted to spend time with you at the gallery, also. It is a public gallery, but we have a reservation, so we will not be disturbed for two hours.” He smiles gently at you, and Mingi nods encouragingly. You feel a little guilty for assuming they’d only ask you to do something because they wanted your help, but who can really blame you for having difficulty accepting the idea that you have an all-access pass to the hottest K-pop boys around? 

“Oh. Okay. That sounds really nice.” you say with a shy smile. You finger the mask in your hands awkwardly before asking, “Do I need to wear this the whole time?” Mingi responds first, waving a hand dismissively, “No, no, no. Just until we go inside. Then you can take it off.” You heave a sigh of relief; you were already sweating at just the idea of wearing the hat, the layers of clothing, and a mask for two hours while trying to make your short little legs keep up with the Twin Towers. 

You are momentarily distracted as you watch the city rush by in the wide van windows. “How do you film the vlog? Will there be other staffs?” you look between Mingi and Yunho, trying to anticipate who will respond first. Yunho begins opening his shoulder bag, and you realize that it is a camera bag as he retrieves the camera from inside it. He chatters away, showing you the video camera and the different features and explaining the overall plan for the vlog. “We just walk around the gallery and look at the art while filming each other and talking about the different Korean artists featured in the exhibits.” Mingi nods in agreement before adding, “And we will get something to eat after!” Yunho laughs and tries to deflect this comment to avoid giving the impression that the only thing to look forward to about this outing is that it will end with a good meal.  

You smile warmly at them both before saying, “That sounds wonderful. I’m looking forward to it.” You turn back toward the window and marvel at the juxtaposition of the tall, window-covered buildings and varied shops of all sizes and shapes that speed by as the van makes its way through the city. Shop signs zip by in all colors and styles. You gasp aloud at a large, asymmetrical building of glass that appears to bend as though melted, and the boys laugh at your enthusiastic, awestruck reactions. When the van pulls up to a minimalistic, gray rectangular building with recessed windows, you can’t help feeling a little underwhelmed. Mingi barks out a laugh at your slightly confused pout. Yunho puts on his mask and then pats your knee encouragingly as he fights his large hand into the crack in the seat to unfasten his seatbelt before stepping out of the van, then turning to offer you his assistance getting out. 

You swat him away with a nervous giggle and practically crawl out of the van like a toddler before straightening your clothes and looking up at the building hesitantly. As you stand dwarfed between the Twin Towers, you look a bit like Dorothy Gale heading into the forest with the Tin Man and the Scarecrow on either side of her. You start to laugh again at this thought, and Mingi looks down at you, a smile crinkling his eyes behind his mask, and says, “Let’s go!” You shove your arms between theirs and start to skip, only to realize you’re confusing the hell out of them because they’re not having the same vision you are. They step forward, laughing, unsure of the joke but enjoying your cheerful spirit. You lightly start to sing under your breath, “We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz...” and you hear Mingi chuckle softly, saying, “Ohhh. Dorothy.”  If only you had your Cowardly Lion, San, you giggle to yourself. Seonghwa would make the perfect Glinda, but that leaves Jongho, Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong, and you don’t have time to try to figure out which characters best represent them because just up ahead. Yunho holds the door open for the three of you as Mingi brings up the rear, filming him nonchalantly. 

"안녕하세요! 우리는 에이티즈입니다!” The boys greet the gallery staff assembled as the three of you step into the gallery’s reception area. You meander off to the side as they go to speak with the docent about the exhibits and the plan for their vlog while you remain well out of the way of Mingi’s camera. After they appear to have established some plan for the visit, Yunho stops to get out his camera. Mingi glances around the reception lobby and looks up at the high ceiling that is industrial in its ventilation shaft and vague gray motif. You chuckle to yourself slightly before walking over to him and whispering, “Cement?” with a big smile. He looks down at you, shrugs, then laughs before flicking the brim of your bucket hat downward playfully. You giggle and wander a little out of the way as you see Yunho appears to have gotten his camera working, and he’s heading toward the two of you. 

You look up at him as he is becoming infinitely taller as he gets closer to you, and you have to crane your neck to look up at him. He smiles down sweetly at you with doe eyes that are warm and sparkling with his trademark golden retriever energy.  You drop back a pace to follow them as they round the beautiful, lush green potted aralias that flank the entry to the gallery’s first salon. You pull out your camera and open the translation app so that you might have a chance to understand what they are saying.   

When Yunho glances behind at you, slightly concerned, you smile reassuringly and nod him forward to go ‘do his thing.’  He recognizes that it will be best to get the filming bits out of the way so that the three of you can just have fun, so he starts in on his vlog, chattering away about the history of the gallery, the art that is there, whose art they are looking forward to the most, and all of that while zooming his camera back and forth between the gallery, the art, and Mingi. Mingi poses in front of several large abstract oil paintings and films Yunho looking contemplative as he regards a piece by an up-and-coming young Korean artist. Yunho gets very excited when he reads the artist's bio and notices that they are from his hometown, Gwangju. Mingi, unfortunately, is not paying attention as he’s busy taking another selca in front of a piece across the room. Yunho looks up and sees this and turns with an annoyed exclamation toward Mingi who jumps and ruins his selca attempt. You laugh in spite of yourself, and both of the Twin Towers turn toward you, suddenly remembering you are there and laughing as they realize you’ve seen the whole thing.  

Yunho convinces Mingi to pay attention this time as he returns to the previous picture and pretends it’s his first time reading that the artist is from his hometown. You admire how convincing his acting is and figure it’s fair game since he reacted exactly the same way the first time he actually saw the piece. He looks over at you with a cheeky grin as if looking for your approval, and you clap appreciatively, which broadens his adorable smile. Mingi rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Yeah. Yeah.” as he shuffles over to you. You absently reach around his waist and pat his back to soothe his fake hurt feelings, and he grins as if that was his aim all along. He reaches a long arm around you and gently pats you on top of your bucket hat, clears his throat lightly, and says, “Ttangkong.” Yunho calls out for the two of you to join him in the next salon and Mingi lets out an exaggerated sigh before he says, “Let’s go.”  

When you round the corner, you gasp in awe at the sudden change in atmosphere and overall tone in this salon. Your eyes are met by a variety of beautiful and lush aquamarine and green paintings with water, plants, and people in a sort of fluid, floaty feeling aesthetic. The people are rounded and graceful; the plants and water appear to swirl and move with a life all their own. The cool colors in the scenes still somehow evoke warmth, and you feel surrounded by it as you slowly tear your eyes away from each painting to move toward the next.  

You vaguely hear the boys chattering in the background and know they are working to get their vlog footage. You ignore them and just take in the moving art. You are so absorbed in your admiration of the simple yet powerful images that you fail to notice the silence that has fallen in the room with you. You suddenly become alert, realizing, as often does the mother of toddlers, that silence with the Twin Towers usually means trouble. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you slowly turn toward the direction where you last heard their voices; you hold your breath even though you realize that’s a terrible idea because it will just give your scream more airtime if they scare the shit out of you. When you carefully look behind you, you let out your breath in a relieved, appreciative laugh. 

Mingi and Yunho are both standing at the doorway between this and the next salon, watching you with peaceful, fond smiles. Yunho smiles at you reassuringly, and you realize they were just patiently waiting there for you to finish enjoying the art. Yunho’s beautiful cover, 'Even If It’s Your Happiness' comes into your head, and you want to run to squeeze both of them in a huge hug for their loving patience. Neither of them could truly know what a gift it is to have someone wait like this for you, even though they have their own agenda, their own needs, and schedules, but they care enough about you to see you having a moving experience and don’t want to ruin it for you.  

You realize you’re grinning from ear to ear and reach up to wipe an unconscious tear that has been freed from your emotional lockdown by this combination of art and the beauty of these two sweethearts. The rest of the gallery visit continues without much fanfare, except for one poor ATINY gallery employee who apparently had not been briefed on the visit and required a bit more comforting and some cold ice on the back of her neck to stop her from panicking. The boys remained by her side until management came and assisted the dear girl to the staff lounge to attempt to recover from her shock. Mingi and Yunho smiled at you sheepishly; you suppose, on some level, having them devote so much attention to another woman on your “date” would be considered uncouth, but this is anything but a regular date.  

After the chaos has subsided, the manager returns to inform the Towers that they may have an extra fifteen minutes to finish up any additional art viewing or filming that may have been interrupted by their staff’s unfortunate reaction to them. They bow graciously, and Yunho gets a twinkle in his eye and turns to say something to Mingi, whispering behind his hand.  

You laugh because, obviously, you can’t understand them, but they probably figured (correctly) that you have your app open, so you just look at them with amused expectation. Yunho hits a few buttons on his camera and begins pointing it at you, which about makes you join the ATINY in the staff lounge due to the heart palpitations this induces. You laugh and turn an immediate shade of fire engine red. Mingi laughs and the boys both blush a little, but they are relentless. You turn to flee back through the previous salons, with them chuckling behind. 

When you glance over your shoulder, you see that Mingi, too, has his camera out and is grinning affectionately as he trails just behind Yunho. You can hear Yunho speaking in his hilarious “announcer” voice, which stops you despite your better judgment. You look up at him, beaming, completely unsure what he’s saying, but you absolutely adore this silly thing he’s doing. He continues to talk as though he’s narrating your activities or interviewing you for television; you’re not sure, but he sounds so silly. 

And hot as hell.  

You marvel at the mixture of excitement, arousal, humor, and affection that bubbles up from your core and has you completely in heaven as you stare up at these two darlings. You realize you are momentarily frozen, so you grin cheekily and turn on your heel to bolt out of their range and into the next salon. Their voices echo off the concrete walls, and you can still hear Yunho yapping behind you, now sounding as if he’s announcing a race. Mingi’s unhinged giggle comes next, though much closer than Yunho’s voice. You know he’s gaining on you, but you slide to a stop as soon as you see that you’ve returned to the salon you loved so much before. Mingi almost crashes into you as it takes a bit longer to stop his massive form than your closer-to-earth build. You quickly side-step him and giggle as he stumbles past you in an effort to halt his body’s momentum. You glance back at Yunho while you’re still laughing, and he’s smiling at you fondly as he easily catches up to you with his long strides.  

When you skid to a stop and Mingi narrowly avoids squashing you like a bug, you look up with a breathless grin to see that you’re stopped in front of your favorite painting. Yunho sees you looking at it again with wonder and shoves his fist under your chin, pantomiming a microphone as he fires off rapid questions in Korean. You laugh at him and decide to run with it. You launch into your own interpretation of the painting and the meanings and memories it conjures up in your mind. Your rambling explanation would essentially be an overshare if the boys were more fluent in your language. You’d feel self-conscious if anyone besides them were going to see this goofy video clip. You laugh at yourself, turning red, and he keeps looking at you to say more. You raise an annoyed eyebrow at Yunho before growling at him slightly and turning the tables, pivoting to point your own “microphone” under Mingi’s chin and asking him what he thinks of the art. 

Yunho doesn’t miss a beat and swings the camera around toward Mingi and jumps around to prevent his escape while firing off additional questions at Mingi, who can’t think fast enough on his feet and simply stands there sputtering and laughing between the two of you as you both look at him in wide-eyed overzealous expectation. He suddenly looks over his shoulder, exclaims, and takes advantage of Yunho’s instinctual weight shift to dodge around him and run out of the salon. Yunho groans in exaggerated frustration, as though he is actually a reporter who has just missed the world’s most fascinating interview subject, and turns to dash after Mingi.  

You saunter after them, taking one last opportunity to gaze fondly at the art in your favorite salon before catching sight of the boys in the next room, loudly annoying each other. You can just make out a look on the docent’s face in the reception area, who now looks rather put out at the amount of commotion from your little trio, and you quickly clap your hands twice like a kindergarten teacher and look at the boys expectantly. They both look up and freeze, and you say, “We need to be quiet. Are you hungry? Let’s go get lunch.” Mingi cheers, and Yunho blushes and nods graciously as he turns and sees the look on the docent’s face.  

The boys thank the gallery staff and step out to meet the van as you pull on your bucket hat and mask. The boys have figured out that it is likely to work out best if you get in the van first, as most people would be waiting to photograph them if they were aware that they were there, and if they ignored you while watching for the boys, you’d already be in the relative safety and privacy of the van by the time anyone questioned what you were doing there, and it would be too late to get a photograph. You realize it’s kind of a gamble either way, but it feels safer when you’re out with more than one of them at a time because at least that would make it more difficult to narrow down when people try to figure out if you’re “with” one of them. 

Yunho takes the three of you to a restaurant he likes that has relatively quiet, cozy tables and few patrons, and the apathetic staff performs only the bare minimum service—the perfect combination for idols undercover. By some miracle, the chef doesn’t seem to share the staff’s lackadaisical attitude when it comes to cuisine because the food is incredible. The three of you ride sleepily home, completely stuffed and nearly sedate. Yunho sweetly holds your hand in the van, and the electricity of his touch makes your palm sweat and you feel like a nervous teenager again. Mingi is less shy about patting you but doesn’t usually engage in prolonged contact, and you can’t help but think that if they both held your hands at the same time, you might spontaneously combust.  

Chapter Text

The three of you return to the dorms from your vlog date, and you stumble back to your room, looking forward to the chance to rescue your bucket-hat hair and remove the bulk of your jewelry and extra layers. Yunho sweetly walks you to your door and plants a chaste kiss on the top of your forehead before squeezing your hand and turning to head back toward the living room. You thank him with a grateful smile and hope he knows just what a wonderful time you had. You pull off your cardigans and fluff your hair out of the bucket hat situation before you suddenly think about the amount of sodium you’ve just consumed in the delicious food and realize you’d probably better go get yourself some water if you don’t want to swell up like a puffer fish tomorrow.  

You reapply some cinnamon lip balm and head down the hallway to get a bottle of water before you look up, suddenly crashing face-first into Mingi’s chest as he runs toward you without looking because he’s staring back over his shoulder. A large hand reaches up around Mingi to slow him down, and you see Yunho in hot pursuit, reaching out and effectively stopping Mingi from accidentally crushing you. Mingi is laughing but looks lightly horrified as he looks down at you and then past you, and you suddenly realize what his gaze has just called attention to, which explains an unexpected sensation of hardness you detected when Mingi collided with you. You gasp lightly and look up at him with a devious smile as you realize that he has a raging hard-on, and you can’t imagine what kind of scenario this is that you’ve literally just run into.   

Mingi laughs, his face red with exertion and embarrassment, and he stares, open-mouthed, as Yunho grabs your hand and pulls you past him before Mingi snaps to attention and comes trotting after, his hand holding his hardness to avoid the discomfort of the brief jog down the hall. You laugh in surprise as Yunho drags you down the hall, and you watch him steal a look down at you—with an unrestrained smile on his face and a wild look in his eyes. He pulls you into his bedroom, laughing and gasping for breath as he releases your hand, and Mingi comes in a pace behind the two of you, closes the door behind himself, and stands in front of it hesitantly, his hand still guarding his swollen crotch. You stand awkwardly in your layered tank tops and still slightly messy hair as you watch the two of them glance between each other’s faces and yours, wondering who will make the first move at this point. Yunho seems like he’s having second thoughts as he clearly acted without a plan and now isn’t sure what to do. You can’t help but think of the analogy of the dog who loves to chase cars but wouldn’t know what to do if he actually caught one. 

Well, you’ve got me here now. What are you gonna do about it, big boy?  

  You giggle at your sassy internal monologue, which startles both of the boys and makes you laugh even harder. “What? What did you just drag me into?” you sputter, realizing a beat too late that you don’t have your phone on you anymore. You glance between the Twin Towers, both still seemingly paralyzed with indecision, and ask, “Phone? Translation?” before Yunho jumps to action and grabs his phone from the bedside table where it is charging. He pulls open the app and hands it to you with a shrug, as though he still isn’t sure what he would say even if you could understand.  

You look at him with a confident smile and hit the recording button before saying, “What are you two sweethearts up to? Are you going to let me know what game we’re playing?” [Translate] You hand it back to Yunho with an innocent smile as you wait for him to read it, and he grins broadly as Mingi watches from the door before he exclaims, “What?” and Yunho appears to read the translation to Mingi because you can see the same smile spread across his face as well. They appear to go back and forth a little bit, which seems unfair since he’s taken the app back from you, so you tug at his sleeve and say, “Hey!” He looks down and blushes, saying, “Sorry,” before he takes a breath and says into the app, “We wanted to spend time with you, but we didn’t want you to feel pressured after our date. We were talking about it in the kitchen, and, well, we got a bit excited, so we were coming back here to, um, think about it some more.”  

He nervously watches you read the translation, and then he continues, “When I saw you in the hall, I was so happy; I didn’t stop to think about it. So, I brought you here. But we need to follow the rules, so I have to ask you, would you want to spend time with us?” You smile and look up at him, and then make sure you look at Mingi, too, so he doesn’t feel left out. You notice Mingi release his hand from his groin, but his pants are not leaving much to your imagination as they are stretched to the limit by his erection, which lays sideways under what you assume must be his tight briefs. You’ve done enough of the boys’ laundry to know that Mingi prefers the low-rise briefs that probably perfectly accentuate his ass and call attention to the incredible length of his legs and the tone of his muscular thighs. 

You snap your attention back to the question of the moment, realizing if you play your cards right, you’ll find out firsthand how those briefs look on that enormous man. You take the phone from Yunho and swap the translation before asking, with an overly saccharine look of shocked innocence, “With you? With both of you? At the same time?” And you try to hold back the giggle fit, threatening to break free for long enough to watch Yunho fumble slightly at the suggestion that you might be a little overwhelmed by this request. When he glances up at Mingi with a look of alarm, and Mingi quickly steps closer to see for himself what you said, you can’t help yourself and begin to laugh heartily at their concerned faces. Your cackle almost borders on evil as you think to yourself 

Bless these dear, sweet men for believing in my innocence. Bless their dear hearts.  

At the sound of your laughter, both of them break into relieved grins, and you quickly continue to put them out of their misery, “Yes, I would love to spend time with you. Both of you. At the same time. Or at different times. Either sounds great to me.” Yunho smiles and nods and shows the translation to Mingi before tossing his phone at Mingi. Yunho reaches down to swoop his great arms around you and lifts you into a tight hug, spinning you in a slight circle just once before setting you down with a happy sigh and leaning his head down to kiss you gently. You moan contentedly at Yunho’s tender kiss, ending with a little whine as he pulls away from you before you are satisfied. He chuckles and turns to survey the room, seeing that he wants to clear some clothing off of his bed and close the window curtains.  

While Yunho busies himself about the room, clearly not having dared to fantasize about getting you into his bed today, Mingi seems to find his courage and steps forward to hug you to his incredible, broad chest as you wrap your arms around his fit waist and try to ignore what is essentially grinding into your ribs due to his height. He moans lightly at the press of your body to his, and you are struck by hot electricity up from your groin as you feel the vibration of his deep voice. You reach an arm up to tap on his chin, and he bends down to kiss you. Mingi lacks the self-control that Yunho demonstrates because he kisses you passionately, his tongue forcefully exploring your mouth and his hands sliding up to your neck and down to your ass as he continues to press his body against yours. You moan in pleasure as you don’t mind the manhandling at all at this point; you’re actually grateful that Mingi doesn’t seem to be a slow mover because his enthusiasm will likely move Yunho off of second base much sooner than he seems naturally inclined to venture. 

Yunho looks up at the sound of your moaning and the friction of hands moving over clothing and turns with a broad smile before stripping off his shirt and throwing it into a corner without breaking stride. He walks toward the two of you, looking you up and down as he tries to decide where to join in. He slides his hand over the small of your back and around to Mingi’s ass and gives you both a squeeze as he groans and presses his body against you. Mingi breaks the kiss and turns to kiss Yunho, so you twist your body toward Yunho and begin to kiss his bare chest and abs while you work one hand up inside Mingi’s shirt to explore the bare skin concealed there. You press and rub your hands over Mingi’s skin firmly and reach up to squeeze his nipple as he ruts his hips toward you and Yunho. Mingi’s moan sounds lightly desperate as he can’t quite seem to find a good angle to press his hard cock against due to the current position of your little triad.  

Yunho hears his whimper and breaks the kiss to reach out and pull Mingi’s shirt off before wrapping a strong arm around Mingi’s back again and pulling him in for a deeper kiss while his spare hand reaches down to caress your face. You look up and are startled to realize that he is passionately tonguing Mingi’s mouth while looking directly at you, and you gasp as he reaches down to tweak your nipple through your top. You boldly reach out your palm and slide it upward to press against Yunho’s bulge, making sure that you hold his gaze and smile deviously as you press your palm against his hardness, which, to your delight and surprise, far exceeds the length of your relatively miniature hand. He grins into Mingi’s kiss before pulling away to bend down and kiss your mouth fervently as you continue to rub your palm over his crotch.  

Mingi takes the opportunity to kneel down beside you and begin unfastening your pants, sliding them quickly over your ass before reaching back up to squeeze and caress your ass with his strong hands. You moan and press your ass back toward Mingi’s powerful hands. You kick your pants loose from your ankles, and the movement causes Yunho to release the kiss and lean further down to kiss your neck before he reaches down and unfastens his belt. You whine as Yunho kisses your neck, and Mingi licks up your outer thigh before sliding his big hand around to cup your mound and applying gentle pressure with his palm to your clit. He nibbles playfully at your upper thigh while Yunho slides his hands under your top and begins pulling upward to rid you of the unnecessary clothing. You release your hand from Yunho’s crotch and work to unfasten his belt the rest of the way and remove his pants, which now fall easily down from his waist. He deftly shifts his weight as he kicks them off and finishes pulling your tank top away from your head.  

Yunho nudges Mingi with his shin, and Mingi releases your thigh from his lips and stands to allow Yunho to tug at his waistband and kiss him again passionately while Mingi swiftly removes his pants to reveal the familiar low-waisted black briefs in a matte satin that flatters his round, muscular ass just how you had imagined. The front, however, causes you to gasp as the tightness of these briefs, in combination with the low-rise cut, shows you just how inadequate your imagination can be. The briefs strain over his erection, as it is both too long and too wide for this swath of spandex that has been given the impossible task of containing him. The rosy head of his cock is visible above the waistband, and you blink at the girth of the thing as this looks way too good to be true. This man should have fainted from lack of blood supply to his brain by now because this thing is taking the lion’s share. 

You drop to your knees to get a closer look and press your body against Yunho’s bare thighs as you reach out to stroke and caress Mingi’s member through the black fabric. You raise yourself up to kiss his lower abdomen, just below his belly button, and kiss your way across to where the dusky head is visible above the waistband of his briefs. You slow and pause with your mouth just above it, and you hear him groan into Yunho’s mouth before Mingi reaches down to palm the back of your head and gently press you toward his cock. You chuckle and press a quick darting kiss to the tip, causing him to groan again and press your head a little harder, so you slide your hand up and pull the briefs out of your way to fully lick the head of his cock and take it into your mouth. Mingi groans again and releases his hand from the back of your head, offering you a little confidence that you can play around licking him without worry that he will press you down on it further than it’s possible for your jaw to take safely.  

Yunho, recognizing Mingi’s deepening groans, releases their kiss before sliding off his boxers and coming around behind where you are kneeling in front of Mingi. He reaches down and fumbles with the hook and eye closures on your bra but manages to free you from your bra and you lower your arms alternately to allow him to slide the straps off of you. After he drops the bra off to the side into the growing pile of discarded clothing, he returns to cup your breasts in his elegant, powerful hands and begins to massage them as he leans in to kiss your neck and nibble at your ear. You giggle lightly at the tickle of his breath on your ear, and Mingi groans a little as your attention is directed away from him momentarily. 

Mingi stretches his back and says something quickly to Yunho, who appears to agree, and they pull back from you, each taking a hand to guide you toward the bed. Mingi stops to peel off his briefs and launch them across the room with a little vocalization, like a flying projectile noise, and he chuckles at his own joke before he turns to where Yunho has laid you out on your back perpendicular to the head of the bed. With your knees relaxed over the edge of the bed, Yunho has begun kissing you deeply and groping your breasts as his hard cock ruts up against your thigh. Mingi reaches over to remove your underwear, and Yunho shifts out of the way to allow Mingi to slide them down your legs. As Yunho draws his hips back from you, his hard cock sways at the movement and catches Mingi’s eye. He stops before he’s completely removed your panties to lean over and lick the head of Yunho’s cock and gently fondle his balls before giving a heavy, wanton exhale and finishing the removal of your underwear.  

Yunho groans into your mouth at the attention, and you flex your heat toward Mingi as he leans over you to tease Yunho. Mingi slides his hand up between your legs as he returns from removing your underwear. He kisses your thigh again, closer to the inside this time, as he works his fingertips up to trace over your mound and around the crease of your thighs. You whine and buck your hips up and arch your breasts toward Yunho’s immaculate hands as his tongue passionately probes your mouth. Yunho has to pause to gasp when you reach a hand down to grip his hardness, and you squeeze it with more emphasis as Mingi’s fingers circle closer and closer to your clit in his exploration. Mingi zeroes in on your clit and begins rubbing it rhythmically now as you begin to stroke Yunho’s hard cock and press your mouth up to kiss him deeply. Mingi continues nibbling and sucking on your thigh before reaching his spare hand over to squeeze Yunho’s ass as it flexes while his hips move with every stroke of your hand down his shaft. 

Mingi returns his focus to your slit as he slides his fingers into his mouth and then slowly slips one down between your folds and, with a slight hesitation, locates your entrance and slips it in without pausing his circular motions on your clit. You gasp into Yunho’s mouth and moan as Mingi strokes his finger inside you, sliding up your walls, judging the sensitivity of each area before experimentally curling his finger upward toward your g-spot and chuckling deeply to himself when you gasp and moan loudly with pleasure. You rut your hips up and moan, struggling to keep up with Yunho’s kisses now but doing a little too well at keeping up on stroking his cock; he flinches away from you and pulls back, saying, “Slow. Slow.” He, too, grins at your intense arousal and kisses your chin and cheeks tenderly.  

Yunho looks down toward Mingi, who is watching him out of the corner of his eye while working diligently with both of his hands, driving you wild. Yunho squeezes your breast again before sliding down lower in the bed to lay even with Mingi’s face and allow him to lean over and kiss Yunho if he so desires. Mingi immediately leans over to kiss Yunho deeply, and you steal a glance between mind-blowing waves of pleasure emanating from your core to watch them lick at each other’s mouths and bite at each other’s lips in the unrestrained, confident manner of familiar lovers. Yunho takes advantage of the shift of Mingi’s body when he moved toward Yunho to kiss him, as it apparently gave Yunho easy access to slide his hand under Mingi’s abdomen and grasp Mingi’s excruciatingly hard erection in his huge hand. You can’t quite see what Yunho does next, but Mingi’s whimper and desperate moan tells you that it’s got to feel good.  

You don’t have much attention to devote to wondering, however, because the intense sensations generated by the action of Mingi’s fingers on you are becoming impossible to ignore, and you are feeling very close to cumming. You can’t reach either of the boys, which makes your moans sound a little more desperate as you grip your own breasts and your whining turns to panting. Mingi looks up at you, his full lips red and puffy from arousal and the friction of Yunho’s passionate kisses. He smiles and says, “Oh good,” as he sees you struggling to keep your wits about you, and you lose sight of him as your eyes close in ecstasy when he begins stroking your inner walls fiercely now. The orgasm hits you and sends shockwaves through your entire body as you shudder and pant through the pleasure. Yunho leans over and sucks your breast into his mouth, circling his tongue over the nipple and moaning softly as you climax. When you are able to open your eyes again, you look down to see Yunho gazing up at you with his hand wrapped around his own straining member, and you marvel at how beautiful he looks with his pupils blown, his lips wrapped around your breast, and his cheeks rosy with desire. Yunho breaks the suction, releasing your nipple with a smile, and leans up to kiss you once he’s sure you’ve caught your breath.  

Mingi groans and chuckles and slides his finger from you slowly as your body had clenched down on him so strongly that he had difficulty getting free until now. He slides up over top of you, and at the sight of him, Yunho backs away from the kiss to allow Mingi a turn, but Mingi has another idea and drags the wet finger he’s just removed from you across Yunho’s lip, and you watch in amazement as Yunho draws a long inhale and then moans deeply as Mingi slips the finger, slick with your essence, into Yunho’s mouth. Mingi moans lightly at the sensation of Yunho sucking his finger before he turns to kiss you passionately and ruts his hard cock against your thigh. 

You reach down and find Yunho’s hardness with your hand and feel the moisture accumulating at the tip where he has begun to drip precum in anticipation. You stroke him gingerly, only enough to provide encouragement of his continued arousal, as you wonder, ultimately, how this is all going to play out. Yunho releases Mingi’s finger from between his lips with a loud pop and slaps Mingi’s ass audibly. Mingi gasps and turns to kiss Yunho aggressively, and you giggle when their intensifying groping and panting above you threatens to crush you underneath them.  

You slide down between the two of them, avoiding their attempts to pull you back up toward them, when you find yourself face-to-face with Mingi’s outrageous girth. His cock twitches as he looks down to watch you approach it, and you glance up at Mingi’s face to see him amused as you suddenly hesitate, unsure of your ability to fit any meaningful amount of him into your mouth. You cradle Mingi’s balls in the palm of your hand lightly before licking around the head of his cock and sucking the tip into your mouth. You tongue the slit with increasing pressure, feeling him tense and fight the urge to thrust himself deeper into your mouth. You keep your other hand ready to form a fist around the base as you sense that it might save your life if Mingi loses control of himself and forces too much of his massive cock down your throat. 

You feel Yunho slide down behind you, pressing his naked body against your back and reaching around to grope your breasts as he kisses your shoulders. You instinctually press your ass back against him and moan lightly as you attempt to take more of Mingi’s girth into your mouth. Yunho responds by pressing his hard cock against your ass and rolling your nipple lightly between the pads of his long, elegant fingers. 

You find out quickly exactly how much of Mingi’s cock you can fit in your throat reasonably and place your fist around it to prevent it from going any further, and you begin to try to find a rhythm to suck on him. Yunho continues to rut against you in sync with your strokes on Mingi’s cock, and the panting that echoes from both of them sounds amazing. 

It’s like, fucking in surround sound.  

You gag accidentally as you fight to stifle a giggle at your own stupid joke. Mingi pulls back in concern; he clearly knows that he’s a lot to handle. You laugh up at him, with tears streaming down your face from the effort, and he gently thumbs them away before looking at Yunho with a nod. You wonder what they have in mind, but you don’t have to wonder long as suddenly Mingi is pressing you to roll back from him by patting your hip as he slides back off of the corner of the bed from you. You watch him and turn to look at Yunho for guidance as you see he, too, is backing away toward the head of the bed, laying on his back with his glorious cock bobbing in the air as he shifts back from you. Mingi, taking advantage of your attention directed back toward Yunho, reaches down to grip your hips and roll you over onto your stomach before guiding you to raise yourself up onto your hands and knees on the bed in front of him. You gasp suddenly as he runs a finger through your slit and pats your ass. 

Mingi says something to Yunho that you don’t understand, and Yunho quirks an eyebrow at him before getting up to stand beside the bed by your face, and you can’t suppress a wanton moan when his dusky cock arrives at eye level. A deep chuckle comes from Mingi, and he seems to suddenly recall something that he requests of Yunho, who quickly turns and retrieves a small bottle of lube from the drawer of his bedside table before handing it to Mingi. You heave a small sigh of relief as you know you’re primed for it, but Mingi is seriously packing, and you may not be able to handle it without a little extra help.  He chuckles at you again, and you hear the bottle open before it snaps shut a moment later, and he says, “Let’s go.” with a little pat on your ass.  

You try to relax and not hold your breath as Mingi grips your hip in one strong hand before you feel the head of his cock pressing against your core from behind. You tilt your ass up toward him to line yourself up with him, and you moan pathetically, deep and low, hissing air through your teeth as he slowly pushes into you. You can feel him stretching you as the head slides in, and you feel a slight pop as it passes beyond the tightness at your entrance. A throaty groan passes your lips as you drop your head in ecstasy at the incredible feeling of him filling you almost beyond what you can take. Your hips quiver and shake as Mingi slowly continues to push forward, and you pant and whine pathetically at the intensity; every time you think you’ve got all of him, he pushes a little further in.  

Yunho reaches down to gently cradle your chin and look into your face, ensuring that you are doing okay. When Yunho sees the blissed-out, hazy smile on your face, he smiles in relief and taps your nose with his finger before carefully removing his hand and allowing your head to drop back down as you concentrate fully on the sensations. After what seems like ages, Mingi is finally fully seated in you, and you moan and rock your hips ever so slightly from side to side, testing out this new feeling of fullness. Mingi pats your ass again playfully and asks, “Good?” and you raise your head up to look at Yunho as you say with a smile, “Let’s go.” Mingi laughs heartily before he slowly pulls back and begins to slide at a slow, leisurely pace in and out of you.  

You look up at Yunho again and shift your weight to free one of your hands so that you can gesture to him to bring his beautiful cock to your mouth. Yunho looks a little surprised, but he steps up and presents himself for you to wrap your lips around him. You eagerly slick him with your saliva before taking all of him into your mouth while Mingi ever-so-slightly increases the speed and pressure of his pumping behind you. You work Yunho’s cock as he puts his hands on his hips to keep from accidentally pulling on your hair, and you can see him tilt his head back with pleasure as you bob along in rhythm with Mingi’s thrusts. You swirl your tongue to vary the pressure on his throbbing cock as he begins to pant lightly, and you give him full reign to press himself into you, ignoring the excessive amount of saliva you’re generating as you want him to fully experience fucking into your throat.  

Behind you, Mingi occasionally swears or smacks your ass, whispering what you can only hope are dirty words of encouragement and praise, as you’re not sure. Between the sounds of your ass and Mingi’s pelvis colliding, the sucking and slick noise of Yunho’s cock dragging across your tongue, Yunho’s quiet, breathy panting, and your own moaning, the hot soundtrack of your little trio is so loud that you aren’t sure you’d be able to clearly identify words in any language. You begin to fully register the intensity of Mingi’s pounding in combination with increasing spikes of arousal as Yunho sounds closer and closer to his orgasm, and you start to fantasize about Yunho coming hard into your mouth while Mingi fills you from the other side. Your moans begin to sound more desperate, and Mingi’s dirty talk is increasingly interrupted now by panting, gasping, and cursing as he, too, is getting closer to his climax.  

Yunho is the first to lose the race as the sounds of you and Mingi, in tandem with the rapidly accelerating movement of your welcoming mouth over his desperate cock, have become more than he can handle. He reaches down to cradle your messy hair gently with his elegant hand as he shudders and pants, his cum pulsing in bursts down your throat and over your tongue as he sighs and shudders with relief. You swallow and moan as his salty cum mingles with your saliva as you try to keep up with the volume he is giving you. When you are confident Yunho has finished, you suck desperately at the tip before it slides out of your mouth with a delicious pop, and you swallow hard again as you look up at him with a dazed grin. Yunho looks down at you with a similarly delirious look before he stumbles backward and sits on the edge of the bed to watch the rest of the action. 

Mingi, respectfully, paused for a moment in his pummeling of you, holding firm with his cock buried to the hilt. Once Yunho is relaxing back against the head of the bed, Mingi smacks your ass again and flexes his cock inside you, causing you to groan and arch your back, your core twitching around him as he fills you to capacity. He asks you again, “Ready?” and you grit your teeth, clench your muscles hard around him, causing him to gasp as you say, “Fuck yeah. Let’s go.” Mingi laughs for a moment and slowly pulls nearly all the way out before thrusting back in, hard, and muttering more of his dirty talk as he hears all of the air wheeze out of your lungs in surprise. You groan as you catch your breath and reaccustom yourself to his pace and intensity. 

You decide to start giving him some of your own dirty talk to see if he likes it as much, “Oh fuck yeah. Mingi. Yes. Fuck yes,” and in response, he begins pounding you within an inch of your life, and you swear you can feel him in the back of your throat. The burning stretch at your entrance is almost distracting until you feel fingers circling your clit again, and the buzzing electricity shoots from your clit all the way around to your entrance and makes you whine and buck harder against Mingi’s thrusts. When you look down, you see that Yunho has slid down the bed to reach your clit and is offering his perfect hand to assist you in what will likely rank among the top three orgasms you’ve ever had in your life. Yunho’s long fingers sweep the wetness from around your core up to your clit, and as he continually strokes you, you feel as though you are on fire with the overstimulation burning from every nerve connected to your pussy. 

Mingi’s raspy panting, the fiery pounding of his enormous cock, and the hypersensitivity of Yunho’s attentions to your burning clit have you teetering on the edge, though you fight to hold on as you are enjoying the sensation of all of your nerves being overstimulated at once. Yunho suddenly seems to think of something, and you just feel his hair brush your elbow as he slides his head under you to capture your nipple in his mouth. Yunho suddenly sucks hard on it or maybe bites it—you aren’t sure anymore—the unexpected intensity breaks your concentration, and you’re no longer able to hold off as your orgasm rips through you. You feel a gush of fluid pulsing out of you as all of your nerves fire off, with the pleasure exploding throughout your body.  

Yunho releases your nipple from his mouth and slides his head back out from under you with a huge smile. Mingi has slowed in his pounding as he felt you squirt all over his thighs and likely knows you’re spent. You gasp and shudder as you fight the urge to pull your overworked slit away from Mingi’s excessive cock. He suddenly pulls it free from inside you and begins panting as he strokes it rapidly before swearing loudly and cumming all over your ass and lower back—a sensation that causes you to moan gratefully. Your only regret is not getting to watch Mingi’s face as he gets off.  

Mingi pants, chuckles, and swears again before patting your hip in satisfied approval and looking around for something to clean you both up with. You collapse forward onto your belly and turn your head to look at Yunho with a glassy-eyed smile. He smiles at you as he slides over to kiss you deeply, and you find you’re holding your breath as you sincerely hope this is not a kiss that will incite more violence against your absolutely wrecked pussy. Yunho pulls back with a moan and a sigh before sweeping a stray bit of hair from your face and kissing your temple. “That was so hot,” he says, and you giggle and shift your stiffening hips in appreciation of his use of your language. You lean over and kiss the tip of his nose and say, “Thank you. You too.”  

A soft cloth suddenly swipes across your ass, and you jump a little as Mingi apologizes and holds out a t-shirt to show you he’s trying to wipe all of the cum off your back. You laugh and lay flat, realizing that you’re in no position to do it yourself, and Mingi continues his effort to clean you up while muttering and scoffing at the sheer volume of the mess he made. Yunho laughs at him and makes some comment in Korean which makes Mingi exclaim in annoyance before throwing the t-shirt at Yunho. Yunho cries out, catching the sloppy t-shirt gingerly before jumping up to find an appropriate place to discard it. Apparently, it must have been Yunho’s shirt as he suddenly yells out indignantly, and Mingi laughs as he flops forward onto the bed next to you, effectively stealing Yunho’s spot. Mingi leans over to kiss your shoulder blade, smacks his lips happily, and throws a long arm over your back as he slides his leg up to rest just over the top of your thighs below your ass. 

Yunho comes back and groans as he realizes he’s been tricked out of his spot next to you, and he mutters something at Mingi who chuckles before rolling back over and scooting out of the bed to pull back the covers. Yunho gently reaches down to encourage you to get up and slide under the covers since your legs are still hanging a bit off the bed where you collapsed after your colossal orgasm. You struggle but manage to coordinate your limbs enough to crawl up toward the pillows, and you scoot into the middle of the cool sheets with a happy sigh. Yunho smiles and Mingi laughs as they both slide in beside you, and you wrap your arms around both of their shoulders as they negotiate which of their long legs and arms go where in an attempt to embrace you equally. You shimmy your hips and sigh happily until someone pinches your nipple, and you let out a squeal. Mingi apologizes profusely and says something that you’re pretty sure indicates that he was trying to pinch Yunho. You laugh as Yunho reaches over to smack Mingi in the back of the head before you say, sternly, “Stop! Enough!” causing both of them to quit squabbling over top of you, and you giggle again as you begin to feel extremely sleepy nestled between the naked Twin Towers.   

Chapter Text

Comeback passes in a whirlwind of media events, recorded and live performances, interviews, and fan sign events. As always, the album is performing astronomically better than all of ATEEZ’s previous sales records, and rave reviews continue to pour in from around the globe. You can feel the excitement in the air around the dorm as the boys dare to briefly celebrate the success and enjoy a moment’s well-deserved sense of accomplishment before returning to the grind they’re so famous for. 

After several days of reduced schedules, you can tell Hongjoong is climbing the walls and struggling to stay away from the studio despite being admonished by everyone from ATINY to executive management to enjoy a few days off. It’s a comforting dance: everyone begs Hongjoong to rest; he reluctantly agrees and may or may not make an actual attempt to stop working; everyone applauds him for taking care of himself, and he suddenly, inexplicably produces four completely new guide tracks, despite being forbidden from the studio. It seems that everyone has to speak their piece about his work habits to assuage their conscience and allow themselves to then freely enjoy the products of his hard—if not borderline obsessive—work.  

Hongjoong, of course, has his own part in this dance: he dutifully attempts to accept his elders’ and ATINY’s pleading advice to rest and relax, which frees him from any expectation of productivity and paradoxically leads to a higher level of production. He definitely follows the tortured artist trope to a fault—not that he’d know what to do with himself if he weren’t constantly working his mind and body to the edge of human limits.  

Some things never change. Taking a cue from everyone else, you, too, pretend to ignore it when he slips away with his laptop bag before breakfast and doesn’t offer any excuses about where he’s going. You are finishing wiping down the counter when he passes by the doorway to the kitchen on his way to the elevator. You quickly open the fridge, retrieve a travel cup and the mother-of-pearl vitamin case, and dash around the corner to give it to him. You catch up to him at the elevator breathlessly, and he looks at the cup and pill box before looking up at you with a questioning look. “Yogurt. Vitamins. Have fun at the studio, Captain.”  

I love you, you fool.  

He smiles at you sheepishly before saying, “Thank you. You have a good day, too.” You clasp your hands together and shift your feet shyly before looking back up at him and jumping slightly as he leans down to kiss your forehead before dashing into the waiting elevator. You spin on your heel, feeling a hot blush fill your cheeks, and a proud smile flashes across your lips.  

You work quickly through your tasks, enjoying the new album on repeat and doing your part to rack up the streaming count. Later in the afternoon, you receive a translated text from the office worker downstairs stating that there is a package and asking whether he should send it up to you or if you would like to retrieve it. You grumble slightly, annoyed at the disruption of your routine, before stumbling downstairs to retrieve the package.  

When you get to the desk, the man eyes you with a peculiar look on his face, and you can’t quite identify the meaning of the look before he awkwardly thrusts a large, relatively flat rectangular parcel at you. The box is ridiculously wide, and you shift awkwardly to wrap your arms around the shorter side before letting out a small “Shit!” at the elevator buttons because your arms are at their limit. The man behind the desk exclaims before dashing over to press the button for you and bowing with a sheepish grin. He sways back and forth nervously on the balls of his feet while the two of you wait for the elevator in awkward silence. When it opens, you both let out an audible sigh of relief while stepping in. He presses the second-floor button before dashing back to the safety of his spot behind the reception desk. 

You chuckle a little to yourself as you shift your grip and sway your hips uncomfortably at the sensation of your arms being stretched to their limits to hold this huge package, and you kick yourself for not just accepting the man’s offer to “have it sent up.” But that felt a little pompous at the time, and now you think you’ll put your pride aside in the future should another similar situation arise. 

You bring the package to the sofa and set it down so you can jam your earbuds back in and get back to your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You’re still annoyed at the disruption of your routine and the momentary loss of your preferred background noise of ATEEZ playlists. You gingerly take a look at the address label to see which of the boys is responsible for this rude distraction, and your breath catches.  

You see, along with a vaguely familiar assortment of characters in Hangul, your name, written in concise letters in your language. You squint hard as if to clear the incorrect image from your eyes and stare again. That is your name; this monstrosity is addressed to you. You’re simultaneously mortified and extremely curious, and you aren’t even sure what to do at this point. You definitely want some time to think about it, so you carefully pick up the parcel and take it down to your room to lay it across your bed, closing the door behind you. You’ll finish up your projects for the day while you ponder what in the hell is in this huge package.   

You had so much fun with them that day, and they were so silly as they obviously filmed you and asked you questions that you couldn’t understand while pretending to be journalists recording your reaction to the art. The three of you had gotten so silly and loud at this game that you suddenly noticed a few reproachful glares from the docent before gathering up your raucous boys and herding them to a local restaurant for some food to simmer them down.  

Given all of the fun and enjoyable moments of your little trio date, you had lost track of all of the experiences and certainly hadn’t given the painting another thought. But you recall now, with a tenderness aching under your breast, how Mingi and Yunho had pretended to interview you with their vlog cameras, and you had waxed poetic about the beauty of Kim Wonsook’s painting, “Lovers in the Mountain,” with its romantic yet natural themes, the intimacy versus the deeply universal need for human connection, the irony of the private nature yet the common experience of human sexual desire. You yapped about the landscape’s resemblance to your childhood home and the way it invoked, for you, a fond recollection of Van Gogh’s wheatfields. You loved how it reminds you of Van Gogh’s paintings of the cypress trees in France, and the wheatfields Van Gogh featured in his paintings from Saint-Rémy always remind you of your hometown, where rolling golden hills and wind-hardy trees filled in the backdrop of your childhood. 

As you tear back the corner of the packaging to realize you now hold the beautiful “Lovers in the Mountain” painting in your hands, you marvel at the stunning reality of the exquisite artwork as you are now free to admire all of the details up close. Your lungs burn suddenly, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath since you saw what was inside the package. You can’t believe that you are now the owner of this incredible work. How or why Mingi and Yunho would have purchased it for you seems even more strange as you replay memories of the date in your brain without finding any clues. 

You had seen them showing the footage on the living room TV the next day, but you didn’t notice anyone paying particular attention to the shifty, amateur footage, frequently shaking with laughter and alternating between regular conversation and Yunho’s “announcer” voice that always makes you giggle like a school girl. You’d forgotten all about it, but Yunho and Mingi must have captured your reaction in their vlog and shown the raw footage to the others. You saw them laughing and joking when they showed the boys some of the video the day after your date, but you weren’t concerned about it since you knew they’d be cutting out the parts you appear in before passing the videos to the audio-visual team to edit for upload to YouTube. 

“Treasure—Smoothing Harmonies Mix” comes on your playlist as you think how you can’t believe that any of the boys would have cared about your silly attachment to a painting you saw while effectively third-wheeling it with Yungi on their vlog day. And art doesn’t seem to be a particular area of passion for either of them, per se. They have many diverse interests and are certainly respectful of the effort, but when you think of art, you always think of Hongjoong. Your heart skips a beat for a moment. You slowly lift the painting to view the back panel and see the delicate, flourished signature there that you know so well. You didn’t realize he’d seen your reaction—much less the reason why you were so moved by the painting. But a small, handwritten tag affixed to the back of the painting tells you everything you need to know.

“Wherever YOU are is my home. 홍중”

Hongjoong’s thoughtfulness, along with the deeper sentimental value of his generous gift, moves you to tears. You carefully place it against the wall, propped where you can see it, while you sit and lean against the pillows on your bed and stare in wonder. You try to reign in your runaway heart that has all sorts of romantic ideas of what it all could mean. Your brain gremlins and your imagination are currently duking it out as you try and fail to avoid overthinking. You can’t help thinking, as “Days” comes on, that you’re ruining a perfectly good moment just by being overwhelmed at the possibilities. 

You really wish Seonghwa was home to explain everything to you. He always has so much insight, and he might be able to help you keep your wild heart in the realm of reality. You also have a package for him, you think, with a small whirl of excitement under your ribs. Jumping up from the bed and forgetting about your romantic crisis, you fling open your wardrobe and grasp for the edge of the packaging to find your surprise for Seonghwa. You easily locate it and drag it out into the light to peer at it curiously again. You hadn’t bothered to open it since it arrived, as you were pretty sure you knew exactly what it looked like, considering you're the one who ordered it.  

But now your curiosity is burning to actually see and maybe even allow yourself to touch the delicate fabric of the beautiful camisole and underwear set you bought for Hwa. It seems like a good offering, since you’re going to want to beg him to tell you anything and everything he thinks about this excessive gift from Hongjoong. You know that Hongjoong loves to give really meaningful gifts, regardless of cost, but this seems like a gesture so grand it could easily be misinterpreted. Knowing how he also plays his emotional cards close to the vest, you are fairly confident that he’d be unlikely to risk such a grand gesture if it could imply the wrong feelings. You really don’t know, though, so you desperately need Hwa to help you figure this out, and hopefully, this pretty little lingerie set will entice him to spill the tea. 

You carefully remove the plastic shipping wrapper from the package to reveal the tissue-wrapped parcel within. The slinky silk camisole set weighs next to nothing in the tissue paper, and you carefully set it on your bed to unwrap the tissue in hopes that you can steal a look and still present it to Hwa in the original tissue. You’re just about to peel back a corner to peek inside when you hear the wall of noise that is the boys returning home from their tour practice and meetings. You sigh and toss it under a pillow before throwing the shipping wrapper into the trash and stalking out to greet the boys, and you find yourself ashamed to admit that you’re hoping Hongjoong will not be home yet because you’re not sure how to react to this gift but figure he must surely know when the gallery planned to deliver it. 

You duck back into your room and shut the door quickly, gasping for breath a little and trying not to panic. Your reaction surprises you a bit, so you just wait for the boys to pass by down the halls and split off into rooms and showers. You realize you have stronger feelings about this than you previously allowed yourself to admit, so you grab your phone and text Seonghwa quickly to see if you can get a read on the situation sooner rather than later. 

Are you home? 🩶🌟🩶🌟🩶  

I need to talk to you, please. 🥹  

Come to my room?  

You hit [Send] and flop back over your bed, your head lying across your outstretched arm. You stare at the painting, which now seems to swirl as you look at it, as though it senses the mysteries it causes by its very presence in your room.  

Jeebus. This is too much for just me.  

You think how this painting should hang somewhere someone hosts cocktail parties or charity fundraisers and shit. Not in the bedroom of ATEEZ’s caretaker on the 2nd floor dorm. You roll over and check your phone as “Wind” by Jongho comes on your ATEEZ Complete Playlist and makes you want to cry again.  

Fuck.   

Seonghwa has responded that he’s home and will come see you after he showers. This is fine since today isn't one of your late work nights, and the boys expected to be on their own for dinner anyway. You still wish you knew if Hongjoong was home or not, so you quickly send Hwa a text to ask, hoping that he’s not in the shower yet. When he responds almost right away, you heave a sigh of relief. 

Dear One🍇:

No. He’s at the studio, I think?  

Why do you ask?  

You laugh a little and text him back: 

Hurry up with your shower, and I’ll tell you. 🤐  

You lay back as “Wave—Ollounder’s Bold Dynamics Mix” comes on, and you let it transport your brain to colorful, swirly memories of the boys—much younger then—in their pastel colors and cute, bold hairstyles. You close your eyes to avoid staring at the painting and fueling your overthinking loop. Hongjoong was probably just being his generous self, not thinking about anything deeper than giving you something he knew you’d love but would never get for yourself, just because he’s thoughtful like that. It can probably very reasonably be explained. 

But the message on the tag on the back...   

You’re going to have to tell Seonghwa about what it says on the back. A sudden queasy feeling overtakes your stomach as you realize that you can’t really expect Seonghwa to interpret the meaning of the gift without showing him the inscription on the back. Now that you think about it, you’re afraid that might be a terribly selfish thing of you to do, given how Seonghwa might feel about it. You realize you have no idea how Hwa might feel about it or how it might affect Hwa. Given his long history with Hongjoong, including some of his public frustration with Hongjoong’s lack of positive feedback when he freely gave compliments to the other members, you are suddenly frozen with fear and regret for opening this can of worms. You had fully let your own selfish reaction cloud your judgment and just ran straight to Hwa without regard for him at all.  

Thank goodness you had the time to rethink it because, hopefully, it’s not too late to spare Hwa’s feelings. The last thing in the world you’d want to do is cause him any distress, and you honestly don’t know how he feels about Hongjoong. The inside of your stomach swirls like rotten banana peels at the thought of causing any jealousy or pain. It’s almost a laughable thought that Seonghwa would ever have any reason to be jealous of you, but “Wherever YOU are is my home” isn’t exactly a casual inscription, even for someone with a poetic knack for language. 

Ah, well, shit.  

You decide to try to pull your head out of your ass and put Hwa’s feelings first. Maybe you can find out what his feelings are about Hongjoong if you can just figure out how to ask him. There’ve been plenty of odd interview responses between the two of them that couldn’t all have been rehearsed or intentionally dramatic. You recall how they had always said they have no chemistry, but then proceeded to appear to have chemistry nonetheless. You’ve seen them being physically close now that you live here with them, but of course, seeing how you know about the agreement and you, yourself, have spent time with several of the members, you can’t exactly use that as any indication of clear emotional entanglement.  

A small knock at your door jars you from your pointlessly meandering thoughts. “Come in,” you call, and you’re grateful to see Hwa’s long fingers wrap gently around the top of the door as he slowly opens it and peers in with his large, round eyes, sweeping the room for clues. You laugh when his eyes meet yours, where you lie sprawled across the bed on your back like a murder victim in an old film noir. You roll up, laughing, and unintentionally wind up facing the foot of the bed and the painting just beyond it against the wall. You stop laughing as soon as your eyes land on it, and Seonghwa coos softly as you hear the door close. He walks in quietly and sits behind your knees on the edge of the bed, placing his hand comfortingly on your shoulder while he looks at the painting, too. You sigh a little more heavily than you meant to, and he pats your shoulder and tuts quietly at you. “It’s your painting,” he says softly. You don’t move or speak, hoping he will give you more than that without you having to tip your hand and potentially say the wrong thing or loosen the willpower that keeps you from spilling your guts and potentially hurting Hwa’s feelings. 

He sits quietly for another moment, and the length of the silence is becoming physically uncomfortable. He hums a little and sighs. You shift back toward him and look up at his face. Seonghwa looks down at you, causing his bangs to fall over his face. You smile up at him and reach up to sweep the hair back from one side. He antagonistically shakes his head, causing it to fall back into his face, so you twist your fist into the material at the collar of his shirt and gently pull him down to you so that his hair is now a curtain around both of your faces. He smiles before leaning closer and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You moan and press for a deeper kiss, reaching your hand up to lightly caress the back of his neck. You roll your body the rest of the way toward him, and he slides his body down to lie next to you, making the kiss much easier on you both.  

The warmth of his body, the gentleness of his hands, and the tenderness of his soul rend your heart, and all at once, you’ve reached your emotional limit. You feel the tears spring to your eyes as he holds you and kisses you so sweetly; instead of taking a breath, you find yourself sniffling and taking a shuddering inhale, which causes him to pull back and look at you with concern. Of course, seeing his beautiful face creased with care causes you to feel even more overwhelmed, and you bite your lip to stop it from trembling. “Hey. Hey. What’s wrong?” he asks as he sits up from you and urges you to come back and sit against the headboard—your usual spot for deep talks with Hwa. 

Sniffling and laughing lightly at yourself, you mutter an indistinct apology and scoot up toward the head of the bed. Once the two of you are settled amongst the pillows and under the covers, Seonghwa slides a knee under your leg and his arms around you; you tilt yourself into his arms and rest your head comfortably on his shoulder while you try to stop sniffling. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot,” you say reluctantly, and Seonghwa clucks his tongue at you again and shushes you. He pets your hair gently, and you close your eyes as you breathe in his lightly floral scent and the softness of his shirt and hair tickling your face. After a little while of sitting, he tentatively asks, “Is it about the painting?” Though you know he’s aware of how spot-on his instincts usually are, you appreciate that he is still willing to accept that he might not already know what’s going on with you, so he always asks. “Yeah,” you sniffle with a laugh.  

You are literally the only person who could be gifted a fucking masterpiece and be conflicted about it.  

You aren’t sure what else to say. “It’s a lot,” you manage, hoping he will read between the lines. Seonghwa sits back from you a little to see your face before taking your hand with his and stroking it gently as he appears to be thinking through what he wants to say next. “Why do you say it’s a lot?” You avoid his gaze and stare down at his hand on yours before attempting a response, “Because no one has ever done something like that for me before. And it was probably expensive for Hongjoong. And I’m not... I’m not fancy like that. What am I going to do with a painting that nice?” you sound slightly exasperated now, and you hope you don’t sound ungrateful, just overwhelmed. Seonghwa looks at you, slightly alarmed, before catching himself and pulling you back into his embrace, where he can rest his chin atop your head, and you can hear his perfect heart beating until his deep, velvety voice breaks through, “It was probably expensive, yes. But that’s how Hongjoong is. He saw how much you loved it, and he wanted it for you. Simple.” He says, like it’s the most natural conclusion in the world.  

You pull away and look at him as though he’s just said something completely ludicrous. “But why? What makes him so sure I’m worth that much? Why? I don’t understand,” you’re struggling at this point, and you’re really afraid you’re going to fail in your desire to find out how Seonghwa really feels about Hongjoong, well before you dare to dump the full possibilities of what you think the painting could imply on him. He tuts at you again and tries to speak slowly, as if you’re five, because he knows how you get when you’re overly emotional. “Hongjoong decided you are worth it. Money doesn’t work the same way with him as it does with most people. He values people over money, and your happiness doesn’t have a price on it, to him. If he has the money and wants to do something nice, there’s really no stopping him.” Seonghwa laughs a little at this, and you wonder if there’s a backstory there, but figure you’ll save it for another time.  

“Hwa?” you look up at him, your eyes still wet. He looks down at you patiently, and you decide to launch the big question, “How do you know how he feels about you, though? If he’s just like that?” You stare up at him and see the recognition and maybe a bit of empathy cross over his face. He clucks his tongue at you softly and says, “Oh. I see. That. It’s not so easy.” You grimace as this was your fear; if Hwa can’t figure it out, no one can. “Hongjoong is his own person. He is very loving, in his own way, but you won’t know anything if he doesn’t decide to let you know. You can’t guess,” he says, looking at you intently. You shudder a little and decide to go all in, “Do you know how he feels about you?” Hwa sighs and looks up at the ceiling, and you suddenly regret having asked. It’s hard to tell if he’s recalling good or bad memories, and you really want to withdraw the question entirely. “Sorry, you don’t have to say if it’s too personal. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry,” you quickly stutter. He laughs softly and shakes his head, “It’s okay. Hongjoong and I figured our feelings out a long time ago.” He looks down and kisses your forehead before continuing, “Though it took my feelings a lot longer to accept the truth. We did have some passion and chemistry at first, but it seemed like the harder people pushed for it to be true, the less it felt true to us if that makes sense.” You nod sadly, understanding how you, yourself, often did the exact opposite of whatever anyone recommended for you, and you could never fully understand why—just that their opinion made you instantly want the opposite. You risk another question, though you struggle with how to word it, “So, with the agreement...” He nods slightly, seeming to be picking up on the unsaid question, “We are very close. We are basically best friends. We know each other best. We love each other, but not in a romantic way. We know how to please each other, and we do when we feel like it. We can joke about it now; there’s no more pain.” You wince at this because you wonder how much Hwa is downplaying the pain that he must have felt when Hongjoong made his decision.  

“So, you are okay now?” You look up at him with big eyes, suddenly wanting to kiss him all over every inch of his darling face. “Of course I’m okay,” he smiles at you, and you see a timeless wisdom behind his eyes that conveys the slightest sadness but an overarching sense of peace. “I want you to be okay,” you say, looking deeply into his eyes. “I love you, Hwa,” you say, intently and without reservation. He smiles down at you again, a little bigger this time, and he says, “나도 사랑해 (nado salanghae).” You hold his gaze for a moment before you grin and ask him, “Hwa?” “Hmm?” “Can you have two best friends?” You look at him with your cheeks puffed out and your eyes huge. He chuckles at you before poking your cheek with one finger, causing the air to puff out suddenly, and you both laugh. “Yeah, I think so. Only if it is you and Hongjoong, though,” he says, a flicker of seriousness crossing his stunning face. You shift your face up and say, “Of course me and Hongjoong, silly. We are the best friends to have,” and you both laugh before you turn your body to straddle his thighs. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you toward him for a deep, soulful kiss that threatens to bring your tears back to the surface until you suddenly remember what you have hidden under the pillows. 

You pull back from him with an excited squeak, causing him to look up at you in surprise as you begin fishing under the pillows behind his back and across the head of the bed. He holds onto your hips nervously, keeping you from losing your balance as you lean further to shuffle your hands beneath the cluttered pillows. Finally, your hand hits something that rustles like tissue paper, and you retrieve it with a noise of satisfaction as you try to shift your balance back to your spot on Hwa’s lap. He uses his strong hands to help you shift your body back to where you were kneeling over his thighs as he looks up at you with amused curiosity. You beam at him and hold the package out between you, waiting for him to take it. “What’s this?” he asks cautiously. “It’s for you! It just got delivered the other day, and I wanted you to have it today!” You thrust the package at him, and he gingerly takes it from you. He starts to set it aside, and you know what he’s doing, but you can’t resist seeing his face.  

“I know you’re not supposed to open it in front of me because, in Korea, it’s considered greedy. But could you, please? Please!? I really want to see your face as you open it.” You look up at him with your best boba eyes and pouty lips, and he laughs at you before picking up the package again to hesitantly tear into it. His hands tremble slightly as he gets the first look at the lovely silk and lace camisole that you know he is already familiar with because he’d picked it out on his Pinterest page. His breath catches a little, and he hums lightly as his long, elegant fingers trace over the lines of the black lace. He seems mesmerized by it, and you squeal a little to break him from his trance before diving backward off his lap. He looks up at you in alarm until you point to the side of the bed and beg him, “Try them on? Please? For me? I want to see!” He chuckles self-consciously, but you just beam at him, unwilling to let him off the hook so easily. “I will be good! I will sit like this,” and you exaggeratedly sit on your hands to demonstrate that you will do your best not to absolutely jump his bones as soon as he gets his sexy ass into that lace because, let’s be honest, there’s no way in hell.  

He laughs, knowing you all too well, and looks nervously at the clock. You see his hesitation and don’t want to push, so you say, “Okay, okay. Another time, if you want. But I do want to see it. Surprise me?” You laugh a little, and he comes back to where you are eagerly looking at him from your knees, your hands clasped in your lap. He leans in and gives you a long, passionate kiss that causes you to moan, and hot arousal spreads from your core despite your efforts to keep things lighthearted. “Oh, that’s not going to help me be good,” you say seriously, your voice lower and a little husky at the thought. He hums and presses in harder, causing you to shift your balance and reach up to catch his neck. As you fall backward, he lowers his body over top of you, so you wrap your legs around him, groaning at the hardness you feel when his body weight is fully centered on you. 

Oh fuck.   

Chapter Text

Seonghwa presses his body on top of yours as his full lips open yours to admit his searching tongue, and you hear tissue paper crinkling off to the side of your head as the camisole set is put aside for now. Your legs wrap around him, and you press your hips up to meet his unyielding hardness. Seonghwa slides his hand from your waist all the way up your arm, where he pulls your wrist up over your head and holds it against the mattress while he slides his knees up beneath your ass, lightly pinning you with your legs open to him and his body poised above you. He shifts to sit back on his knees and breaks the kiss to reach up and pull his shirt off as he stares down at you with lust dominating his majestic features. You shiver and reach down to pull your own shirt off, cringing slightly at your boring sports bra, and watch with fascination as nothing registers with him other than intense arousal as the amount of your visible naked skin increases. He leans forward to pull his pants off before thinking about your current position, lying across the middle of the bed, and he drops to stand over the side of the bed before grabbing your ankle and pulling you closer to his side of the bed. You squeal and push yourself along to the edge when he swiftly pulls your pants and underwear off; he leaves you lying there naked while you watch him kick off his own pants and underwear. Seonghwa reaches out to you, and you place your hands in his so that he can pull you up to stand in front of him.  

He looks down at you tenderly, brushing your hair away from your face before cupping your chin in his palm and lifting your face to his for a passionate kiss. As your lips connect, he wraps his other arm behind you to pull your body in against his, and you feel warm all over despite the relative coolness of the room. He kisses you searchingly, intentionally, and sensually; his position changes, and his tongue sweeps and strokes your tongue and lips. He lightly bites at your lips and nips your cheeks as he moans softly and presses his body to yours. The way he is kissing you now is as intimate as the act of lovemaking; he responds to your moans and shivers and repeats the things you react best to in an effort to give you the most pleasure. His hand releases your chin but slides down to your side to hold your free hand tenderly, and the fit between his hand and yours is as natural as anything.  You whine slightly into his mouth, though you could kiss him this way for hours; your whole body is beginning to burn with the need for more of him.  

You decide to try one more time to get him to try the camisole on, and you gently slip back from him to reach down to the foot of the bed, where he set the package aside. He playfully pats your ass as you turn away from him, but he withdraws his hand when he hears the paper crinkle. He steps back from the edge of the bed, nervously watching you. You pull the camisole out of the package and, keeping it folded up in your fist, you drop down onto your knees in front of him. You lick at the head of his hard cock, using your other hand to hold it in range of your mouth as you ardently slide your tongue all over it. You delicately suck one of his balls into your mouth and swirl your tongue all over it while your hand lightly strokes up to the tip of his perfect cock, causing him to flex and inhale sharply at the sensation. You release him from your mouth and capture the head of his throbbing member in your mouth, lavishing attention over it with your tongue and again gently cupping his balls in your hand as you prepare to take him all the way into your mouth. He sways a little on his feet, and you reach up with the hand the holds the camisole tightly in your fist before gently pressing it into his palm. He looks less conflicted now that his full hardness is in your mouth; he gingerly lifts it up and slides it over his head and down onto his lean chest. He shivers lightly as the nearly weightless fabric glides over his bare skin, and he looks down at you with big, dark eyes and waits for your reaction.  

You look up at him with a slight smile of approval, not wanting to break your rhythm, so you moan lightly at the sight and reach your free hand up to touch both of his nipples under the silky lace until they are as erect as his cock. He moans and lightly caresses your hair with his hand as you refocus your attentions to work his perfect dick back and forth in your mouth, swirling your tongue with varied pressure. You reach around to cup his ass with your hand and squeeze it hard when you get him all the way into your throat, causing him to moan deeply with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. You slowly slide him back out of your mouth, causing him to whine lightly, but you ignore this and turn and grab the panties from the package. This time, when he hears the paper rustling, he holds his hand out, palm up, and you place the panties into them. He immediately shifts his weight to slip them on, giving an adorable twirl so that you can see how his perfect ass looks out of the bottom of the cheeky panties. You can’t help but feel a momentary twinge as you recognize the move as a bit of a reflex from fanservice ‘dress up’ activities, but you also figure if it helps him get out of his own head, in this moment, then maybe it’s a good reflex to exploit. You moan with a sudden desire to bite him right on his perfect ass, and he turns back around to see you, now seated on the edge of the bed, with one hand twisting your nipple and the other stroking your clit.  

The combination of the silky lingerie, your reaction to him, and the sight of you there whining for him causes him to shake, and he immediately steps up to wrap his arms around you in a desperately passionate kiss as you wrap your legs around his hips and grope every part of his body you can reach while the two of you grind against each other. You suck his lips and moan as he grasps your breast and leans down to suck on it hard, causing you to buck your hips up and reach for his nipple with your free hand to caress it with your thumb and index finger. He grinds his excruciating erection into you, and you whine as the intensity of it shoots lightning up your nerves. 

You reach out to caress the side of his face with your hand and smile adoringly at his flushed face, lush red lips, and deep, dark eyes. You slowly release your legs from around his hips before rolling onto your side and bringing your top leg up to expose your core to him while grasping your breasts with your lower arm and using your upper arm to indicate where you want him to place his knee as he leans himself over you. He looks a little confused until you slide your hand up inside the camisole to tweak his nipple again, and he looks down to see the alignment of his hard cock and your pussy as he straddles your lower leg and leans his body over your ass and upper thigh. You feel a delicious stretch in your back, like when you had to do those weird twisting stretches on the floor in high school gym class. Funny how you never thought at that time that the only thing that would make the stretch more enjoyable would be to have a hard dick buried in your cunt. 

He recognizes the appeal of the new position and quickly works to slide his straining cock out of the side of the panties and places the head against your core, causing you to arch your heat up to meet him and whine desperately. He takes a deep breath before gently pressing himself into you, feeling the subtle pop as the swollen head of his exquisite erection presses past your entrance. You both moan and shudder together at the pleasure, and he drops himself to lean over you, propping himself up on his arm as he works his cock deeper inside of you. He cradles you between his arms as his position nearly makes him the “bigger spoon,” but he maintains the advantage of being directly over you to give him leverage to thrust. You twist your upper body back to expose your breasts to him and give you a better view of his face and lean chest as he thrusts over you.  

He flexes his muscles hard as his pelvis works the unusual angle into your core, and you whine and arch your back as you enjoy the novel sensation. Seonghwa shifts his weight onto the elbow behind you to use his other hand to further lift your top leg and access your clit. You rock your hips back to press your core open for him and give him better access to your clit from under your top leg. As you pant at the pleasure, you turn your head back to try to steal a kiss from him as he drives you crazy with the combined stimulation. Much to your surprise, you’re suddenly panting into his mouth as the different angle of his thrusts and his attentions to your clit have already brought you to the point of no return, and you’re spasming hard around his aching cock. He gasps into your mouth and releases your upper leg, allowing you a moment to fully enjoy the endorphin rush before he drops back over the side of the bed, grips your waist, and pulls you back over the side of the bed on your belly.  

Once you are fully bent over the side of the bed, he thrusts his hard cock back into you as he presses the small of your back into the bed with his palm. You arch your ass up toward him and moan encouragement to him as he increases his speed. “Oh, baby, yes. Cum for me, beautiful. You look so fuckin’ good right now. Show me how much you love it, dear one.” He shudders and moans as he drives it in deep, and you reach your hand around back to intertwine your fingers with his hand on the small of your back, effectively pinning your arm behind you. “Oh yeah. Fuck you’re so hot, Hwa. I want you so bad. Look how gorgeous you look, baby.” At this, he shudders and gasps, and you feel him release deep inside you, causing you to moan and shift your hips in appreciation of the spectacular load he’s just given you.  

He chuckles lightly when you say, “Oh, dear one, you’re so pretty,” as he releases your hand, collapses over your back, and kisses your neck. “Mmmm,” he moans lightly and shivers with the aftershocks as you giggle beneath him, already feeling his cum beginning to slide out of you but not wanting to disturb him as you love feeling his weight on top of you. You slide your hands up over your head as though preparing for a dive, as you press your forehead against the cool sheets. He glides his long, graceful arms up over them to grasp your hands gently and hold your bodies perfectly aligned and your fingers interlaced. You breathe deeply the scent of him that now surrounds you and mingles with your own sweat and spicy cologne, and you feel almost high. You sigh deeply with contentment, and he mirrors your sigh and hums sweetly.  

Recognizing that it’s probably time to cuddle into bed, you shimmy your hips lightly to rouse him from his post-orgasm stupor, and he groans and laughs as he carefully pushes himself back up off of you to stand beside the bed. You slowly roll over onto your back and bring your hands down to cup your unrestrained breasts comfortably as you gaze up at his beautiful, flushed face, messy hair, and stunning figure in the black, striped silk and lace.  

You had forgotten about the lingerie, and you gasp at the sight of him, and he looks down a little shyly. You jump up, startling him, as you reach out to thumb his chin and tut at him before sliding your hands over his abs, up under the camisole, to tenderly graze his collarbones under the delicate straps. You appropriately “ooh” and “ahh” over his stunning skin tone and the contrast with the silky striped sheer panties, his tiny waist, and the beautiful scalloped edges of the lace lining the hem of the lingerie. He watches you, eyes still shy but round with curiosity, and you look up at him as your hands slide up over his shoulders to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you for a deep, loving kiss. He reaches around behind your back and embraces you as you share a tender moment with nothing but complete acceptance and appreciation of each other’s uniqueness. You squeeze him tightly and release his mouth to kiss both of the apples of his cheeks and smile at him broadly. “You are amazing. You do know that, right?” you sigh up at him breathlessly. 

He chuckles a little, still seeming unsure, and says, “I know if you say it because I know you will always be honest with me.” Seonghwa looks down at you lovingly, and your heart falters for a moment as your mind suddenly flashes to the tag on the back of the painting. Hwa’s response earlier to your questions about the painting clearly indicated that he had no knowledge of Hongjoong having any deeper thoughts about the painting than just giving you a thoughtful gift that he knew you’d love. You struggle for a moment and pull back from Hwa, trying to gather your courage as this seems like something you need to share, given his professed faith in your openness with him. He sees the shift in your mood and pulls back to look you over as though trying to decode the sudden change.  

You step back toward the painting and gingerly place your hand behind the corner of the frame as you look at Hwa nervously. He steps toward you. “Yeah, about that. There was one more thing,” and you look up at him with big, vulnerable eyes as he walks closer to see what you are about to show him. “This is part of why I was confused, but I wasn’t sure if I should share it. I didn’t know how it would make you feel, and I...” your voice trails off as he looks at you expectantly, his expression calm and unreadably neutral. “But I figure you would know if this is also something he would say or if it is different,” you nervously fidget as you realize you’re standing there, completely naked before him and about to expose a detail that somehow feels more personal than the intimate connection the two of you just shared. 

He looks at you and seems to be waiting patiently for you to gather your courage, and you take a deep breath before turning the painting around for him to see the inscription on the tag attached to the back of the frame. He kneels down to regard it closely, and you hold your breath as he reads what Hongjoong wrote there. You suddenly realize that he is holding his breath as well. He stays there for what seems like forever before finally placing his palms on his thighs and pushing to stand up with an odd sigh. You try to restart your breathing without an obvious gasp as you wait for him to say something or do something. It is as though the whole interaction takes place in slow motion. You busy yourself turning the painting back around before watching Hwa for any sign of how he is going to react. 

Seonghwa finally looks up at you and shakes his hair out of his face, his expression still bizarrely neutral until he sees your increasingly worried face. He tuts lightly and reaches up to gently caress your cheek and slide his hand down to your shoulder before pulling you in for a hug. You’re still barely breathing as he presses you close and seems to be holding onto you for dear life. You feel tears rush to your eyes as you’re now terrified that the best and worst-case scenarios could be happening all at once. He feels you shudder and releases you to inspect your face.  

Finally, he chuckles and, though he seems to be struggling to find words, says, “Well, that is something, isn’t it?” He smiles at you comfortingly, and you stare up at him with your big, watering eyes, barely able to contain the tears that have pooled there. He gently thumbs your lower lids to sweep the moisture away before saying, “Awww. Don’t cry,” as he hugs you tightly again. He lightly shifts back and forth, rocking you in his embrace before tutting again and stepping back from you. “Come. It’s cold out here,” and he turns to lead you by the hand back to your bed. You trail behind him through the random articles of clothing the two of you left discarded across the floor, and he holds open the sheets for you to slide in. 

Once you are comfortably lying on your side in the bed, with Hwa curled up behind you and his lower arm providing support for your head, he reaches across to hold your hand with his upper arm as he sighs into the back of your neck. You shiver a little and dare to finally speak, “So, you see? I didn’t know if it was something else. I didn’t want to hope,” you trail off, hoping he will rescue you with an explanation. He strokes your fingers with his as he lifts his head to kiss your neck and shoulder, looking down at you as he says, “That is something different. I have not seen him show that side of him before.”  

You try not to gasp a little at this as your heart leaps to your throat, and you are struck with panic for fear of hurting Hwa’s feelings, despite anything he may have said to imply confidence and closure where Hongjoong is concerned. And you can’t believe that Hongjoong could ever feel more for you than he did for someone like Hwa, so you’re wondering what in the hell could have made him so confused and irrational, as there’s no logic to any of it.  

“I don’t understand. Why would he say that to me and not to you?” You can’t restrain the question. At this point, there’s no reason to be delicate about it, or you may never figure this mystery out. He chuckles a little at this, “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he say this to you? You are delightful.” You wiggle your ass against him in playful annoyance, “I’m not... you know. I’m not like you. I mean, I’m not special or perfect or...” You struggle to find the right words, as you know Hwa has expressed difficulty accepting how magnetic and universally attractive he is, but there is no disputing the fact that you are built different. You are definitely not an idol, and your flaws are not easily overlooked—physically or emotionally. You can’t fathom what would make any of them consider you, as they are so far out of your league.  

He tuts at you again and says simply, “You have chemistry. He sees you. Something in you speaks to him. It isn’t up to you to decide. Once Hongjoong makes up his mind about something, that’s that.” He leans down and rests his mouth on your naked shoulder, and his breath raises goosebumps down your chest and arm. He seems to pause a moment before he lifts his head to add, “How do you feel about it?” You now feel more naked than naked, if that was possible, but you owe it to Hwa, to be honest. “I love him, Hwa. I love him so much. I tried not to; I knew I didn’t dare. But there’s something about him that is, well, like you said, it’s chemistry. If it was logic, I would choose someone else. He is not easy, and he is so particular about things I don’t know how I can ever live up to it. I didn’t mean to. It’s a terrible idea. But yeah,” you trail off, alarmed at your candor and relieved at the same time. 

He sighs heavily before surprising you, “I understand. I have loved someone who was chemistry for me, and I know how hard it is to stop when you know they do not see you that way. And I have loved someone who is logical for me, but I missed out on the burning passion of the chemistry match.” You nod as you sniffle. “I am always hurting my own feelings,” you say with an awkward laugh. “My heart never makes the right choice. So, how is this going to end?” You shrug and shudder at the thought before you press yourself back against him and pull his arm around you to hold you more tightly, as though his embrace could protect you from the inevitable destruction of a flame of attraction that will, someday, have to be extinguished. 

“I do not know,” he responds thoughtfully before he continues, “As I said, I have not seen him this way before. Maybe it is different.” He sighs, and you sniffle back tears again, so he adds, “No matter what happens, I will always love you and be here for you.” He squeezes you tightly again, and you hum as you relax into his embrace. “I love you too, Hwa. Always.” The two of you lay there in silence, the only sounds are your heartbeats and your breathing which slowly falls into sync and comfortingly lulls you into a safe, trusting pastel slumber.  

Chapter Text

Hongjoong is so busy these days with meetings and preparations for the tour that you barely have a moment to thank him for the amazing gift. If you’re honest, you haven’t been trying terribly hard to find time to privately thank him for the painting; you’re still overwhelmed by the sentiment and do not want to have to overthink every interaction you have with him for the foreseeable future. Pressing your luck by expecting anything from him is only setting yourself up for disappointment when you know darn well that his current focus is on tour preparations. He may react weirdly to your gratitude, and it may be due to work stress rather than having any implications about his feelings toward you. You realize you’re making up wild reasons to avoid seeing him, and you also recognize that the longer you put it off, the more awkward it’s going to be. 

Yeah, like: “Hey, by the way, thanks for the priceless gift with the deeply personal message on the back. What kind of smoothie do you want today?”  

You decide to get it over with sooner rather than later, so you jump into the shower to plan your strategy. You know the boys should be home later this evening; dinner is included in their meeting with tour management. You realize, with a wave of dread, that the time left before the boys leave is just ticking away, and you’ve had so little quality time with them. It feels suffocating to think of the limited time left and how much you’ll miss them while they’re away. They’ve barely been home from all of the comeback shows and awards; you want to find a way to make this time count.  

You spend a little extra time in the shower reminiscing about the time you showered with Hongjoong, and a deep hunger begins to remind you of the other things you’ll miss while he’s gone. As soon as you get your skincare and cologne taken care of, you grab your phone and start a quick text to him to find out what his plans are for the evening. It’d be better to know now—before you put too much effort into your appearance.  

Captain, when will you be home tonight?  

Captain, when will you be home tonight?  

You delete it and start over because you don’t want to be needy or put him in a position to have to choose between you and his responsibilities. Or, gods forbid, if he has something he’d like to do for himself before he’s gone for six weeks...  

My dear Captain, do you have plans this evening? ❤️‍🔥  

[Send] 

You try not to stare at the screen waiting for his response. It also occurs to you that there may be things he might need to get ready for the tour and that you might be able to help out with that. You decide to check with Su-bin to see if she knows anything about the members’ personal effects for tour. 

Hey girl!  

I hope you’ve recovered from your shock  

And you’re not mad at me.😥  

I know you’ve been busy getting ready for tour.  

I was wondering who usually handles the members’ personal needs  

Like snacks and stuff, or vitamins or whatever.  

Is that something you have to do too or who does that?  

Is that something I could help with at all?  

1. Jongho has been smiling a lot 

Tell me you got his number. 😉  

A minute later, a message comes through, and you realize you’re afraid to open it because you’re not sure whether you’d prefer it to be Hongjoong or Su-bin at this point.  

캡틴❤️‍🔥:  

I was going to work out and then go to the studio.   

Why? Do you miss me, 🌤️?  

Your heart stalls, and you accidentally bite your cheek as you laugh and try not to spit your gum across the room at the same time.  

People wish they were as smooth as you. Jeebus fuck. You’re a mess.  

You decide to try the direct route: 

I was hoping to show you how much I appreciate your gift. ❤️‍🔥  

You hit [Send] and start working optimistically on your hair and makeup. Su-bin may take longer to respond as she’s probably up to her eyeballs in spreadsheets, lists, and emails. Hongjoong’s meeting won’t be done for another couple of hours anyway, so you’ve got plenty of time to kill. Another message pops up: 

캡틴❤️‍🔥:  

Show me. 👀 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, holy fuck.  

You stagger a little at the sight of this message and steady yourself by gripping the bathroom counter.  

Oh, please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means.  

Your stomach rolls between nervous arousal, humiliation, and the desperate desire to please him.  

Oh ick.   

Maybe the “naive innocence” routine can work on this one, even though you know he’s not going to fall for it. 

How would you like me to show you?  

[Send] 

You begin racking your brain to figure out what you can do if he’s actually playing a much more sophisticated game of “Send nudes” with you. You hope it’s a missed translation and that you’ll get to do more of a hands-on ‘show and tell,’ but if you play your cards right, you should be able to have that either way.  

When his message arrives, you quickly open it, deciding you need all the time you can get to prepare if he’s asking for a sexy picture. You groan audibly when the message opens because he’s sent you one of his famous mirror selfies. In this picture, you can just see a single raised eyebrow above the top of his phone as he uses the flash to document his fit in the mirror. You roll your eyes and respond before thinking: 

We don’t have a mirror that dirty.  

[Send] 

You’re cracking yourself up at this point and probably headed for a sore ass later, but you don’t even care. He can take the bait if he so chooses. You know he’s a world-renowned brat tamer, and you’re happy to help him keep his skills sharp. 

캡틴❤️‍🔥:  

I’m sure you can think of something.   

Tell you what, if you can show me   

In a way that pleases me,  

I will come straight home after dinner.  

If you decide not to, or do not give   

A good effort, I will come home when   

I originally planned.    

Touche.   

You chuckle a little at this.  

Now, how on earth does one go about taking a “tasteful nude” for the Captain of ATEEZ?  

You decide that artistic vision is going to save your ass on this one; maybe this can be one of those times that less is more. You dash out into the laundry room and retrieve a large white sheet before running out to grab the emerald green fleece blanket off the back of the couch. You run into your room and tuck a corner of the fleece blanket behind the center of your headboard before arranging the pillows underneath it, and the white sheet around it in ripples like a river. Almost as an afterthought, you notice the little string of fairy lights tossed aside on your desk that you haven’t found a use for since you and Hwa ordered them for your room, so you grab them and untangle them while you check the batteries. They blaze with soft golden white light, and you toss them to the side of your bed before dashing back to self-consciously close your bedroom door.  

You take off your shirt, grateful you’d been too lazy to throw on a bra yet, as it would have left imprints by now, and you grab a pile of books off of your desk to prop up your phone. You set it to a timer delay and multiple pictures per shot, and then you turn to lie across the pillows below the green mountain backdrop you’ve created. You grab the fairy lights and drape them over your naked torso, being careful to show just enough side boob to indicate your nakedness without showing anything too salacious.  

Once you’re fairly confident that you’ve mimicked the basic composition of your painting, you give the voice command for your phone to start the timer and hold your pose. After what seems like much longer than ten seconds, you get up and check the results. Surprisingly, you’ve pretty much nailed it. The glow of the fairy lights obscures the picture in just the right way while still highlighting the fact that you’re lying there topless. You load it into the text message to Hongjoong before adding the caption:  

The only thing missing is you.💞  

[Send] 

You quickly flip the phone face down on the bed to avoid the temptation to just stare at it, unblinking, until he responds. You grab your shirt and head back to the bathroom to finish working on your hair and makeup since you’d stopped to take the picture. 

A small vibration captures your attention, and you flip the phone over to see that it is actually Su-bin who has responded: 

Hi. Sorry, I’ve been so busy.  

The members usually handle their things and sometimes  

The managers will worry about some snacks.  

I’m sure they will tell you if they want you to do anything.  

Shit. Think she’s still mad?  

Before you have time to concoct some sort of peace offering, another message comes through: 

Yes. I got his number.   

🤭  

You let out your breath in relief. That seems promising.  

I’m glad. 😀    

You kids have fun.  

Just don’t cut me out of Tuesday nights, ok? 😅  

[Send] 

As you slide the final bobby pin into your hair and check your blending, another message comes through: 

캡틴❤️‍🔥:  

See you in an hour. 😙  

You let out a little squeal of victory and head back into your room to put away your ‘scenery.’ Seeing the fairy lights there on the bed, you’re struck by a little inspiration, so you pick them up and prop the painting on your desk with the lights illuminating it from below in a decorative jumble across the top of the desk. You grab the fleece blanket and hustle out to return it to its rightful place on the back of the couch, and as an afterthought, you grab a big bowl full of ice cubes and toss a few bottles of tea and water into it. You return to your room and pop in your earbuds as “Man on Fire” comes on your ATEEZ Faves playlist. You bite your lower lip, take a deep breath, and slowly release it as the song builds to the chorus.  

You lazily remake your bed and lean up against the pillows, cradling one pillow in your arms to combat your terrible posture as you stretch your legs out beneath the crocheted blanket. You close your eyes as “Selfish Waltz” washes over you, and you feel uncharacteristically at peace. You have somehow stopped trying to think of what to say or how to say it when it comes to thanking Hongjoong for the painting; you know you just need to get in the same room with Hongjoong to be able to follow his lead. The whole issue with the painting has really highlighted for you your tendency to neurotic overthinking in the absence of information. It’s one thing to try to Sherlock shit and figure people out, but with Hongjoong, it’s different; you always feel better when you’re close to him, and all of those silly fears melt away. 

You must have dozed off because suddenly there’s a light knock on your door, and you groggily call out, “Come in,” before you shut your playlist off and pull your earbuds out. Without thinking, you wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, relieved to find that you weren’t drooling during your unexpected nap. Hongjoong slips in the door, looking unbelievably handsome in his dark grey driving cap and leather jacket. You smile sleepily up at him, and he checks his watch, wondering if he’s later than he expected to be. You laugh, and he realizes that he’s on time after all. He smiles with relief as he removes his jacket and cap before leaning down to kiss you.  

Your whole body lights up at the touch of his lips, the smell of his skin, and the soft murmur of his greeting between kisses. You roll back, pulling him toward you by his shirt—unnecessarily—as he’s already climbing onto the bed to embrace you. You giggle as you realize you’re rapidly becoming trapped under the blankets as he lowers more of his body over you. You kick fiercely to free yourself from the sheets and bring him in underneath them with you. He laughs and helpfully shifts his weight to allow you to release the blankets and then pull them back over top of the two of you. Satisfied that he is finally close to you, you roll back into his embrace and continue kissing him deeply, with all of the unspoken feelings, questions, thoughts, and fears on your lips. His confident, passionate kisses seem to remove all of these from you and replace them with only devotion.  

You sigh happily when he finally breaks the kiss to pull back and look at you. “So, you missed me?” he asks, kissing your cheek as he looks you over. You look at him, scrunching your face and closing one eye as though weighing whether or not it was of any consequence to you before his knuckles in your ribs cause you to squeal at the ticklish sensation before you cry out, “Yes! Okay! I missed you!” He immediately stops tickling you, and you look at him with an exaggerated pout that he playfully mimics. You lick his pouty lower lip before continuing, “I really, really missed you,” in a deeper, breathy voice as you press your hips toward him and slide your hands down to tug on the waistband of his jeans. He moans lightly into your mouth, “Oh really?” “Mm-hmm,” you say as you slide your hand around to grope his ass. You land several urgent pecks to his lips before trying one more time to get your painting conversation out of the way if things shift to other activities, as it seems likely you two are going to end up naked. “Did you like my picture?” you breathe into his ear as his hands search for your love handles before pulling your hips toward his body decisively. 

“You know I liked it. I came home early,” he says, kissing the bridge of your nose before nibbling thoughtfully at one of your eyebrows, causing you to squeal. He laughs, and you groan in annoyance as you press your hips toward him again and gasp as he brings his knee up between your legs for you to grind your pussy on. You let out a moan, and he catches your open mouth with his and begins kissing you passionately. You fight for breath but don’t want to stop him, despite the fact that you really need to know more about what he wrote on your picture. You see lights flashing behind your eyelids as his strong thigh presses firmly against your clit, and you’re beginning to register his erection pressing back right next to where you are riding his leg. He reaches down to pull your shirt over your head, and you quickly pull back to assist him in getting it clear of your head and arms.  

You reach down and tug at his shirt, which he swiftly removes before taking off his watch and setting it on the bedside table. You lean over and kiss his bare pecs and lick over his nipples before he has a chance to roll back on top of you. He moans and relaxes there for a moment, so you continue to suck on his nipple while sliding a hand down to his bulge and pressing your palm over the flexing hardness you find there. He whines, and you start fumbling with his belt, finding yourself annoyed at his impeccable ability to style clothing because he always has so many individual parts, layers, and pieces to remove.  

He reaches down to assist you in loosening his belt and unfastening the pants. Naturally, he is more adept at manipulating all of his designer tabs, buckles, and fastenings even as he leans down and kisses your full breasts since they are pressed together between your arms as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. All of a sudden, he is naked, and you are about to be, as he pulls your little yoga shorts free from your curvy ass and thighs with a firm, swift tug. Now that you are both naked, all thoughts of any serious discussions about the painting have completely flown out of your brain. The two of you are on a collision course with only one realistic destination: earth-shaking orgasms and deep, contented slumber, completely wrapped in each other’s embrace.  

You want to smack yourself for having so little self-control, but at the same time, you’ve definitely needed to have this time to connect with him. He groans as his hands slide back up your naked legs, and he moves himself down between your legs as he flutters kisses and nips up your inner thighs toward your heat. He holds your thighs open and squeezes your flesh in his hands as he bites and sucks more fervently the closer he gets to your pussy. You watch him in fascination as he licks along your groin and turns to look appreciatively at your slit. He licks several fingers before using them to gingerly separate your folds and open places for him to lick, suck, and nibble around your clit and entrance. He moans lightly, clearly enjoying himself, and you begin to gently caress his hair with one hand while your other hand massages your breast and plays with your nipple as you begin to flex your hips toward him, begging for more attention.  

He looks up at you with hazy, dilated eyes and a lazy half-smile before he suddenly sucks hard on your clit, causing you to release his hair and clap your hand over your mouth at the intensity of the sensation. You moan wildly and shift your hips up again, delirious from the sudden sneak attack. He holds your hips between his elbows, with his hands keeping your quivering thighs under his control. He begins to lick and suck your clit with more consistent intensity now, and you moan and arch your back as both of your hands have found your nipples, and you squeeze and tug at them without a single conscious thought.  

Hongjoong moans against your clit, and the vibration causes you to once again cover your mouth with your hand to prevent an unholy amount of noise from coming out of your mouth. He repeats the effort and pulls back, chuckling, his face slick with your wetness and his eyes lidded with arousal as he looks up to see you biting on your hand. His attention suddenly makes you notice just how hard you bit down without realizing it. You pry your hand free, chuckling awkwardly as you look down at his beautiful face as if in a dream.  

He guides his hand back down to your folds, and he watches your expression curiously before sliding two fingers along your clit and down straight into your heat, causing you to moan desperately and buck at the stretch. He, too, moans at the sensation of your slick walls gripping his fingers before he returns his mouth to your clit and begins licking and sucking with such fervor that you are shaking and panting at the pleasure. He works his fingers in and out of you lightly at first, continuing to torture your clit with his tongue and deep moans. Your unfocused eyes notice that his hips are grinding into the bed as he does this, and the sight of his muscular ass and pelvis rising and pressing against the bed causes you to let out a feral cry. Your sudden loss of control encourages him, and he quickly slides in a third finger before he begins banging you without restraint as he sucks hard on your engorged clit. He unrelentingly flicks his tongue over it and moans continuously against it.  

You arch your back and cry out again as your body shudders, and you cum hard against his face. You try your best not to clamp your shaking thighs against his head as you pant and moan through the waves of ecstasy overtaking your body. When you hit the point of oversensitivity, you chuckle lightly and squirm your pussy away from his face and reach to pull him back up toward you by his hair. He smacks his lips happily as he groans and slides himself up toward you. His hard cock flexes against your mound as he returns to kiss you deeply. His tongue probes your mouth; his lips are sloppy with arousal and the wetness from your pussy as he moans into your mouth and grinds against you. You press your hips up toward him as your hands explore the strong muscles of his shoulders and back.  

You return the urgency of his tongue and suck on his swollen lips as your hands find his nipples, and you circle them slightly before experimentally pinching both of them hard between your fingertips. He utters a surprised, gasping cry before he growls at you, presses his excruciating erection hard against you, and shifts his weight to reach both of your nipples with his fingertips, returning the favor. You gasp, unsurprised at the sudden intense pain and arousal, but more in response to the devious grin and mischief that dances in his eyes as he does this and watches your reaction. You can see his tongue behind his sly half-smile, and you moan wantonly at what this look does to your body. 

Hongjoong laughs devilishly as he slides back to regard your skin, now lightly glistening from the intensity of your arousal and the combined heat generated by your bodies. You look past his face to the shadow where you know his incredible cock flexes in an unsustainable hardness, and you whine unconsciously as your hips rut up toward him and your arms reach out shamelessly. “Fuck me. Jjoongie. I need you inside me. Now,” you say, without any pride. He coughs lightly and groans as he swipes his sweaty hair back from his face with one hand and reaches the other down to grip his hard cock. When he doesn’t move toward you immediately, you rut your hips up toward him and try to reach his shoulders to pull him down over top of you. “Fuck me, or I might die. I need you,” you beg pathetically.  

He looks down at you fondly and asks, “You need me, huh? Why?” As an afterthought, he adds, without a trace of jealousy, “Everyone loves to fuck you. You are incredible. Why do you need me ?” You stop whining and rutting your hips toward him, staring at him with confusion, though you are still high from your recent orgasm and the current abundance of endorphins flooding your bloodstream. You look up at him, your eyes wide with wonder, as you thought it would be obvious, “Because I need you. Because I belong with you.” You watch as his fond expression doesn’t move or shift in the slightest before you add in the tiniest voice, “Because I love you .” You hold your breath as soon as these words leave your lips, and you stare up at him with huge, vulnerable eyes. 

He groans passionately, drops himself down over you, swiftly lines his desperate cock up with your entrance, and slams forward into you, forcing all of the air you’d been holding in your lungs to come out in a deep moan as he begins fucking into you like his life also depends on it. As he thrusts into you, he shifts his face up to yours and looks deep into your eyes as you gasp and moan along with him. He pants and shudders as he pummels you with his incredibly hard cock, and you hold his gaze while you trade breath with him between your desperate exhales.  

He shudders and slows his momentum, closing his eyes for a moment as if to refocus, before pulling your body close into his as he slides his elbows under your back and grips you with his hands wrapping up over your shoulders to press your pelvises together as hard as physically possible. You curl your back and spread your legs wide to encourage this as he continues to slowly thrust and shudder at the intensity of this deep contact. Hongjoong returns his face to yours, and when your eyes meet his penetrating gaze—seeming to look straight into your soul—you lose control and begin shaking and gasping desperately at the full-body orgasm that rocks you so hard it feels as though the earth has shifted on its axis. He releases your eye contact as you are unable to keep from squeezing your eyes closed as every part of your body shivers and quakes at the overwhelming ecstasy rushing over you. He slowly continues thrusting into you throughout, and you are dimly aware as you feel him shudder and gasp despite your senses being dominated by your own orgasm. As you return to full awareness, you hear him panting and rasping a little before you recognize the slick fullness between your legs, and he shudders to a stop with a long exhale of satisfaction.  

You’re still shaking as he breathes deeply against your shoulder, and you suddenly feel quite exposed as you recall what you said to him before he entered you. You realize he said nothing in return, though his urgent, intimate, desperate pounding and intense eye contact could probably be taken as a good sign; you are feeling very naked, almost as though someone has removed your actual skin. You wish he’d say something—anything—to let you know if your declaration of love was okay or too much or if, by some cosmic miracle, he feels a fraction of the same. 

You shift nervously under him, and he pulls back to look at your face. He looks beautifully flushed and extremely relaxed; there is no evidence on his face of the worries that tend to darken his eyes or delay him from smiling or laughing. As he regards your expression, he notices that you, on the other hand, have a look of vulnerability. He leans down to kiss you tenderly. He kisses you so deeply but without the urgency or passion that comes with arousal.  His arms remain tucked under your shoulders as he holds you as close as physically possible without causing discomfort. His cock remains inside you, dormant in a pool of your combined fluids, and you slide your legs down alongside his to increase the skin-to-skin contact.

You return his tender kisses with the deepest desire to express your admiration and unconditional love for him through the connection of your lips. You feel him shake lightly and wonder if the effort to hold himself up after all of that exertion is fatiguing him until you realize he’s essentially propped on his elbows, and the shaking seems centered more in his chest. He continues kissing you deeply, and you notice that the shuddering now seems to be coming from his breath. You pull back gently to look up into his face, and he looks down at you with an intensity that makes your heart stop. You’re unable to wait to see if he says something before you ask, “Are you okay, Jjoongie?” He closes his eyes and draws a shuddering inhale as you hold your own breath and wait for him to respond.  

Hongjoong chuckles slightly, startling you, before he says in a constricted voice, “Yeah. I’m really, really good, actually.” He looks at you again with an intensity that you know is meant to convey something, but you’re not brave enough to guess at this point. You realize you need him to tell you what he’s thinking because you really don’t have it in you to try to figure it out, and you certainly don’t have the patience for things to become clear over time. The painting suddenly comes to mind again, and you take your own quivering breath, and it’s his turn to be surprised as you manage to say, “I don’t know if it’s hard for you to talk about feelings, but it is hard for me... Really hard for me to talk about how I feel. I have a lot of big emotions, and I’m too much for most people. I’m probably being too much right now, and fuck, I should just shut up. But I can’t because I am not good at waiting to figure out how people feel about me because a lot of the time, I guess wrong.” You look up at him with years of pain in your eyes, and he looks down at you with compassion and concern. You hope that he hasn’t experienced the same things because of how much it hurts. But you really need him to understand that it is kindest for him to speak plainly to you and make an effort to make his feelings clear so that you don’t misinterpret and get hurt in a big way. 

“Okay,” he hesitates, unsure what you need from him in this moment. You suddenly want to smack the shit out of yourself for ruining a perfect moment as he lays his entire, perfect body on you, his cock still rests inside you, and his eyes are looking at you with whatever that look is—it certainly isn’t bad—even if it isn’t what you fantasize it might be. But he isn’t moving away from you, so you decide to double down. “Jjoongie?” you want to make sure he sees and hears all of your vulnerability before you say what you need to say. “Yes, Naui Haneul?” he looks at you unflinchingly, so you gather your courage and say, “I love you.”  

You stare up at his face, watching for any flicker of reluctance or disgust or regret, and when you see none, your brain seems stunned into silence. You can’t fathom how his expression hasn’t changed at all from his thoughtful, tender gaze. He releases your shoulder to bring his hand up to your face and carefully sweeps your wild hair back so that he can fully look at you. He looks into your eyes and places another devoted kiss on your lips before he pulls back, looks at you intently, and says, “목숨바쳐 사랑해(Mogsumbachyeo salanghae).  I love you with my life.”  

He looks at you so earnestly that you find your eyes suddenly brimming with tears. He sees your emotion and quickly kisses your lips to stop them from trembling as he chuckles sweetly against your mouth. He shushes you gently as your breath shudders, and you wrap your arms around him so tightly as if you’re afraid any gap between you will shatter the spell. You kiss his neck tenderly, holding his head against your shoulder, and allow your shocked and relieved tears to flow into his hair and down onto your entwined naked bodies.   

When you wake several hours later, the two of you have relaxed your intense grip on one another. He still lies on top of you, sleeping soundly on your naked torso with one arm tucked behind your neck and his other hand gently cupping your exposed naked breast. His hips have shifted off to the side of your body, and his leg now rests across your upper thighs. You shiver lightly as you realize you desperately have to use the bathroom and want to get more than just the sheet over the two of you. You squint into the darkness of your room, where the slightest hints of daylight are beginning to creep in around the blackout curtains. It seems fair to assume that you have several more hours to sleep before any of reality crashes in and responsibilities intrude on this little safe haven that exists only between the two of you in this protective time and space.  

You carefully slide yourself out from Hongjoong’s embrace, placing a pillow under his arm to support him where your body previously was. He smacks his lips happily and hugs the pillow, so you dash to put on your robe and sneak out quietly to use the bathroom. You still feel half asleep as your brain tries to catalog everything that took place last night; your brain gremlins, once again defying their prime directive to ruin your life, are supportive in shutting down any potential overthinking or questioning reality. You allow yourself to just bask in the glow of what might be the happiest, safest, and luckiest you’ve ever felt in your life. You stare at your disheveled hair in the mirror and look into your own eyes in astonishment. Somehow, you look different, as if the feelings inside you are radiating out from your skin. Some cheesy line pops into your head, though you can’t place where it might be from: 

Love looks good on you.  

You get yourself an incredibly satisfying drink of cold water and slip back into your bedroom. You drop the robe unceremoniously as you find that you’ve become much less self-conscious about your naked form very recently. You gently slide the blankets up over Hongjoong so that you’ll be able to pull them the rest of the way without disturbing him once you’re nestled in beside him. You roll your body carefully into the bed to avoid shaking him, and you slide your head down below his chin and remove the pillow you had put beneath his arm to sneak your body in under his arm in its place. He murmurs slightly, wraps his arm around you, and places a leg over your hip as he presses his naked body closer to you. You try not to giggle as you hold your breath to wait and see whether you’re close to the witching hour or not, and when no morning wood comes knocking, you relax back into his arms and fall easily back to sleep. 

Chapter Text

When the combined alarms on both of your phones conspire to destroy the drowsy sanctuary protecting the two of you from the concerns of the day, you both groan and whine pitifully. You peer through your crazy hair to look over to see Hongjoong is wearing an identical pout as he looks up with his eyes half open and his mussed hair shading his face in protest. He mumbles grumpily before throwing his arm over you and using his pouting lower lip to begin pecking at you until you squeal and giggle at him to stop as his hair is tickling your face, and his ridiculous mumbling is far too cute for such a tragic situation. You pull back and double the strength of your own pout as if you have the power to delay the inevitable when you know damn well the two of you have some pretty non-negotiable shit to do today, and nothing is going to save you now.  

But a bubble of joy pops up under your ribs again, bursting through all of your feelings of disgruntled disappointment when you recall all of the things you currently have going for you. This brilliant man beside you, for example, said last night that HE FUCKING LOVES YOU WITH HIS LIFE.  

And let’s be honest, you’ve never set the bar terribly high for yourself as far as lifetime achievements go, but you’re pretty sure this tops the list of things that you’d be willing to die happy after experiencing.  

You fail to keep up your charade and laugh as Hongjoong presses you back down to the bed, and your head misses the pillows and effectively disappears down between them. You giggle and shriek as if he’s trying to murder you before he dramatically flips the pillows off the bed and grabs your wrists to pin them next to your head as he straddles you and leans in for a deep kiss. You groan and whine and attempt to buck him off, as you know this is the exact sort of thing to get the two of you in trouble. He laughs and says with faux seriousness, “Who’s the boss around here?”  

You grin up at him defiantly and say, “NOT YOU today! We have to go! There’s too much to do! You have to get ready for tour!” At this last comment, he stops, partway through contorting his face into your favorite evil grin, and he seems to suddenly recall something. He jumps off of you and scrambles over to retrieve his phone before jumping back onto the bed beside you with such force that it causes you to groan as you almost roll over into his knees. He looks at you sheepishly before scrolling through his phone, apparently searching for something. He finally finds whatever he’s looking for and looks up at you, hopefully. You look up from playing mindlessly with the edge of the sheet as he begins to ask you, “Hey, isn’t this your hometown? Where your mom lives?” You look at the screen as he holds it up for you, and you recognize some of the features of the picture, but you laugh because all of the text is in Hangul. He turns the phone back toward himself and looks confused before he laughs and does his best to pronounce the name of your city. You gently place your hands on his knees, just to enjoy touching his bare skin because you can, before asking him, “Yes. Why?”  

He breaks into a broad grin and says, “Because we’re going there for the tour! It’s one of our stops!” You stare up at him, surprised, and feel slightly guilty as you have no idea where their tour is going. For as close as you literally are to them, currently, you’ve stopped obsessing over the little details like where all of their tour stops are, what cities will be the best for them, and everything to do with ATEEZ that used to consume you since they were the only details you could latch onto, in order to feel like you were somehow a part of their success. You smile apologetically, though you secretly hope he doesn’t know why, “Oh, I didn’t realize. What date?” He shows you the schedule, and you see that they are stopping in your hometown in the middle of the tour. He still sees that you’re not picking up on the importance of this little detail. 

“What are you planning to do while we are gone? Are you going to take any vacation? We could arrange it so that you could see the show and bring your mom or friends or whoever to the show, if you want.” He looks at you, hopefully, as if he’s not a fucking honest-to-gods rockstar who just offered you backstage access on a silver platter. He even looks a little nervous like you might actually say ‘no.’ You stare at him stupidly as he begins to bounce lightly from where he sits on his knees. You can’t restrain a laugh, and it echoes off the walls almost musically in the early morning light. His precious, darling face, that adorable fucking grin, and his effort to look at you with those big eyes and raised eyebrows while he literally offers you the fucking world... it’s all too much.  

You try to play it cool, but let’s be real: once an ATINY, always an ATINY. Your face looks nonchalant but your voice comes out an octave too high as you say, “Yeah, okay. Sure. I can call my mom and my bestie and see if they’re not too busy.” He lets out an annoyed little shriek as he launches himself over you, and you fall back onto the bed, giggling like a lunatic as he tries to find ticklish spots and kisses and nibbles at your neck and ear in frustration. You can’t believe he’s so easily flustered. 

When the two of you finally stop wrestling and lay, panting with his head on your abdomen, gazing up at you curiously as you play with his unruly hair, trying to make it stay back out of his face, he scrolls through his phone, and asks you about your hometown. He shows you the hotel they will be staying at, and you nod knowingly as you recognize it more easily than most, considering your prior connections in the culinary industry. You did a brief internship under one of the chefs there after they were impressed by your performance on the culinary knowledge bowl team at the culinary association’s regional conference. While your team didn’t win, you managed to secure the cheers of all of the other defeated teams as you went toe-to-toe with the elite team that won every year, and your little community college team tied them in overtime before losing by one question. In the green room, between rounds, you had encouraged your team to chat up the other teams and wound up making friends, whereas the elite team kept to themselves and generally looked like they thought themselves too good to fraternize with your lowkey hood cooks from the public college set.  

When the chefs who came to the regional conference from your hometown saw your little band of misfits take the stage in the final round against the elite team, they noticed that the room had completely filled up with all of the defeated teams in the double-elimination tournament. The teams were all unmistakably cheering for your team. After the competition was over, and your disappointed but somewhat relieved team accepted their near success and ultimate defeat with grace, the chefs noted that in no other tournament had they ever witnessed defeated teams returning to watch the rest of the competition, let alone cheer for any of their competitors. Something about the charisma of your team led the other teams to a very different comradery. You were equally proud when the team that entered the following year actually won and went to nationals. Long story long, you got offered several jobs after the competition, and you decided to take the one at the local resort hotel due to all of the different dining establishments it ran on the property and the prestigious reputation it held. You knew it was best to learn from a variety of chefs to find out what to do and not to do, in the eventual hope that you might someday run your own kitchen crew. 

You shake your head from your little trip down memory lane. It actually is a little funny because it reminds you of what happened with ATEEZ on Kingdom; they earned the respect of so many of their 선배 동료 (seonbae donglyo), despite not winning the competition. You also have to laugh because, while you took the position reluctantly, you greatly enjoyed being the team captain, and when one of the guys on your team always called you, “Oh Captain, my captain,” with a flourish, you got silly shivers and blushed heavily. You kind of understand why Jjoongie has a little fun with the title at times. 

“Yes, I know that hotel. I know they have a very good brunch there. And really delicious desserts,” you add, poking your tongue out at him a little. You realize it is really close to breakfast time, and you haven’t taken your meds, so you’re about to become ravenously hungry.

Room service sounds pretty fucking good right about now... 

“Oh? That is fun! I don’t do brunch often. Is it fancy?” he asks, looking at you with fascinated eyes. “It can be. It depends on if it’s a holiday. Mother’s Day and Easter brunch were always the worst. I mean, they’re the busiest and people dress up a lot,” you quickly clarify. He nods and seems to be making mental notes. “Jjoongie? Will you hand me my phone please so I can put the dates in my calendar? I’m not sure what dates I have for when you will be gone,” you hold your palm out for him to place the phone in, and instead, he grabs your hand to counterbalance as he leans way too far behind the two of you to reach the phone on the bedside table and yank it free from the charging cord. You let out a little noise of impertinent protest before checking yourself, and he hands it to you with a silly but apologetic smile.  

You lean over him and compare dates in your calendar before sighing, a little too heavily, as you see the six-and-a-half-week span they will be gone from your life. He leans over and kisses your forehead, breathing out a comforting exhale of warmth before sitting back up, saying, “I know. It will be over before you know it! And if you come to see us in your town, then it will be like half as long!” He grins at you, and you can’t believe the stars in his eyes have anything to do with you. It’s completely mind-blowing at this point. Hell, it’s probably offensive to the natural order of the universe, and yet, here you are. Your dad always had that annoying saying that “Any team could win on any given day.” You just never figured you’d be the loser who bagged the win in this little analogy. 

He looks at you curiously, seeing that you’ve disappeared into your thoughts once again, and you quickly apologize for ignoring him. Once you’ve settled the dates into your calendar and can offer your mom a range of dates on either end for a visit since it really does sit squarely in the center of their six-week tour, you kiss him on the bridge of his perfect nose and ask, “Do you need any help in the shower? I noticed you have a little spot of dirt or something, just there,” as you poke a finger directly between his shoulder blades, causing him to squirm away from the ticklish touch. “Aaaaaaughhhh no! I’m not dirty! I do need your help, though. I can’t, um, seem to figure out how to fix this,” and he looks down self-consciously as he moves his hands out of the way to reveal his cock at full attention, flexing in his lap. He must have hidden it under his phone as he woke it up with enticing thoughts while you were lost in your own headspace.  

You laugh in mock exasperation and jump out of bed, saying, “Well, no promises, Captain, but I’ll take a look at it and see what I can do. It looks pretty far gone, though. You might just have to live with it,” you add, before turning on your heel and dashing to get into the bathroom before anyone else claims it. You hear him groan behind you and you laugh as you brush your teeth and watch for him to make the little sprint across the hallway to join you. 

The two of you enjoy a slightly rushed shower to accommodate the quickie he requested and not run all the other members out of hot water. He directs you to put your palms on the tiled wall as he slips himself in at your back and gingerly spreads your legs to slip his cock in behind you. He reaches up over your shoulder and teasingly slides his finger into your mouth. You suck on it eagerly and occasionally bite down on it to prevent yourself from making any loud moans at his unyielding cock pummeling your slightly sore pussy. Still, you dutifully raise your ass to increase the depth he is able to thrust, and you see stars when you feel him shudder and cum inside you. You turn and grin before kissing him passionately, the warm water running over both of your faces as you slide your hands over each other’s slick, wet bodies one last time before turning off the water and reluctantly starting your day. 

After you get the boys launched for their schedules of promotional photo shoots, meetings, stylist sessions, voice lessons, and dermatology appointments, you finish cleaning up the kitchen and check the world clock on your phone to call your mom. You see that it’s nearly dinner time for her, which is probably the perfect time to call, so you shoot her a quick text to ask if it’s a good time or not. She replies fairly quickly that it’s fine, as she’s just reheating leftovers, so you can call whenever.  

You check your hair and makeup quickly before throwing the comforter back over your bed to disguise the fact that it’s completely unmade—if not destroyed—and fluff the pillows to make it look like only one person ever sleeps there. You laugh as she’d probably never suspect the truth, especially once she found out where you actually are. She has known for a long time what a shitshow your dating life is; you doubt she’d suddenly become uncharacteristically optimistic just because you’re halfway around the globe. 

Satisfied with your backdrop, you hit the video call button and hold your breath, trying to find a good, comfortable angle to hold your phone at. You try to stifle a laugh as this suddenly calls to mind all the times you watched Jjoongie fight to find the perfect camera angle on a live, and you always wanted to yell through the screen, “It’s FINE! You’re AMAZING! No one cares about your little tiny zit!” But the man is nothing if not meticulous.  

When your mom picks up the video call, you’ve got a weird smirk on your face at this memory, but she doesn’t notice because her tiny dog is losing her goddamn mind barking, and your mom is trying to figure out how to reverse the camera so you can see her instead of across her living room. She curses under her breath, and you let out an exaggerated gasp as she’s always chided you for your foul language. She tuts at you and grumbles about not being able to figure it out, and would the goddamn dog shut up already. You look at the camera view of the kitchen table and feel a little sad to see that it appears to hold several days’ worth of mail in piles, along with whatever your mom was reheating for dinner. It looks lonely as the table is still large for the six people comfortably able to fit around it, and when it’s just your mom, which is the usual now, it looks downright pathetic.  

You try to help by talking to the little dog as if you were there to see if it helps her quiet down, and it does, in fact, stop her in her tracks. Her unnecessarily large ears perk up, and she cocks her head side-to-side to try to understand why she can hear but not see or smell you, and your mom finally figures out how to reverse the camera setting before walking over to the table and apparently propping her phone up there. “I’m going to eat my dinner while we talk. Is that okay?” she practically growls, and you know this is only a courtesy question. “Of course. I don’t want you to starve on my behalf,” you say with a silly grin, causing her to smile weakly at you and grumble, “Thank you. Thank you. I’m so glad I’m not a burden on you in my old age.” You chuckle at her and want to get to the good stuff you’ve called to tell her, so you just head off without your usual theatrics. 

“I’ve got some good news! And some weird news. But it’s good news, just might be surprising,” you chuckle a little nervously, and she pauses to stare at you, fork in midair. You laugh sheepishly before continuing in a rush. “Okay, so you know how I said I was working for a company teaching English? Well, that was not, um, all that they do,” you begin to find yourself weaving a little tale rather than just admitting your blatant dishonesty. You stop yourself before continuing with the lie out of an old childhood habit. “Well, it’s not what they do at all, really. I mean, some people speak our language, and some employees actually do need to learn it and practice, but that’s not what I was hired to do.” She stares at the screen, unmoving, and you hope the connection isn’t frozen as you power through, “I got hired by the company that owns ATEEZ. I was hired to be their caretaker so I cook and clean and do laundry and stuff for them. It’s actually a lot like what I used to do with you at the daycare,” you say with a chuckle. You watch her, staring but obviously not frozen because she just fumbled her fork and caught it before it clattered to her plate. “Yeah, I know it was a long shot, but I had gotten let go from my job, and then my fish died, and well, I just kind of lost my mind and applied for this job. And I got it!” You stop short of giving her an exaggerated “Ta-da!” with jazz hands because she looks close to reaching her max blood pressure. “I didn’t tell you right away because I didn’t know how it was going to work out, and I really didn’t want to be a fuck up again—” she cuts you off with a noise of irritation at your profanity. “Sorry. I didn’t want to mess up again and have to tell you how stupid it was, but I figured I could do this job. They were actually looking for someone who doesn’t speak Korean because of privacy reasons and stuff, so I was perfect for the job.”  

She sits back from her plate, realizing the futility of attempting to continue eating at this point. “So, um, it’s been a bit crazy, and they gave me room and board and stuff, but a tree fell through the roof into my room during a storm one night...” She gasps audibly, and you raise your hands to placate her, “It’s okay! I wasn’t in there! The boys—I mean, ATEEZ—weren't home at the time, and I couldn’t sleep because of the storm so I was downstairs in the kitchen doing some prep. It was pretty bad, though.” You look at her with a nervous chuckle, and she swallows hard, “So you’re okay, though? Where are you now?” You smile broadly at her before turning the camera to show a pan of your room. “They had to put me in a spare room on the floor with ATEEZ because the other staff rooms were full due to the upcoming tour. I made a friend; her name is Su-bin and she works in the planning department for all of their travel and stuff. She’s super nice. I made her go see a movie with me and Jongho, and she almost fainted, but I’m kind of trying to set them up.” “What!?” Your mom looks stunned, and you realize that this is why you should never go on camera without a script.  

“What?” you ask quietly, feeling like you’re ten years old again. “Who is Jongho? Who are you setting up? Surely you’re not trying to get your ‘friend’ Su-bin fired by putting her in an inappropriate situation with a member of the band!” You roll your eyes slightly because you can’t stand it when she calls them a “band,” but you realize your mom’s not completely off-base here, “No, Mom! They don’t have a dating ban like other idol groups, and it’s different for them. But we’re just friends. It’s no big deal, mom!” She still looks gobsmacked, “We!? Who’s friends? You can’t be acting like you’re buddy-buddy with the band, hon!” It’s funny how quickly she’s gone from completely confused and alarmed by your job to the fact that you’ve suddenly landed yourself smack in the center of your favorite group’s actual life, and the thing she’s concerned about lecturing you about is playing matchmaker... 

“Mom, we are friends. They’re not like other celebrities. They don’t act pompous. Well, sometimes one of them is an ass, but that’s different. They are really normal, mostly.” She looks skeptical but you try to assure her, “I do my job well, they have really liked my cooking and my work, so they’re pretty laid back about the formalities. Plus, I only work here at the dorm and pick up orders at KQ.” “Okay, I don’t know what half that means, but wait, you’re cooking?” Her face lights up a little, and you groan audibly that this is the takeaway. You’re not even sure you’re ready to tell her about that or—your stomach clenches violently—about what happened to your dad’s Le Cordon Bleu cookbook. “Yeah, mom, I make them food. Nothing fancy. Like prep smoothies and stuff.” You try to downplay it before deciding to change the subject. 

“Okay, but Mom, the real reason I called is to tell you I’m doing well and that I’m planning to come home for a visit when I have some vacation.” She shakes her head, recognizing that she’s going to get nowhere by jumping down your throat to lecture you over any random tidbit you decide to share that she clearly doesn’t fully understand. “Okay... So, you lied about your job. Did you lie about your vacation options?” You cringe at this blunt observation but press on, refusing to take the bait, “The vacation I told you that I get is what I get. I can take more of it when the boy—when ATEEZ—are on tour. So, they’re going on tour soon, and I can take a couple of weeks off while they’re gone. Paid and everything.” She whistles lightly and pulls her plate back toward herself to try to put food in her mouth and prevent further temptation to lecture you. 

“Yeah, and it turns out that the tour is actually stopping in our town, and they’re staying at the resort!  So, Hongjoong asked me if you’d want to see the show and stuff, and I can invite Bestie, too! Please tell me you’ll go!” She groans a little and pushes her plate back again before saying, “Let me see, I have to go get my calendar,” and she shuffles off screen to go pull her old-fashioned paper wall calendar down. You recognize the familiar illustrations of the wine regions of Europe, and you think, sadly, about how your mom never got to go with your dad to any of those places like they’d always planned. She thumbs to the date, and, unsurprisingly, she has nothing going on that day. “Yeah, I can do that, I guess. Is it going to be loud? And hot? I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t know.” You can hear her fishing for reasons to get out of it, so you quickly tell her, “If I take two weeks, I can take them on either end of the day of the concert. So, I could come out a week or more ahead of the concert, and Bestie and I can help you find a fit!” She rolls her eyes but sees the utter joy on your face and feels sorry enough for you to check her curmudgeon reflex and agree to this outrageous plan.  

“Okay, okay. Whatever. I’m old; I don’t care what people think. I’m going to be comfortable,” she says, sounding as confident as you know she doesn’t feel. “I promise it will be fun! And you can meet the boys, Mom. They’re so sweet. You’re going to love them.” She looks at you a little funny, still wondering if you’ve lost your mind and are actually living in an asylum somewhere, just running your imagination. “Especially Seonghwa, Mom. He’s amazing.” She chuckles and looks at you suspiciously, “Oh, right. Isn’t he your favorite or whatever they call it?” “They call it a ‘bias,’ Mom,” you say with an eye roll, “And no, he’s my favorite, but Hongjoong is my Bias.” She now rolls her eyes, in a perfect replica of your earlier expression, before giving an exaggerated sigh and tutting at you, “Whatever. I’m trying to keep up. But then, who did you name your dead fish after?” “MOM! First of all, the fish was ALIVE when I named it! And second, Hala isn’t the name of any of the members. It’s a name of them when they come from another dim... never mind. Mom, just forget that ever happened. Please. Do NOT mention that to anyone. Ever. Or I’ll tell everyone I’m an orphan.” She rolls her eyes, unbothered by your adolescent outburst, “Whatever. At the rate you’re going, you’re going to MAKE yourself an orphan.” She tsks, “The things you put me through. I swear.” She looks at you through the screen with a slight twinkle in her eye. You both chuckle a little and sigh.  

“Okay, so I will let you know when I get plane tickets and stuff. I have to call Bestie and tell her and figure out what dates work for her, too. I’m going to buy earmuffs before I call her, though, because I’m pretty sure her screaming is going to make me deaf when I tell her that Hongjoong invited us to the show.” She squints at you for a moment, “Wait, Bestie didn’t know you were working for ATEEZ? Doesn’t she love them, too? You don’t need earplugs; you’re gonna need body armor because she is going to KILL you.” You sheepishly suck air through your teeth and admit, “Yeah, she knew about that part, but she doesn’t know about the concert.” You hold your breath, waiting for her to smack you in the back of the head, realizing, with smug satisfaction, that it’s not an option due to the fact that it’s a video call. You try not to smirk at this thought. “Oh.” she says quietly, “I guess you both need body armor then because I’m gonna kill you both. I swear. You two. As if you weren’t bad enough as teenagers!” She looks a little betrayed, but you know she’s glad that at least someone in your life knew what you were up to, ‘just in case,’ as you’ve always tried to make somewhat responsibly irresponsible decisions. You just happened to pick a best friend who was shit at talking you out of bad ideas. Surely if your mom had her way, you’d have had a best friend who was a total narc or a world-class hypnotist who could convince you not to do half the crazy shit that popped into your head. Picking a fellow ADHD brain as your best friend was a more realistic but probably less desirable outcome.  

You see that your mom’s blood pressure appears to have returned to normal operating limits. “Okay, well, I’ve got to go get some things ready for dinner. I’m making kimchi!” you add, passive-aggressively, just to watch her react. She groans and rolls her eyes heavenward, and her reaction does not disappoint. “I will let you know when I have my tickets, okay? I love you so much!” She holds up a finger as she’s just taken another bite of her dinner, and she reaches down to lift up the little dog to see her “sibling” before you hang up. “THERE’S MY LEETLE FRIEEEEEND!” You squeal, causing the dog to flail and almost topple into your mother’s plate while she curses and yells, trying to juggle the wriggling pup in midair, save her dinner, and not drop the idiot dog on her tiny noggin. You quickly blurt out an apology and hang up the call before she masters the chaos enough to turn to yell at you.  

With a deep sigh, you realize how much you’ve missed your mom and how nice it will be to get home for a visit. You quickly fire off a text asking Bestie when she’s free for a call and wait for her to let you know so you can make her absolute year with your news.  

Chapter Text

You have one last trick up your sleeve. On your day off, you go to Yangcheon District, Seoul, to visit Williams Sonoma. This is probably going to annihilate seventy-five percent of your most recent paycheck, but you don't care. You're so busy most of the time that you don't spend it, so you've saved up a nice amount. You wander in, marveling at the familiar layout, though you're halfway around the world, thousands of miles from the store you used to only window shop in at home, never able to justify the expense.  You see the section you're looking for and head to the display. You pick out a gorgeous Shun Fuji ten-inch chef’s knife. The sales clerk looks you up and down skeptically, eyeing your large, vivid tattoo, wide-legged jeans, and preppy button-up shirt paired with an unfastened waistcoat and layers of various clashing jewelry styles. You ask her to see the knife and ignore the eyebrow raise she gives you as you nonchalantly slide your KQ employment Visa card onto the countertop next to where you expect her to place the requested knife for your inspection. Her raised eyebrow quickly drops back into a neutral, professional expression when she sees the logo on your card, and she swiftly places the knife onto the counter for you to handle.  

Your dad trained you well from an early age. You know exactly how to evaluate a blade. You feel the weight of the knife in your hand, the exquisite balance of the Damascus steel blade and tagayasan wood handle. You gingerly flick it back and forth in your hand as if chopping an invisible carrot before carefully holding it out to the clerk, handle first, and saying, “I’ll take it.” You slide the Visa card to her before taking a quick glance around the store to see if there are other items you may want. As you place a couple of new prep cutting boards and a pretty Vacu Vin swirling decanter onto the countertop, you are struck with sudden inspiration. 

You stop her as she continues to ring up your purchases and ask if they offer engraving. She looks hesitant as to your meaning. Since you definitely need to be understood, you pull out your translation app and ask her if they have someone who can professionally engrave something into the handle for you. She nods and says that they have a contract with a local craftsman who does very nice engraving. You smile thankfully at her and inform her that, in that case, you will take two of them. She looks at you and hesitates again, so you set your translation app to record again and say, “I want two of these identical knives. I will have them engraved.” She does her best to regain her professional bearing and quickly wraps up the purchase. Once you’ve arranged the details for the engraving and when you will pick them up, you saunter off back toward the dorms. The following Friday, you pick up the knives and stop by a couple of stores for the special ingredients you will need. You have a spring in your step as you unfold your scheme. 

You were raised by line cooks. ‘Kitchen pirates,’ you chuckle to yourself. You've read Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential three times. You idolized the raucous, raunchy kings and queens of flame and steel who ran the line at your dad's restaurant. He laid his cruiser down in a ditch one late night after a tasting, and the whole city mourned their local celebrity chef. You haven't picked up a chef’s knife since. You couldn't bring yourself to go out to eat; you prefer DoorDash because you and your dad always watched the kitchens as he narrated the action, unable to ignore the call of the flames. You haven't even seen the crew since the tearful hugs at the memorial reception.  

You remember, with a pang of guilt, the last conversation you had with your mother before you left for Seoul. You had just told her that you were fired from your job, but you had yet to get to the “good news” part of the discussion. After you told her about your termination, your mom shook her head in tender disappointment.  You loathed that look on her face. She sighed heavily and said, "I can't do this today, hon. Not today." Your stomach crumbled, and you wondered what invisible holiday she was marking as the seventh without Dad. You hated that the feeling of guilt, shame, and grief mingled with annoyance at her desperation to cling to memories and let them ruin her days for the foreseeable future. You glanced at the calendar behind her; it wasn’t their anniversary, no one's birthday... so you just looked at her inquisitively, cocking your head a tiny fraction to the side. She sighed again and rubbed her forehead, effectively covering her eyes. "Dating anniversary." She muttered. You caught yourself a moment too late as an irritated sigh slipped out. You quickly moved to hold your mom in a comforting embrace. You noticed how frail her shoulders were and wondered how she was feeding herself lately. She leaned into you, and you felt slightly more adult as you provided this strength to her for a split second before remembering you came to her to confess your utter failure to do life. She also seemed to remember this as she gathered herself up and pushed away from you with a tut. She looked at you, appraising you with her sad eyes, and sighed again before you returned to the “good news” part of your conversation.  

So, now you find yourself standing at the counter in your kitchen in the ATEEZ dormitory, staring at the badass, five-hundred-dollar, ten-inch Shun chef’s knife in your hand. For all of the time you’ve been here, you successfully have avoided this moment. Since you walked away from the culinary scene seven years ago, you have stuck with the “Susie Homemaker” ways of cooking for yourself and others. You use short-cut kitchen gadgets and casserole recipes and generally avoid demonstrating the level of skills that you actually possess in an effort to forget the things that brought you the most pain in your life. You just didn’t realize that they also brought you the most joy. 

But you feel the strength returning in your resolve as Wonderland (Symphony No.9-“From the Wonderland”) from your ATEEZ Faves playlist comes through your earbuds and refuses to let you walk away from this challenge. You quickly bust out the chopped mushrooms, shallots, minced garlic, diced bacon, and herbs and toss them into a pan to sauté for the Duxelles. You’ve peeled and started boiling your potatoes for the Duchesse whipped potato side dish. You know the boys will be home in about an hour, and you want to make sure you’re well ahead of them with the less flashy portions of the prep, saving the show-stopping items for last.  

When your Duxelles are sautéed and cooled, you assemble your Beef Wellington by layering the filet mignon, Dijon, sliced prosciutto, Duxelles, and herbs inside a layer of puff pastry to bake for three-quarters of an hour.  You split the chicken you bought and remove the bones to roll it up with pork sausage stuffing and struggle only briefly to remember your butcher’s knots as you tie the bird to place in the oven beside the beef. You quickly check the clock as ‘Say My Name-Flavor of Latin with Juwon Park’ comes on your ATEEZ playlist, and you have about twenty-five minutes until the boys are expected back. You look at the black gift box on your countertop, tied with a simple black and silver ribbon, and your breath catches in your chest. You take a minute to dash back to your room and check your appearance.  

You’ve put extra effort into making your hair sleek and tall in the smooth pompadour. Instead of your favored ponytail, you have wrapped it in a tall bun with a black and white bandana tied around it. You reapply your lip stain and tuck your lip gloss into one of the pockets of your slacks. You have pulled your old chef coat out of the very bottom of your suitcase that only barely survived the storm by being wedged under the bed. You have steamed the wrinkles out of it and are amazed at how the thread with your name embroidered on the chest is still as vibrant as the day your dad proudly presented it to you. Your fingers gingerly brush the restaurant’s logo on the right sleeve just below the shoulder. Dad’s restaurant, Andromeda, had an abstract circular logo of a lunar eclipse with small stars in the background and, in the center, a crossed duo of chef’s knives. You have tucked your thermometer into the pocket of the left sleeve, and you catch yourself smiling as you look in the mirror. You’re lucky it still fits, and you only had to unbutton the lower button to get it to fit comfortably over your full hips. You grab your chef apron and tie it around your waist, and you’re glad it covers the gap in your buttons.  

Still, you can’t help thinking you look pretty badass. You remember scaring the shit out of one of the young dishwashers when you busted him drinking leftover wine by the dumpster. When he caught sight of the intensity in your eyes and your dexterity with an extremely large knife as you lectured him about liquor laws, he sobered up immediately and seemed to seriously rethink his life choices. You secretly hope that if this scheme backfires, you might at least earn Wooyoung’s respect based on skill alone, but you know it’s a long shot either way. 

You head back to the counter to pull out the vegetables you need to chop for the green peppercorn sauce, the sliced vegetable tian, and the mirepoix to roast and include in the rich pan sauce to be served with the sliced roast chicken. You allow your mind to completely zone in on the assembly line of vegetables and blank out your thoughts of much else as your body can run this routine on auto-pilot.  

Thank gods for muscle memory.  

When the tian is lovingly arranged, and safely inside the hot oven, you see that the potatoes are done boiling, so you toss them into the mixer with the egg yolks, seasonings, shredded sharp cheese, and butter before whipping the ever-loving crap out of them and piping them out into small, pretty swirls on a baking sheet. You put them in the oven when there are about twenty minutes left on the beef so that they will cook and become just slightly browned on the outside.  

Hongjoong’s collab with Chung Ha ‘Eenie Meenie’ comes on your ATEEZ Faves playlist, and you throw a little more of your lip gloss on before pulling the earbuds out and shutting off the playlist. You send up a silent prayer to the ceiling and wait for the boys to crash through the doors as they always do after a big day learning new choreo. When the elevator doors open, you hear several shouts from the boys and you know they just got hit with a wall of incredible smells from your kitchen. You take a deep, shaky breath and come around the corner to see them waiting just at the end of the hallway where Nam Timjangnim introduced you to them just a couple of months ago. Yeosang sees you first and greets you with a big smile as he notices your chef coat. He says, “Nice!” with a huge grin and heads down the hall to take a shower. Hongjoong is surprisingly ahead of the pack this time, and he grabs your hand and kisses your cheek before giving you a knowing look and heading down the hall. He and Seonghwa are the only ones aware of your plan and they are both ready to run interference if you’re unable to complete your mission with Wooyoung. Seonghwa approaches and asks you to speak with him in the kitchen, so you return there with him and begin chopping the vegetables you have put out to finish for dinner.  

Working in a professional kitchen since you were able to stand up on your own has had its own unique effects on you. Your dad taught you proper cutting techniques from the time you were old enough to hold a paring knife, and your knife skills were legendary. You slice through the line of zucchini, summer squash, mushrooms, onions, celery, and carrots rapid-fire while holding a conversation with Seonghwa. Even though he was expecting this, as it was part of your plan, his eyes are still huge at the speed and accuracy with which the exquisite blade of the brand new Shun, under your expert control, slices through the vegetables as though they were nothing. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board in split-second syncopation punctuates the air, and the rest of the boys stop and stare at the kitchen entrance momentarily before Seonghwa shoos them away. He waits, as promised, for Wooyoung, who is now fighting his curiosity in the entryway. You quickly uncork the Cabernet Sauvignon and flip it smoothly upside down into the decanter, allowing yourself to zone out for a moment, watching as the glossy red wine bubbles into the glass decanter, cascading like liquid rubies. 

When Wooyoung finally rounds the corner to head down the hall to his room, Seonghwa intercepts him, and you ask him to speak with you in the kitchen without missing a beat in your chopping. His eyes are huge as he looks at the assembly line you’ve created around you, the sauces simmering deliciously on the stove, the Beef Wellington in its beautiful golden puff pastry wrap sits resting, and the chicken is roasted to perfection and surrounded by a colorful moat of vegetables and sauce. He looks like he is about to decline, but Seonghwa stands in his way and says nothing, which Wooyoung correctly interprets as a clear message that your request is not a suggestion. He reluctantly enters the kitchen and stands, staring at you, the muscles in his face visibly tightening as he clenches his sharp jaw. 

You set down your Shun on the edge of the cutting board, careful to lay the blade flat and turn it inward for safety before wiping your hands on a nearby prep towel and turning to face Wooyoung. You’ve assumed this stance many times before as you faced down intimidating male cooks and bossy restaurant managers who wanted to question your timing or your recommendations for service. You learned how to stand up for yourself, not as the chef’s daughter, but by standing tall as the gifted line cook you grew to be and a kitchen pirate in your own right. You stand there, arms crossed across your chest, with your name embroidered proudly above your folded arms. You allow his eyes to fully sweep over you as he takes in the wealth of information this scene implies. Once you’re satisfied that he is truly seeing you for the first time, you take your phone out and set it to the translation app. 

“I have something to say to you, and I need you to hear me.” You say to him, with a serious look on your face. He looks concerned but says nothing, so you continue. “I’ve tried being kind and thoughtful to you; I’ve tried giving you space. Nothing has made any difference, and I’m done letting you treat me like shit anymore. I am going to show you who I am, and you can treat me with the respect I deserve. Because all I have ever done for you and the rest of the team is my absolute best, and I will not be ignored by you any longer.” You hit [Translate] and stare him down while he reads the message. When he starts to respond, his voice has an argumentative tone, and his face is conflicted and defiant. You hold up a hand to stop him and instruct him to stand out of your way by the pantry door and proceed to finish up your cooking while he stands there staring, open-mouthed with undisguised wonder. You finish up the rest of the vegetables, slide him a glass of ice water, and begin plating up the food you have poured every ounce of your love into making for him. 

You slice the beautiful Beef Wellington into several perfectly cooked rectangles of red to brown to gold as the intense aroma of sauteed mushrooms and bacon fills the air when the puff pastry seal is split before you stripe it with the green peppercorn sauce. Several of the fluffy, lightly crisped Duchesse potato mounds are placed in the center of the plate. You carve off several thin slices of the chicken and sausage roulade and place it on top of the vegetables before glazing it with the pan sauce and sprinkling it with a handful of chopped fresh herbs. You pour a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and slide it over to Wooyoung before picking up the plate and gesturing for him to come to the table with you, where you have set a place with a black cloth napkin, steak knife, fork, and chopsticks. He looks conflicted as if he’s tempted to try to refuse to follow you, but he glances down at the cutting board with the perfectly diced vegetables, and his eyes track to the shining silver Shun beside it, and he seems to become humbled before he follows you submissively to the table. You stand beside the place setting and gesture for him to be seated. He hesitates but follows your direction and allows you to place the beautiful plate in front of him. He starts to say something, but you walk away, back to the kitchen, and his voice trails off as he stares down at the magnificent presentation. 

You return to the kitchen, remove your half apron, pour yourself a glass of the cabernet, and grab the pretty black box from the countertop before slowly returning to Wooyoung, who is about to put a bite of the steak into his mouth. He looks up at you, slightly startled, but sees your gentle smile as you wait for him to take a bite. When he tries the first bite, he groans lightly, as if the very intensity of the experience breaks his untrusting heart in two. He looks up at you with a look that almost seems like fear, and you can’t help but wonder what his paranoid brain is trying to do to him right now that prevents him from just succumbing to absolute rapture at what you know is a flawless meal in front of him. 

He gasps a little and seems to be struggling for words, so you pick up your phone again, “All I ever wanted was to be good to you, Jung Wooyoung. I’m not here to hurt you. Any of you. I love them all so much. I just want to be helpful. I want to love you too if you’ll stop being such a dick to me.” You tap [Translate] on your phone for him and slide it over next to the plate before you lean back, take a long draught of the wine, and watch him process everything. He reluctantly swallows his bite and closes his eyes, sighing heavily and seeming to hang his head a little. He finally looks up at you looking painfully apologetic. 

He says something quietly and slides the phone back to you and you tap the translation to see he said, "I know. " He ponders a moment and continues, "Hongjoong told me that you basically saved his life." He looks up at you curiously, looking frightened at the idea of his captain in mortal peril. “...and you never told a soul.” When you look at him and blink slowly in agreement, he continues, "I don't know why I've been such an ass. I just didn't trust that you were not going to try to exploit us for your own gain. But after what you did for Yeosang and everything you do every day for all of us, even me..." He trails off, looking stricken.  

You look at him sadly and nod your understanding, as this was your suspicion all along. He sits there, staring down at the plate with his head hanging and his long hair falling over his eyes. You can't get him to make eye contact from this angle, so you place your hand just next to his on the table, saying, "I understand why you were an asshole." adding quietly but firmly, "I would fight for them, too." He looks up at you, his eyes moist and pleading before you add, “I just didn't think I'd have to fight you .” 

At this, he chokes back a little sob and shudders, looking at you as several tears crest his chiseled cheekbones and begin to flow freely down his face. You assume he's thinking of everything you've been through since you've been here and how he's only made it harder for you. He must know that it's true, in many ways, you've fought to be here for them. You don't want him to feel bad anymore, you just want him to at least be normal with you like he is with any other staff. When he says nothing but sits there with his hands in his lap, hot tears streaming down his face, you slide the black box over to him.  

He looks up at you, looking even more wretched as he sees the gift-wrapped box. You hold his gaze, refusing to let him off the hook. You smile gently again and say, “Open it.” before sitting back in your chair and once again crossing your arms confidently across your chest. 

He tugs at the black and silver ribbon, his hands visibly shaking, and you realize you’re holding your breath. When he finally gets the ribbon free and slides the lid from the box, he gasps audibly and lets out a little shriek of surprise, clapping his hand over his mouth and staring up at you wide-eyed. You hold his gaze as your smile widens into a broad grin as he does a double-take at the beautiful, personally engraved ten-inch Shun inside with his name on it. You reach out tenderly and pat him on the shoulder as his tears fall freely now, and you get up to go retrieve your matching Shun from the kitchen. When you return with it, you place it handle toward him on the table to show him that yours is similarly engraved with your own name on it. Wooyoung clicks his tongue and stares at you, speechless, his eyes brimming with tears.  You set your app to record and say, “I will teach you everything I know, Jung Wooyoung if you would like to learn. If you don’t want me to teach you, the knife is still my gift to you. I hope that with time, we could be great friends if you’re willing.” After you hit [Translate] and he reads the message, he chuckles awkwardly through his tears and nods.  

You laugh and smile at him, and he pushes back his chair to get up and offer you a hug. You embrace him and squeeze him a little passive-aggressively before saying, “Thank gods. I was so sick of your shit!” And both of you burst into laughter. There is some ruckus in the hallway before the rest of the boys are streaming down the hall to see why Wooyoung gets a special dinner, and they don’t, and you’re suddenly back to work to plate up all of the food for everyone. You grab Wooyoung by the wrist and drag him into the kitchen to assist you because he’s the only one who knows how the plating goes, having been forced to watch you assemble his entire dinner. Once all the places are set, the carefully plated entrees have been presented, all of the compliments have been received, and the wine has been poured, Wooyoung passes his knife around to show off the beautiful gift and chatters excitedly about it as you come to realize that he knows more about professional knives than you anticipated, and he is aware of the value and meaning behind your gift. Mingi smacks the logo on your arm and yells, “Captain!” at you before everyone turns and remarks how the logo looks so similar to Hongjoong’s captain logo, and both of your faces turn a shade of red to rival the cabernet. 

You smile to yourself happily as you push the Beef Wellington around your plate and finally gather your courage to take a bite. It was always such an old-school recipe, and people used to give your dad so much shit about keeping it on the menu until they tried it. But it was his specialty for a reason: the amount of effort and finesse required to truly do it justice spoke to his dedication and love for cooking every time an order of the decadent dish went out to a table. You smile at his legacy and take a bite, remembering the first time you finally made it up to your dad’s standard and the way he looked at you with so much love and pride in his eyes. You glance up across the table to see eyes gazing at you with a similar look of affection and admiration, and your heart stops as you realize that Hongjoong is now the one looking at you with that intensity. Your breath shakes a little, and you drain your wine glass before Mingi notices and pours you another glass, which you accept gratefully before finding the courage to look up into Hongjoong’s eyes once again.  
 

Chapter Text

The happy conversations and compliments continue until the food and wine are gone, which causes everyone to realize it’s well beyond time for bed since the boys have to head out to hair and makeup and then to the airport in the morning. You are grateful when Seonghwa and San offer to clean up the dinner dishes and Wooyoung calls you to come speak with him. You hesitate, glancing toward Hongjoong, who has stopped in his effort to clear some of the dishes to look at Wooyoung questioningly at this request. Hongjoong looks back at you and nods imperceptibly, and you follow Wooyoung to his bedroom. You hover in the doorway of his dimly lit room, which you rarely enter; you notice it is now illuminated by strips of lights along the walls, which highlight the dark gray sheets of his bed and the black and white photographs he has tastefully framed on the walls. You try not to stare as you often enter and leave this room as quickly as possible when doing your duties that now that you’re invited, it seems like a strange, foreign land.   

He beckons you in encouragingly and gestures for you to close the door, which you do without much visible hesitation, though your internal turmoil must be registering on your face at this point because Wooyoung raises his hands to you, palms out, to gesture that he only has good intentions. He points at a chair by his desk for you to take a seat, which you do, grateful that he’s not offering for you to sit on his bed because, honestly, you’re not that good of friends yet. Wooyoung sits on the corner of his bed, facing you, with his phone out and the translation app open as he’s apparently put some thought into your comfort in whatever it is he wants to say to you. You try to look neutral, though you’re pretty exhausted from all of your efforts today, and the mental energy of working up the courage to confront him has you pretty much at the limit of your cognitive capacity.  

Wooyoung starts speaking before hitting the [Translate] button and handing his phone over to you to read what he has said. “I am still trying to figure out how to say ‘thank you’ for your patience with me. Thank you for what you did tonight and for not giving up on me. Sometimes, I need someone to force me to face things when I am being stubborn. I am very proud of what you did tonight.” He looks at you meaningfully, and you smile somewhat nervously as you’re unsure what kind of response he is looking for. He takes the phone back and continues, “I feel very bad about the way I’ve treated you, and I feel like, even if I was not trusting you, I should not have been so unkind to you. I acted in a way that was not right. I want to make amends for what I’ve done, and I’m willing to offer that in front of everyone if you will allow me to.” You read the translation and your hand flies up to cover your mouth as you’re unsure what sort of expression is threatening to break free of your efforts to remain approachable but neutral. He chuckles a little, nervously, before adding as an afterthought, “But you have to promise not to make me listen to ‘It’s You’ if I do make penance.” He blushes fiercely at this, and you can feel the fire in your own cheeks as you laugh nervously.  

You calm yourself and say to him earnestly, “I don’t want you to be punished. I understand that you didn’t trust me, and I wouldn’t want you to be punished for not trusting someone when you didn’t feel safe. I also don’t think punishment is necessary because I can see how sorry you are, and I accept your apology.” You hand the phone back to him and wait as he processes this information. You laugh, startling him, before taking the phone back to add, “Besides, you guys are heading out on tour tomorrow, so I can’t even imagine the appropriate punishment that could be exacted on you in that short of time.” You look at him with exaggerated alarm and then begin to laugh again good-naturedly. He smiles, looking relieved and chuckling lightly as he reads your message.  

Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair, pressing his bangs back from his perfect face to reveal a look of sincere appreciation and possibly some sort of affection. This look takes your breath away, and you find yourself staring at him, trying to predict his next move. He reaches out slowly and gently pats your knee as he stands and holds out his hand to you, “Friends?” he asks nervously. You stand up and take his hand, assuring him, “Friends,” and you pull his hand to bring him closer for a heartfelt hug. He sighs and shudders a little, and you lean into him a little longer than you need to as you hear his heart beating firmly in his chest and breathe in the unfamiliar scent of him. He smells spicy and sharp, like exotic herbs and juniper. He chuckles a little when you finally let him go, and you look up at him as you say, “Thank you for saying all of that.” He nods and says, “Thank you, too,” as you smile and let yourself out of his room to go change out of your chef coat and get ready for bed.  

As you turn to head down the hallway to your room, you almost collide with San’s broad shoulders, and he quickly backs away against the wall to give you space to pass him. You smile warmly and wink at him; San gives you a small smile and nods as he chuckles nervously. You fold your arms across your chest and take a step toward him, watching with amusement as San seems to be pressing himself against the wall in an excessive effort to give you the right of way down the hall. You have no idea where this is coming from because the score between the two of you has been settled, and he’s acted quite normal around you until just now.  

You continue to smile up at him as he looks at you with that adorably apprehensive smirk. He remains motionless, with his back pressed up against the wall. You cock your head to one side as you stare up at him over your folded arms. You step right up to him without releasing him from your confident gaze. He utters a tiny gasp as your body suddenly presses up against his as you rise up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Do you want a rematch, Sanna?” You lean your face back to watch him process this question but keep your body leaning against his, his palms pinned flat behind him on the wall where he had slid them in an effort to be polite. Now, he’s effectively trapped by his own gentlemanly behavior as your body presses him flat, and you stare up at him, waiting for a response.  

He looks at you, his eyes wide and dimples betraying his interest, though he seems unsure how to respond to this challenge. You finally take pity on him and step back from him before saying, “I want you to do what you had originally tried to do before. I don’t want to know when. I want you to surprise me; but I’ll put a ribbon on my door any night that it is okay for you to come in. If I don’t want you to come in, I’ll remove the ribbon, okay?” You smile at him deviously, and he nods. You glance down impulsively to see the crotch of his loose gray sweatpants twitch. “So, not tonight, though?” he asks, sounding hopeful. You shake your head, “No, I don’t want to know when to expect you; I want you to take me by surprise. It will have to be when you get back from tour.” He pouts so you add with a little taunt, “Plus, I already have plans. You’ll have to ask sooner if you want me so much, Sanna. I’m not always available.” He blushes fiercely at this, as do you, and since you don’t want him to see your blush, you lean forward quickly on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. His arm shoots out and wraps around your waist, followed by his other arm as he picks you up and effectively redirects your attempted cheek peck to his lips, where he holds you and kisses you passionately. You moan and wrap your arms around his wide shoulders as you feel the delicious contact of your body against his. You gingerly press your thigh against his groin, where you know his thoughts can be read word-for-word in the tented fabric there, and he gasps between desperate, searching kisses.  

You moan into his mouth before pushing your upper body back from him, although his arms remain firmly around your waist, and your feet dangle above the floor. You peck his cheek as you originally intended to do, then remind him, “I have plans tonight. Save that for later. Or go take it out on someone else!” As if summoned, Seonghwa has just clicked off the kitchen light, which suggests that they are done cleaning up in the kitchen, and he turns to walk down the hall toward the two of you on his way to his room. He looks up at you and San in surprise before asking cautiously, “What’s this?” You giggle and lean to whisper in San’s ear, “Maybe you should take it out on Hwa!” You purposely emphasize the last syllable, and the two of you turn to stare at Seonghwa expectantly as he looks between your faces, his boba eyes wide as he sputters, “Wait, wait, wait. Whatever it is, no. You two... No!” He pretends to be afraid and dashes to get by the two of you.  

San, without thinking, attempts to smack Seonghwa on the ass as he runs by, which loosens his hold on you, and you wriggle down out of his grasp. San misses Seonghwa’s butt as he sprints by and ends up completely empty-handed as you run after Hwa, and you take his extended hand without breaking stride. He pulls you into your bedroom,m where the two of you close the door and fall across the bed laughing. You quickly roll around and pull your arms out of your chef coat, launching it unceremoniously onto the floor since it will have to be laundered anyway. You come to rest next to Hwa on the bed, breathing hard as you stare up at the ceiling.  

As is becoming a habit with the two of you, Hwa reaches over to slide his elegant hand over yours, and he rolls onto his side to gaze at your face as he props himself up on his elbow. He smiles at you fondly, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe as you are stunned by Seonghwa’s beauty. His laughter trails off, and he smiles at you with pride, “So, how did it go?” You know he didn’t hear any of the conversation with Wooyoung, but you figure he was able to infer the outcome based on how the rest of the evening went. You give him the quick version of Wooyoung’s apology, and he clucks his tongue with satisfaction, “Good. He is smart, even when he’s being dumb.” You laugh at this blunt characterization of his friend; however, you don’t disagree.  

Seonghwa looks suddenly thoughtful, “So, did I hear you tell San that you have plans tonight?” He looks at you with one eye closed and his tongue poking out between his lips playfully. “That, dear one, is completely up to you,” you say to him as you reach up to brush his hair back from his face and cup his cheek in your palm. You feel your throat starting to tighten, so you quickly add as you bite your lip, “I’m trying not to miss you too much while you’re gone.” You look up at him with crocodile tears threatening to leave your eyes. You see that his eyes appear stormy, too, like voluminous dark clouds gathered on a humid day, foreshadowing a downpour yet to come.   

He chuckles lightly at you, and you are mesmerized by the way his eyes twinkle, and his hair shakes gently around his face as he laughs. “I usually don’t have to miss anybody. I have not felt this for some time,” he says as his lower lip now quivers. You reach out to wrap your arm around his neck and pull him in for a desperate hug. “I’m sorry, Hwa. I didn’t mean to make you sad!” He pulls back from you, smiling fondly at your sudden outburst, “It’s not your fault. It’s a good thing, really. It reminds me how to be a person. A whole person, not just an idol. I love you, and I get to miss you while I’m gone, and then I can look forward to coming back home to see you.” He looks at you intently, and you feel completely enveloped by his loving, mature presence, which somehow affirms the positive nature of your relationship by pointing out the fact that the amount of pain caused by your absence is evidence that your love is strong enough to heal that pain when you are reunited.  

You, having the inner wisdom of a five-year-old, stick out your lower lip in your best pout and gripe, “But I don’t wanna miss you! I will just sleep the whole time until you come home.” He chuckles and kisses your forehead before saying, “No, you won’t. I will send you messages and call you, so you will have to be awake to tell me you love me and miss me. And I know you’re coming to see us when we are in your town, right?” You roll your eyes and suck in your pouty lip but continue to whine, “Yeah, yeah. Okay. That’s fine. I can do that, I guess.” You now sound like a petulant teenager, but that’s all part of the show, as he’s never going to guess what you’re about to say next. You roll away from him dramatically with a huff as if giving him the cold shoulder, and he pulls back from you slightly, unsure what to do, his hand still hanging in midair where your hip used to be. He utters a noise of confusion, and you laugh silently to yourself.  

Poor guy obviously didn’t grow up with sisters or insane girlfriends.  

You heave a fake sniffle before rolling back toward him, where he looks at you in confused surprise. He is still wide-eyed, but he’s started to smirk as he realizes that there is mischief in your eyes. You squint at him before saying in an accusing tone, “You never responded when I asked you if you wanted to have plans with me tonight.” You gingerly reach out to poke him in the chest, “You think I’m just available for you whenever? Or don’t you want to spend the last night here with me?” You gasp at him in mock horror, “Or perhaps you already have plans?!” He laughs once he detects just how exaggerated your accusations are. It’s no secret that he’s going to be stuck with the boys on tour, and you’re the only one he won’t have access to over the next six weeks. You know that you’ve got the ultimate ace up your sleeve in that regard.  

“I, uh, I don’t know,” he sputters, clearly searching for something clever to say. But it’s kind of unfair given the fact that he just filled up on an incredibly rich dinner and had no idea he was going to have to act in your little drama to convince you of his desire to spend the night with you, which is the norm lately. The two of you do exactly that, more nights than not, even if it is just to sleep in each other’s arms. He is such a perfect, dainty bed partner, and you know he enjoys having someone consistently available for cuddles.   

“Okay, okay. I’m just teasing you. Of course, you want to spend the last night in Korea with your best friend!” You dramatically flourish your arm out and place your palm over your heart as you smile expectantly. “BUT!” you quickly add, startling the shit out of poor Seonghwa, “What about spending the last night in Korea with your TWO best friends!?” You look at him with cartoonish amazement, as though he’s just won not one, but two brand new cars on a cheesy game show. He laughs but hesitates, so you rescue him, “It’s okay, Hwa. Whatever you feel comfortable with. I haven’t said anything to Jjoongie about it, but I’d love to spend the night sleeping between the two of you before you go. It doesn’t have to be anything big. We can just cuddle... or, well, you know. Whatever you want. No pressure.” You grin up at him gently and bat your eyelashes hoping he can see that you understand the favor you’re asking of him at this point. You’re not trying to repackage this as something you’re doing for them; this request is all about you. Because, they get each other for six weeks, and you will be alone.   

Don’t even go there. Stuff it down. Deep down. Go get laid. Don’t cry.  

He looks at you tenderly as your inner monologue has clearly taken a beat longer than you intended. “Please, Hwa?” you pout at him. “Well, do you want to ask him or should I?” he asks you, watching you closely to enjoy the moment your facial expression shifts from pleading to victorious. “Let’s ask him together!” you jump up with a mischievous grin as you grab Hwa’s hand to go locate Hongjoong and ambush him with your request. You realize you’re not sure where Hongjoong would be by now, so you whisper to Hwa, “Do you know where he is?” Hwa nods toward Hongjoong’s room, so you pull his hand and turn on your heel to go knock at the door. A soft, raspy voice calls from within, and Hwa nods at you encouragingly as he quietly opens the door. The two of you slip inside the room which is softly illuminated by the lights on the bedside tables and the glow from Hongjoong’s laptop. He sits in bed, propped up against the headboard, looking a little sleepy with his computer on his lap and his headphones over one ear. He pulls them all the way off as he looks up surprised to see both you and Hwa together. You smile at him, trying not to grin like the lucky fool you are.  

His eyes twinkle as he looks between you and Hwa, who enter holding hands and walk toward where he sits on the bed. As if it were a rehearsed choreography, the two of you drop hands and begin crawling up on the bed to lay next to Hongjoong on either side of him. He sees where you are headed and quickly flicks the corner of the comforter back on either side so that you two can slide into the blankets with him. He hums happily as you and Seonghwa slip under the covers and sidle up to him; you instinctually reach your hand back out across Hongjoong’s lap and meet Hwa’s hand coming toward you, ready to entwine your fingers in his. You shimmy your hips happily and place your leg lightly over Hongjoong’s leg as you nuzzle your face against his hip. He clucks his tongue happily as he looks down at his two adoring bookends. He says, with only a slight trace of regret, “I just have a little more work to do, then I will be free. Okay?” He gently rubs your shoulders with his hand, and you hum lightly before kissing him on his hipbone just over his clothes and nodding. He rests his forearm just above your head as he resumes working on his computer.  

You snuggle happily close to him, under the covers, as Hwa’s delicate fingers trace over your own. You listen to Hongjoong humming along and muttering to himself as he messes around with whatever song he is working on. You worked extremely hard today to finally tame the unlikely shrew that was Wooyoung, and between that and the decadent dinner and wine you all consumed, you’re losing the battle to remain conscious in this comforting embrace of your favorite humans. It could be considered ironic that Hongjoong is spending his last night of relative freedom by working on music, but you love his unstoppable passion and figure that maybe it’s all working out for the best because a threesome would be a hell of a lot of work at this point. You doze in the soft amber glow of the day’s success and the close proximity to your two favorite humans.  

You are awakened by the snapping sound of Hongjoong closing his laptop and attempting to slide it over you onto the bedside table. You mumble a confused, “Hello. Are you sleeping?” into his chest as he balances to lean over to reach it onto the table without dropping it or his own weight on you. He looks down at you and chuckles as he lightly sniffs your hair. “You smell like steak,” he says with a grin and kisses the top of your head. You turn to face his chest as he rolls back over, and you sniff him back, saying sleepily, “You smell like Hongjoong.” He wheezes out another laugh, trying not to fall on you, as you mumble and whine and try to keep him there where you can bury your face in his chest. “No!  You are smelling my armpit!” He laughs and tries to get away, so you ball up his shirt in your fists and hold on tight, “Mmmm. I don’t care. I love your smell.” You moan and press your lower body against his leg before your fuzzy brain finally registers, “Wait, did you say I smell like steak? Gross.” You look down self-consciously and realize that in all of the bustle and goofing around with San after dinner, you completely forgot to change your clothes. You are still wearing your undershirt and the pants that you wore all day while cooking.  

Your hair probably smells exactly like steak.  

He laughs at your disgust and then says, “Shower?” As if sharing the same brain cell, the two of you glance over to Seonghwa, who appears to be fast asleep, looking as angelic as ever in the dim light of the lamp. “Awww. Will he wake up?” you ask, hoping to avoid accidentally abandoning him to wake up alone. “No,” Hongjoong explains, “He will probably stay just like that all night if no one moves him.” The two of you quietly slip into the bathroom to wash away all of the cares of the day. You leisurely remove all of your jewelry and pull the bandana off of your hair while Hongjoong busies himself, starting the water in the shower and slipping off his clothes. Your sleepy brain isn’t really tracking until you feel his eyes on you, and you turn to see him leaning against the wall, watching you quietly as you mindlessly go through the movements of getting ready to shower. You see him standing there, staring at you, and you look up at him with a self-conscious smile.  

It’s not until he chuckles awkwardly that you notice the flushed color in his cheeks and around his eyes and the moisture that has gathered there. He sniffs lightly and shoves the heel of his hand against his eyes to try to press away the tears that are accumulating there, despite his best efforts to fight them. You hurry to embrace him, pulling his arms down, away from his face, and bringing them down to wrap around your body. You raise up on tiptoe to kiss away his tears instead, and he sniffles as he laughs, embarrassed, “Sorry.” You give him a playful glare and say, “No. No ‘sorry.’ Never ‘sorry’ for that, Jjoongie. It is okay to be sad.” You duck your head to make him look into your eyes and add quietly, “I’m sad, too. But I’m also stupidly happy and so excited for you. I have all the feels.” You laugh as you really can’t even put it into words because so much has happened in such a short time, and even if they weren’t going on tour, the twenty-four hours in a day aren’t enough to fully experience everything you want to with your boys, especially him.  

He holds your gaze and begins to smile through his tears as he seems to also be running the mental tally of all of the amazing and difficult things the two of you have been through together recently. He leans down to kiss you, and you melt against him as his lips give you the depth and measure of his love—without words, without haste, and without ulterior motives. He holds you tight against his naked body with steadfast devotion, and you begin to shiver from the intensity of his affection rather than the temperature of your bare skin. He pulls back to look you over as he feels you trembling against him. “Oh,” he chuckles, “Sorry. Let’s go wash the delicious steak off.” “Hey!” you playfully swat at him before he grabs you again around your shoulders, pinning your arms to your sides. You smile up at him before sneaking a quick lick up his chest before he can recognize what you’re up to, enjoying the salty taste of his skin and sweat. He exclaims in exaggerated disgust as you lick your lips and declare your appreciation for the taste of him. He laughs and turns you around to guide you into the shower with his arms still wrapped around your chest. You lightly hold onto his arms, as your own arms are snugly held beneath his, and all you can do is cross your forearms to hold on to his biceps.   

The two of you relax into the warm water in this embrace, and he sways you gently there as you both let the tears wash down your faces under the caress of the water. You can feel him lightly shuddering behind you, though you’ve lost track of where your own sad sniffling and shivering ends and his begins. You slowly press his arm to get him to release you just enough to turn and face him so that you can lay your head on his chest. He kisses your forehead softly and begins to sway again as the two of you continue to hang onto each other for dear life. You have tried so hard not to have any feelings about him being gone, and you’re frustrated now because it seems like it’s all crashing down on you at once. You had hoped you could hold it together until he left because you certainly didn’t want to send him off on tour with a weepy lover on his mind.  

Pathetic . Don't you dare make his job harder for him. You should be the last thing on his mind while he’s out there kicking ass.  

You let out a heavy sigh, “Sorry. I didn’t want to cry. I was trying so hard. It’s not about me. I am excited for you to go show everyone what you can do. I’m so proud of you.” He looks down at you and kisses your forehead again before saying, “I know. Me too. I don’t know how to do this. It feels like it’s too soon.” The pit of your stomach falls out at this, but time is of the essence, so you gulp and ask, “What is too soon?” He pulls back and looks at your face carefully to try to figure out how his words landed. “I mean, it is too soon from ‘I love you’ to ‘goodbye’. The tour. I wish there was more time first.” You sigh heavily with relief.  

Fuck. That was a close one.  

“Yeah. But I loved you for a while first. So, it’s not exactly new,” you say a little sheepishly, looking up at him and trying to make your eyes big, but the water keeps splashing into them, forcing you to blink awkwardly. He laughs tenderly, “I know. Me too.” You pull back enough from him that your big eyes are genuine at this declaration. “What?” you sputter, wondering if you misunderstood. He steps back and seems to consider the time and the length of explanation needed before gesturing to you to grab the shampoo while he explains, “You wash, I’ll talk.” You laugh and pass him the shampoo before picking up the wash mitt and lathering it up. “Do you remember when you did the interview? When it was on Zoom?” you stop washing his calves and stare up at him through his arms which were cooperatively washing your hair as you washed his body. “Yeah, I remember. That was so awkward.” He laughs and shakes his head, “No, no. It was cute. You were so cute.”   

Wait. The fuck!?  

“You were there? You saw me?” you ask, a twinge of panic in your voice. He nods as you forget about washing him, and you stand up to stare at him in wonder. “I was watching the interview because they wanted me to help decide who would be our caretaker. They didn’t want someone who would not be a good fit or would be a distraction.” He pauses at this as though something has only just occurred to him. You, understandably, have questions, “Wait, so ‘a distraction’? Is that why they made me stand up? And they hired me because they didn’t think I was, what, attractive enough to be a distraction? Because they thought I was fat? What the hell?” Your lip is beginning to tremble again despite the reason being much more closely related to anger than sorrow. “No. I don’t think...” he is struggling because it seems to only just have dawned on him what was happening and what he just inadvertently admitted to. You gasp and cover your mouth as you stare at him, “You decided to hire me? Because I wasn’t a ‘distraction.’ That’s what you just said.” You stare at him, daring him to contradict himself as your stomach descends in a nauseating spiral.  

He closes his eyes and takes a slow, steadying breath in what will run forever in your reels of hot-ass Hongjoong boss moves before he says, very carefully and intently, “I said that is what they wanted me to be there to decide. I was supposed to observe the person’s personality and everything, so it was not just about attractiveness. But that is not why I told them to hire you.” He stares deep into your eyes and waits for you to absorb his words, his eyes willing your brain to accept the meaning behind them. “I did not think you were unattractive. I wasn’t really looking at if you were or not, to be honest. I just saw you. ” Hwa’s words echo in your head, “ He sees you. Something in you speaks to him.”   

You look at him warily, “What did you see in me?” He reaches out to hug you close to him and presses his cheek to your forehead, holding you tightly for a moment before he lightly releases you and holds you just within reach so he can look into your face when he says, “Your eyes were so sad. You seemed happy, but your eyes... they were a different kind of sad. I wondered what had happened to you that would make you want to leave your whole life behind to come be our caretaker. I wanted to know you.” He looks at you now, with the streaming water of the shower framing his earnest face, and you see the poet that lives in his soul looking out at you through his deep, dark eyes. You see the melancholy, old soul who hides behind his gleaming smile, and you reach out to touch his face. He leans into your palm and closes his eyes for a moment before you suddenly laugh, startling him out of his reverie. “Wait, so you heard what I said about ATEEZ, even then.” You clap your palm to your forehead in genuine horror. He laughs, “It was cute. Don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone.” You stop and stare at him, and he suddenly looks sheepish, “Anyone? Who else was in that room or watching that interview?”  

He suddenly looks really guilty and twiddles his fingers a bit awkwardly. He clearly doesn’t want to answer this question, and you almost wish you hadn’t asked it because it really doesn’t matter. You really don’t want to spend your last night together having the conversation turn in this direction. “Our manager was in the room and me. That was all. And I didn’t talk about it in detail with anyone, not even Seonghwa.” Your eyes narrow to slits, despite having just convinced yourself that you don’t care about it, “Which manager?” He cringes and says quietly, “Handsome Manager-Nim.”   

There it is. That son-of-a-bitch.  

“Okay. Well, that makes sense why Wooyoung didn’t trust me. He must have told him what I said.” Hongjoong just looks at you, still looking guilty. You snap yourself out of it. “Okay. That’s enough of that. Did you wash the steak out of my hair, at least?” you ask playfully in an effort to steer the conversation away from any more painful topics. He laughs, “I don’t know. I did my best. You should come closer so I can check.” He pulls you back into him and leans down to kiss you passionately. You take the opportunity to reach around and scrub his back and shoulders with the wash mitt before the water suddenly flickers to cold, causing you both to squeal.  

Hongjoong turns and shuts it off as soon as he’s looked you both over to make sure there are no more visible suds. You laugh and jump out of the shower to hold a towel open for him when he emerges dripping and covered in visible goosebumps from the unexpected chill. You reach out and wrap the towel around him, rubbing him vigorously with your arms while he chatters and shimmies around to get all of the droplets off himself. You kiss the tip of his nose when he looks up at you, his eyes smiling with laughter, and you just want to bite his precious face. You feel a chilled rivulet run down your own back and gasp dramatically before grabbing a towel to wrap your hair and body. He rubs the towel over your arms and legs vigorously, and you laugh and shimmy under his firm hands. “You know, I know a really good way to get warm,” you say to him with a devilish grin. “Oh yeah?” he pauses, rubbing the towel over his head to peer down at you through his wet hair. “Yeah!” you look at him for dramatic emphasis before finally saying, “Go cuddle up with Hwa!!” A wicked cackle escapes your throat, and he looks at you in surprise before he, too, is laughing with a sneaky grin, “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go!”  

Chapter Text

The two of you pick up your mess in the bathroom only to drop the piles of discarded clothing around the bed as you reenter Hongjoong’s room. You tiptoe around to the side of the bed before Hongjoong gestures at you to get into the middle, where he was previously sitting on his laptop, and you scoot in next to Hwa, who has not moved at all, as Hongjoong had predicted. You shimmy down next to him, where he lays curled up on his side toward you, and press your hip next to his groin while reaching out gently to pull his arm over you and placing his palm directly onto your bare breast. He murmurs softly and sounds confused, then concerned. Hongjoong scoots in next to you and reaches over to wrap his arms and legs around you wherever you are not connected to Seonghwa directly. He kisses the nape of your neck and begins nibbling and sucking on your neck and shoulders as you gently try to stir Hwa back to consciousness. 

You lift your head and lean up to place a tender kiss on Seonghwa’s luscious, slightly parted lips. He murmurs again softly, and you feel his palm twitch against your breast. You press your chest against his hand a little harder before pressing your lips to his again, this time sucking lightly on his bottom lip and licking across it before releasing it. He groans lightly and moves his knee to tilt his pelvis closer to your hip as he smacks his lips lightly. You press in again for a deeper kiss, this time pressing your tongue closer to the edge of his lips, though not forcing his mouth to accept it, as you gently rub your lips back and forth across his, and you nuzzle his nose with yours. He hums and tilts his head suddenly to catch your mouth with his as he presses his full lips firmly onto yours. You let out a surprised squeak at the pressure and feel Hongjoong startle behind you, which causes the two of you to start giggling while Hwa begins whining and grumbling, both at having been woken up and then deprived of the kiss he was enjoying. 

You turn back to Hwa to apologize and meet his slender hand, reaching up to the back of your neck as he draws you down to continue your kiss. Hongjoong moans at the sight of Seonghwa’s hand controlling your neck, and he presses his hardness against your naked ass as he watches you and Hwa explore each other’s mouths with your tongues. Hwa, too, presses his hips toward you, and you slide your hand straight down into his pajama pants to feel his excruciating erection flexing against your small hand. You moan into his mouth at the heat of it while you press your ass back toward Hongjoong’s hard cock, as he ruts against your ass and grips your fleshy hip with his palm. He grunts softly as he squeezes your hips and leans over to bite the soft skin on your shoulder where your upper arm begins. You gasp for air in surprise at the sudden pinching sensation, and he takes advantage of your sudden weight shift to slide his lower arm underneath you to wrap around your chest and hold your breast. He flexes his arm to pull you tighter against him as he squeezes your nipple, and you moan headily into Seonghwa’s mouth as his hand reaches over your hip to grope Hongjoong’s ass as he thrusts against you. 

Since Hongjoong has you in a tight hold from behind, Seonghwa gingerly lifts the sheet to slide his body over the top of the two of you, stopping momentarily as he equally straddles your bodies to slide his hard cock out of his pajama pants. Hwa leans down and kisses Hongjoong deeply as he presses his cock between your ass and Hongjoong’s hip. You and Hongjoong release synchronous moans as you feel the heat of Seonghwa’s engorged cock pressing between you. You try to reach behind you to grasp it, but he rolls the rest of the way behind Hongjoong to place his cock between Hongjoong’s ass cheeks and begins to rut against him as Hongjoong is doing to you.  

Hongjoong’s increasing pressure against your ass, in tandem with his breathy moans and groans, have you squirming and panting as you press your ass back toward him. You slide your hand down to your clit and begin to work your fingertips there as you feel desperate for more. Hongjoong feels you shift, and his arm around you senses the flexion of the muscles in your forearm as you pleasure yourself, and he moans into your hair, “Good girl,” which causes you to cry out in surprise and nearly cum at the sound of his voice. You feel Hwa freeze at this, and you giggle self-consciously as Hwa lifts his head up to look at you and Hongjoong as though demanding an explanation. You awkwardly look back at him and see Hongjoong looking over his shoulder at him as well. 

“What was that?” he asks the two of you, his eyes wide and his round lips hinting at a smirk. You continue giggling in embarrassment, and Hongjoong appears unable or unwilling to respond. “What was that?” Hwa says again, this time leaning his top half over in front of the two of you to fully look into your faces. You feel Hongjoong duck down behind your shoulder to avoid his gaze, so you shyly look up at him and reply in a very small voice, “I like it when he tells me I’m a good girl.” Your giggling resumes as soon as the words leave your lips; you feel so very small and silly. Hwa makes a smug, knowing face as he shifts his weight to be able to smack Hongjoong on the shoulder, which startles him, and he blurts out, “What?” 

Seonghwa sits back on his knees and crosses his arms across his chest with a look of amused irritation as he stares down Hongjoong. Hongjoong tries to stop shrinking under his withering stare and props himself up on his elbow to address Seonghwa, “It happened kind of by accident. I didn’t know I would like it until I tried it. But, uh,” he grins devilishly and runs his tongue up his front teeth and sucks in lightly as his wicked smile widens, “I really liked it. And she is a good girl.” You moan again, unconsciously, and then burst into unhinged giggles again. Hwa pouts prettily at Hongjoong, ignoring your rapidly declining sanity in front of him, “Everyone else gets what I want. Why can’t I get what I want?” His pout is the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and all other movement in the room ceases as you and Hongjoong stare at his beautiful face, round eyes, and luscious lips. You feel Hongjoong tense behind you, and you hold your breath in anticipation because you can’t see his face or predict his next move. 

“You want to be a good girl or a good boy for me?” he asks Seonghwa without a trace of condescension. Hwa withdraws his pouty lip, and his eyes brighten as he thinks it over, “I want to be a good boy for you.” You are still holding your breath because you know what is coming next; you can feel it in your marrow. Hongjoong gently slides his arm out from under your head as he rolls away from you and gets up from the bed. He walks over to where Hwa sits on his knees at the end of the bed, and Hwa watches his muscles flex as he pushes his hair back from his eyes. Both of you unconsciously lick your lips as you watch him walk because his beautiful cock is leading the way, and his naked form is so enticing. 

Seonghwa looks up at him nervously when Hongjoong stops to stand in front of where Hwa kneels on the bed. Hongjoong reaches out his upturned hands and takes Seonghwa’s hands in his. He stares deep into Hwa’s eyes as he stands there before finally saying, “Are you sure you want to play this game? There are things you don’t know.” Seonghwa holds Hongjoong’s gaze with his big, round eyes and nods without hesitation. “You promise you will take it seriously? Will you do what you’re told and always be honest with me about how you are feeling? I expect you to tell me when you are not comfortable or don’t want to do something. I expect you to tell me when you want or need something because I may not always know. Will you follow the rules and be a good boy?” Seonghwa moans at this, and his eyelids flutter. You empathize with this reaction on a deeply personal level. Hongjoong waits patiently before saying, “I need to hear you say it.” Hwa looks down at his hands, which rest delicately atop Hongjoong's palms, and whispers, “I want to be a good boy. Yes.” Hongjoong reaches out and raises Seonghwa’s chin to look into his eyes before instructing him, “Good boys say, ‘Yes, Captain.’” Seonghwa shivers, and you can see that he struggles with the urge to lower his head, but with Hongjoong’s hand holding his chin and his inner desire to be good, he manages to keep his head up and say, “Yes, Captain. I want to be good.” Hongjoong nods reassuringly and drops Seonghwa’s chin before he turns to walk back to his place on the bed. Without looking backward, he says as an afterthought, “Take off your clothes.” He slowly sits on the edge of the bed and turns his upper body to watch Seonghwa disrobe. 

You are equally torn between wanting to watch Hongjoong instruct Seonghwa and being delighted to watch Hwa get his wish, as he seems to have held this one close to his heart for a long time. You sigh contentedly, and Hongjoong gently pats your shoulder as the two of you watch Seonghwa remove his shirt and pants. Hwa stares at the floor as he does, and Hongjoong says, “Raise your head so we can see your beautiful face.” You see Hwa shiver as he forces himself to look up, somehow terribly small and vulnerable. He scans Hongjoong’s face for reassurance and glances at yours for safety. You nod and smile at him proudly, and he gives you a tiny smile in return. You roll over and sit up to get closer to Hongjoong, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders but remains seated on the side of the bed out of the covers. You quietly lean against him and sigh contentedly as Hwa carefully sets his clothing aside—a stark contrast from the haphazard piles you and Hongjoong made when the two of you came in from your shower. 

Seonghwa stands there now, completely nude, with his perfect cock at full attention. He appears to be struggling to keep his head up as he stands there; he holds his hands across his erection self-consciously. Hongjoong gives him a small nod and says in a raspy, husky voice, “Good boy.” You see Seonghwa’s entire body quiver, and he gasps lightly at this as he struggles to keep his eyes on Hongjoong. “Move your hands aside and let us see your beautiful body.” Hongjoong’s strong gaze is a dare in itself, challenging Seonghwa to look away. Hwa holds his chin out a little higher, though he bites his lower lip ever so slightly, and as he releases his hands, his full hardness drops out to present itself to the room. You unconsciously moan and say, “Oooh.” Hongjoong pats your thigh and asks, “Do you like that?” You nod eagerly and say, “Yes, Captain!” He nods, and Hwa shivers lightly as if the two of you are scrutinizing him rather than praising him. “Why do you like that?” Hongjoong asks you tenderly, kissing the top of your head without breaking eye contact with Seonghwa.  

“That is my best friend, Captain. I love him. I like everything about him,” you blurt out earnestly, and Hongjoong agrees into your hair. “Mm-hmm. He is magnificent, isn’t he?” “Yes, Captain!” Hwa loses the battle with his shyness and looks down slightly, but Hongjoong doesn’t chide him if he notices. He knows how difficult this is for Hwa and how much he needs it. He releases your shoulders and turns toward Hwa, “Come stand by me where I can touch you.” Hwa walks swiftly over to stand in front of Hongjoong, and you’re fascinated at the opportunity to watch his lean, graceful body glide across the floor as he walks, and his hard cock sways along, unhindered, as he knows better than to cover himself again after being instructed to remove his hands from that area. 

Hongjoong looks up at him with admiration in his eyes, “You really are incredible. You know that, don’t you?” Hwa has to make a visible effort to raise his eyes to meet Hongjoong’s, but he manages it. “I believe it if you say so, Captain.” You smile at this response, but Hongjoong surprises both of you, “I want you to believe it no matter what. I want you to always know it. Can you do that for me?” You watch in rapt fascination as Hwa stammers, “Yes, Captain.”  Hongjoong stands to reach up to him, pulling him down by his graceful neck for a deep kiss. His other arm wraps behind Seonghwa and pulls him close, firmly, as Hwa’s hands tentatively rest on Hongjoong’s hips. You feel a powerful surge of arousal at the sight of them, and you shift your hips as you do your best to remain still and silent. You marvel at the way Hongjoong kisses Hwa, as he clearly is directing the action despite the height difference between them. Seonghwa, for his part, appears to be following Hongjoong’s lead delicately and eagerly, matching the passion of Hongjoong’s kisses. 

After several long minutes, Hongjoong releases Seonghwa’s neck and smacks his lips, looking up at him with dark eyes before he says softly, “Good boy.” Seonghwa utters an incomprehensible sound, and Hongjoong’s arm remains at his waist, holding him fast. You “ahh” softly as you admire the way their bodies fit together in this embrace. You try to make yourself small as you sit in bed, hugging your knees and the sheet draped across your lap, enjoying the view. The energy between them feels less experimental than it did when Hongjoong first said ‘Good girl’ to you; this feels like something deeper is being mended—something is now right with the universe as these two beautiful souls fall into the dance that is most natural for them but was always slightly out-of-step before. You watch, enraptured, as Hongjoong releases Seonghwa and steps back to sit on the bed. 

As Hongjoong sits on the bed, you catch a glimpse of Seonghwa’s naked body as he stands there quivering slightly, his eyes hazy and his dusky cock flexing and displaying the bead of precum that now adorns its perfect tip. You lean toward Hongjoong and nibble at his shoulder before whispering to him, “He’s so pretty, Captain. What are you going to do with him?” He chuckles and turns his head to kiss you deeply, surprising you and almost causing you to lose your balance next to him as you had not shifted enough of your weight to hold you against the ardent pressure of his lips on yours. He pulls back, chuckling, and says with a raspy groan, “I think he wants to be a good boy, so we should see how good he can be.”  

You giggle and nod eagerly at Hongjoong, “Can I please kiss him, Captain?” He looks at you fondly and says, “Yes, you may. But do not touch him. Neither of you may touch each other. Go stand next to him and kiss him.”  You tumble off of the bed and try your best not to skip over to Hwa as he watches you through the hair hanging over his eyes. Hongjoong turns to sit in the center of the bed, resting his back against the headboard with the sheet draped over his nakedness. He relaxes back in a confident pose with one hand up behind his head and one in his lap. He keeps his sharp eye on both of you as he watches to see if you are able to follow his directions. You bound over to stand directly in front of Hwa and stare up at him with an adoring smile on your face. Hongjoong gestures to Hwa to turn to the side so that he can watch the two of you in profile. “Kiss her,” he says to Seonghwa. “Kiss her like you kissed me, but do not touch her,” he adds. Seonghwa looks at Hongjoong nervously before whispering, “Yes, Captain.” You tilt your chin up toward him, careful to keep your hands clasped tight behind your back.  

Seonghwa bends down toward you, taking a slight step back to prevent his leaking, engorged cock from touching you as he leans down to enclose your lips in his. He presses his lips against yours passionately and only pauses there for a moment before licking across your lips with the tip of his tongue as he uses it to press your mouth open. You return his kisses, trying not to pant or moan as desperately as you want to, if only to avoid enticing either of you to fail to follow Hongjoong’s instructions not to touch each other.  

You can feel the wetness increasing between your legs as Seonghwa’s luxurious tongue explores your mouth further than it ever has before. You stifle a moan as you accidentally imagine his long tongue exploring your core. Your hips shimmy unconsciously, and your fingers slip for a moment behind your back. You quickly grasp your own wrist with the opposite hand and hold onto it for dear life. You enjoy the soft, plush feeling of Seonghwa’s voluptuous lips against yours as your tongues dance with each other. His tongue caresses yours in a way that is tender and yearning; the deep connection between you is the undercurrent beneath the increasingly desperate arousal. 

The kisses continue for what seems like forever as you suck and bite at each other’s lips, panting into each other’s mouths and further exciting each other’s neediness. You suddenly realize that Hwa may be waiting for Hongjoong to direct the two of you to stop or do something different, and you silently want to applaud him for this brilliantly obedient move. You press into the kiss even more on your tip toes as you visibly pull back Hwa’s full bottom lip in your teeth and whine at the desperate desire that this raises within you. All you want is to touch and be touched; at this point, you’re struggling not to beg. 

You refocus your mind to remember that being obedient is your ultimate goal, so you continue to pant and lick Seonghwa, returning all of his passion stroke for stroke with your lips. You’re tempted to peek an eye over at Hongjoong, both to check that you are pleasing him and to see what he is doing. You moan lightly as you imagine him sitting there stroking his cock through the sheet as he watches the two of you desperately kiss each other when he must know how much this makes each of you want more. You restrain your desire to steal a glance at him and continue putting all of your energy into kissing Hwa for what seems like ages, your whining and panting becoming more desperate. Your palms are sweating behind you despite standing there naked in the chill of the room. Your body twitches and shivers with the challenge of holding your head at such an angle, unsupported. You can feel Seonghwa’s shuddering as his lips lightly quiver and shake as he continues to kiss you fervently. Your tongue is starting to feel tired, and the kisses are becoming increasingly sloppy and wanton between the two of you. 

As you whine into Hwa’s open mouth and desperately fight your arousal, your hips shuddering, your legs pressed tightly together, Hongjoong suddenly speaks, “You kiss her so well for me. Good boy.” At the sound of this, Hwa whimpers, shudders, and pants, gasping into your mouth, and you feel something hot and wet shoot across your belly and across your mound. Hwa pants and whines apologetically, looking regretful, but Hongjoong says softly, “Oh, that is beautiful. Stop kissing now. Look at what he did for us, my good girl.” You whimper, and your knees shake as you look down at the cum all over your belly. You beam up at Hongjoong as you continue to stand there with your hands clasped behind you. “Come here.” Hongjoong beckons to you, effectively ignoring Hwa as he stands there looking down, with his cock dripping lightly onto the floor in front of him.  

You round the bed to Hongjoong, who gestures for you to climb up next to him. You crawl on your knees over to him to avoid dripping anywhere onto the bed. He lowers his arm from behind his head and wraps it around behind you to grasp your ass firmly before saying to Seonghwa, “Look at what you did for me, good boy.” Hwa whimpers and you see him shiver lightly as he looks up to watch, wide-eyed, as Hongjoong leans over and licks across your lower belly with a proud smile. Hwa lets loose a guttural moan, and you giggle at the ticklish sensation.  

Hongjoong smiles up at you, “Did you like that, my good girl?” “Mm-hmm. Yes, Captain,” you nod proudly, smiling at him with big eyes. Hongjoong leans over again, slowly drags his tongue across your mound, and hums thoughtfully. He quickly turns to Hwa and gestures to him to join the two of you on the other side of him, and Hwa swiftly moves to crawl in next to him. Hongjoong leans over to kiss Seonghwa deeply, causing Hwa to moan desperately, and you see him gripping the sheets in an effort to control himself before you realize what has nearly sent him over the edge again. Hongjoong pulls back, chuckling and smacking his lips before he whispers to Seonghwa, “You are delicious, aren’t you?” Hwa looks down shyly as he says, “Yes, Captain.”  

Hongjoong turns to you, still kneeling beside him, and tells you to lay down on your back in front of him as he pulls his legs out of the way. You carefully move over as he has directed and lay with your legs toward Hwa’s side of the bed. Hongjoong instructs Hwa, “Clean her with your tongue.” You gasp and tremble as Seonghwa says, “Yes, Captain,” and he moves between your legs to lick up your mound and belly. You moan and squirm as you feel his resurrected hardness dragging along your thigh. You look up at Hongjoong, begging with your eyes, as this continues, and your hips flex up toward Hwa’s body uncontrollably. Hongjoong sits there stroking his cock absently through the sheet while he watches Seonghwa licking his own cum off of your body.  

“Good boy,” he says, pausing to give Hwa a moment to compose himself from the involuntary reaction this praise elicits. “Would my good girl like to cum now, too?” You moan and squirm at this as you whine, “Yes, Captain, please.” He chuckles lightly, “Okay. Would my good boy like to make her cum?” Hwa glances down shyly at his dusky, dripping cock hanging down between his legs above you, “Yes, Captain. I want to make her cum, please.” You whine even more at this, rutting your hips against the air as Seonghwa is still on all fours above you. “Can you do as you're told and be a good boy?” Hongjoong looks at him, an eyebrow raised, still passively stroking his bulge through the sheet resting across his lap. 

“Yes, Captain,” Hwa whispers. “Okay. I want you to make her cum with your tongue. You may do anything you wish to her but only use your tongue. I do not want you to cum. Do you understand?” Hongjoong looks at him intently as Hwa considers this. “Yes, Captain,” Hwa nervously responds. Hongjoong continues, addressing you, “I do not want you to cum until I give you permission. Is that clear?” You suppress a whine and respond, “Yes, Captain.” You shiver with anticipation as Seonghwa drops down between your thighs and begins licking up the full length of your slit. You practically buzz with arousal as you’ve already been warmed up for quite some time now. You moan and grip the sheets as he strokes around your clit and presses it from side to side with the strong tip of his tongue. He continues this until your moans become less desperate, and he switches to licking up the length of your slit with his tongue pressed flat and wide against your folds. You whine and twitch at the change of sensations. He repeats this, zigzagging his flattened tongue slightly as he presses up through your slit. You hear Hongjoong breathing a little heavier as he watches this, and you try to tune out anything but the sensations, just waiting to hear his voice giving you permission to orgasm. 

Seonghwa alternates between stroking his flat tongue hard against your folds and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. He sucks and nibbles at it before beginning more intense rhythmic sucking and flicking motions until you are bucking your hips and whining profusely. He, too, seems to be listening for Hongjoong’s voice as he holds you there in moments of desperately close anticipation, then backs down to a different tactic to prevent you from cumming without permission. You cry out in frustration but check yourself as you know you want to be good for your Captain.  

Hwa brings you to the edge once again before sliding his tongue down through your folds and licking around the edges of your desperately dripping core. He licks around your entrance, occasionally slipping his tongue lightly in, barely, and chuckling a little to himself as you gasp and whine and buck toward him when he withdraws. You grit your teeth and flex against the sheets as your clit hurts with the amount of throbbing arousal coursing through it for what now seems like hours. Seonghwa swirls his tongue around the entrance of your core one more time before sliding his long, muscular tongue deep inside your empty pussy. At the sensation, both of you moan deeply, and you buck your hips up in hopes that it will allow him to press his tongue as far inside you as he can. He flicks it around as your pussy spasms, and you pant, desperately trying to hold back until Hongjoong gives you permission. You begin to stutter and beg, “Please, Captain, oh god, please let me cum. Oh fuck. Please... Captain...” You whine desperately, wanting to be good and yet becoming quite fearful of your ability to win the battle between your will and the powerful orgasm threatening to unleash. 

Hongjoong watches you with a fond, sanguine look as you struggle and try to buck your hips away from Seonghwa’s powerful tongue. He leans toward you curiously as you continue to whine and fight the sensations. He looks deep into your eyes as he reaches over, cupping both of your full breasts in his hands and positioning the finger and thumb of each hand around each of your flushed nipples. He holds your gaze and begins to squeeze them firmly as he says, “Cum for me, my good girl.”  

The rushing explosion of pleasure and spasms from your core are only eclipsed by the sound of the moaning and panting that issues from your mouth as your vision blacks out, and you shake all over as the orgasm rips through you. Hwa chuckles lightly as he attempts to pry himself loose from your convulsing thighs. Hongjoong sits back on his knees with his palms resting on his quads, looking down at you proudly as his impressive erection sits neglected in the shadow of his torso. He smiles down at you and says, “Good girl. You look so pretty when you cum for me.” You gasp and shudder as the seemingly ceaseless aftershocks rush over you.  

Hongjoong turns toward Seonghwa and says, “You were a good boy for me.” Hwa whimpers involuntarily and says, “Thank you, Captain.” He tilts Hwa’s chin up to gaze into his eyes and leans over to kiss him deeply, moaning at the taste of your wetness that coats Hwa’s full lips and tongue. You lay there watching the two of them kissing aggressively without regard to sound or the appearance of their open mouths, searching tongues, and panting moans. Their unrestrained passion plays out before you as you look on in reverence. You shimmy your hips as a sudden awareness of the emptiness of your core makes your ungrateful pussy forget its near obliteration only moments ago. You watch as both of their erections flex uselessly in their laps, and your body begs for their attention.  

Hongjoong is the first to break the kiss, and perhaps understandably so, as he’s the only one of the three of you who has yet to cum once tonight. You and Hwa both look to him eagerly to await your next instructions. Hongjoong says something to Hwa in Korean, and Hwa moves to retrieve a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Hongjoong lays down on his back, perpendicular to the side of the bed, before turning to take the lube from Hwa’s outstretched palm. He generously coats his angry erection before gesturing to you to come straddle him. You move to seat yourself above him, and he holds his hard cock at the base so that you can lower yourself over it. You both pant and moan as you feel him fill you up before he hands the lube back to Seonghwa and says something else to him that makes Hwa gasp. You hear him open and close the lube behind you as Hongjoong reaches up to pull you toward him, and you lean down to rest on his bare chest, feeling his cock twitch inside your pussy before a feeling of pressure behind you makes you jump slightly.  

You glance over your shoulder to see Seonghwa stepping up between your legs, and Hongjoong slides slightly further toward the edge of the bed to allow Hwa to straddle his thighs as he steps up to press his perfect cock alongside Hongjoong’s at your entrance. You gasp and whine at the incredible arousal this sets off as you imagine yourself stretched doubly so by both of their exquisite cocks at once. You gasp and utter unintelligible phrases between begging for them to hurry and thanking Hongjoong for his generosity. He holds you fast and gently shushes you to relax so that Seonghwa can actually enter you, and you do your best to go completely slack in his arms.  

The burning stretch and exquisite fullness of having both of their cocks buried in you at once has you nearly exploding with desire. You pant and gasp with pleasure before suddenly worrying that you will need to wait until given permission to cum. You stare down at Hongjoong in alarm, who meets your gaze with a chuckle as though reading your mind, “You can cum as soon as and as many times as you need to. You’ve done so well. My good girl.” At this, you squeeze your muscles hard around them and moan gratefully as Seonghwa grabs your hips and begins sliding in and out of you very slowly. You immediately have to stifle your desperate, wanton moans as they threaten to be well above the acceptable noise limit that seems to be unspoken around the dorm—with special exceptions, of course.  

You lean onto Hongjoong’s chest and try to maintain the ideal position of your hips in order to keep both of their cocks inside of you as Seonghwa drives the thrusting. You pant and gasp as the incredible feeling of fullness gradually builds to increasing waves of pleasure. You watch as Hongjoong’s face mirrors your ecstasy as he gazes between you and Seonghwa, his pupils blown and his own hips flexing up to thrust into you in tandem with Seonghwa. You gasp as he grabs your ass tight and squeezes it, and you feel yourself rapidly approaching your orgasm.  

You begin to pant and cry out loudly as the orgasm hits you like a bomb. You collapse onto Jjoongie’s chest, moaning as you feel Seonghwa slow his pace, still holding your hips in his capable hands as he apparently waits for further directions. Hongjoong looks around your shoulder to see Hwa and says gently, “Keep going until I tell you to stop.” Seonghwa resumes his thrusting, gradually increasing his pace until it matches what it was when you climaxed. You moan at the continued stretch and burning of the sensation of being completely stuffed by their two rigid cocks. You reach up to gently tweak Hongjoong’s nipples and find that you can easily lick one of them if you move your head just so. You work on his nipples as he moans and flexes under you; he, too, seems well on his way to a climax soon.  

Hongjoong reaches up and pulls your arms around behind your back, pinning them there as he wraps his arms around you. As he flexes his abs to hold onto you, his cock presses further into you on Seonghwa’s next thrust. You cry out at the pleasure of the fullness and the comfort of having your arms restrained by Hongjoong’s embrace. Hongjoong pants and moans at the sound of your vocalizations and the intense feeling he is getting from the tightness and pressure against Hwa’s cock inside you. He grips you tightly and pants as Seonghwa thrusts rapidly to aid him in reaching his peak. He somehow manages, through his gasping shudders, to catch Hwa’s eye and say, “Cum for me, good boy.” Immediately, Seonghwa moans desperately through a few more thrusts as he grunts and pants, filling up your core with his appreciation. You surprise them both by cumming along with him as your brain apparently didn’t differentiate between Hongjoong saying ‘good boy’ rather than ‘good girl’ as he directed Hwa to cut loose. You pant and watch hazily as Hongjoong thrusts into you a couple more times and shivers, clearly spent—though you are hard-pressed to guess when exactly he came during all of that action. You shimmy your hips and hum, waiting for Seonghwa to slide out first so that you can lean up and kiss Hongjoong gratefully.  

You stare up at Hongjoong’s face with adoration; he chuckles down at you and kisses the top of your head before dropping his head back on the mattress with a satisfied sigh. You shimmy your hips and gently raise yourself up part way off of him, waiting until you feel Seonghwa behind you with a soft towel ready to catch Hongjoong’s dick and clean him off before his softening cock lays against his bare skin. You nod your thanks at Hwa as you shuffle over to retrieve your towel and clean yourself off before slipping your panties on to prevent a larger mess from escaping you. Hongjoong hasn’t moved since Hwa cleaned him up, and you see that he is lightly snoring where he lies draped over the edge of the bed, stark naked. You glance over at Hwa, who is also surveying the situation. The two of you gently tug Hongjoong’s shoulders and encourage him to slide back up to the head of the bed, where he grumbles and crawls under the sheets you hold up for him. You stubbornly defend your place in the middle, however, and when your two dearest loves are nestled up against you, each holding you with their head or their hand across your breast, you sigh heavily and fall into a black dream.  

The sudden pounding of someone’s fist on the bedroom door startles all three of you from your perfect slumber. It isn’t until the door flies open and Yunho comes in, already yelling something in Korean, that you recognize “Hongjoong” and “Seonghwa” in the explosion of words issuing from him in a panicked rush. He stops mid-rant as all three of you sit up in a row, equally confused, hair mussed, and not a shred of clothing between the three of you. Seonghwa seems to be the first to fully grasp the implications of the situation as he jumps up to grab his clothes and dash toward the shower. You rub your eyes and look up at Yunho, whose blazing red ears could now light Santa’s way better than Rudolph ever could as he laughs and coughs, unsure what to do or say as he’s caught quite a bit more of an eyeful than he bargained for this morning. You smile at him sweetly, knowing full well he’s seen it all already; when you wink at him brazenly, he nods at Hongjoong and says to you, “Get him up!” before slipping out and closing the door. You laugh and turn to Hongjoong who is still muttering, even though he’s sat up, and he seems genuinely confused. You realize that you and Hwa both had several hours more sleep last night because Jjoongie was working on his computer while the two of you dozed beside him.  

Poor guy. He can sleep on the plane, though.  

You kiss his forehead and then shake him lightly. “Jjoongie, you have to go get ready. We slept late.” He stares blankly and mutters something unintelligible. You hate to do it, but you say loudly, “Airport!” As you expected, this causes him to jump and releases the necessary amount of adrenaline he needs to actually move his adorable ass. He fumbles around for his phone and curses when he realizes its battery is dead. 

That explains the lack of an alarm.  

You look at him sympathetically, grateful, for his sake, that you showered last night so all he needs to do is get his things and go. You shuffle him out of bed and look around for your own clothes to dash back to your room and then try to make yourself useful however you can. You have to put on the towel from last night’s shower because there’s no way you’re gonna do a full walk of shame wearing your clothes from yesterday that you cooked all day in. You almost run straight into Mingi and nearly drop your towel in the process of bolting toward your room. You’d have half a mind to flash him, just for fun, if you didn’t see Handsome Manager-Nim down the hall with his back turned, talking to someone in the living room. You laugh and dash around Mingi to your room where you hurry to put on some cargo sweats and a random hoodie. You throw your wild hair into a ponytail and head back to Hongjoong’s room to see what you can do to help. You know Hwa is likely already packed, so you figure you’ll go where you can be most helpful.  

As expected, Hongjoong is basically wandering in confused circles as he tries to remember what he still needs to do and locate all of the items he wants to bring. You ask him if he has a toiletries bag, and he throws you a lavish shaving kit in a leather bag. You dash to the bathroom and toss in all of the items you know belong to him that you’re pretty sure he uses on a regular basis. You return to his room to give him a quick glance at the contents before chucking it into one of his suitcases. You go to the closet and start rifling through, holding out items and letting him say “Yes” or “No” before tucking them into a pile or hanging them back in the closet.  

The two of you manage to get him all packed, and you dash around the room once more to make sure you have included all of his chargers and everything. You look up at him, face flushed, eyes wild, hair wilder, and you can’t help but laugh until your eyes fill with tears.  

This dear man. It’s not even his fault he’s late this time, but you know they’ll never let him live it down.  

He startles at the sound of your laughter, and he, too, begins to laugh. You reach over and hug him so tight as you sniffle and laugh. He presses you tight to his chest, and the two of you indulge in the hug a little longer than you have any right to, given how behind he is at the moment. You look up at him at the same time as he looks down toward you for a kiss. You try to savor every millisecond of that kiss and the feeling of him. You shimmy up against him and hum before pulling back quickly and asking him, “Passport?” with a silly grin. He looks wide-eyed with alarm and then immediately relaxes before he says, “Manager.” You sigh with relief and kiss his jaw before jumping to help drag whatever you can down the hallway. You nonchalantly slide the case in the queue with all of the others piled in the entryway before slipping into the kitchen and puttering around, seeing that there are a few short minutes left until the vans are supposed to arrive to pick the boys up and carry them off toward the tour that will be so much bigger than all of the previous tours. Your sadness is tempered by the immense pride of knowing how much this tour means to them and how much they are looking forward to the incredible venues and bigger stages they’ve lined up. 

A couple of the boys ask for protein shakes or smoothies, so you’re grateful to have something to do as you don’t like watching the clock countdown until you’re completely alone again. You know you’ll be watching the clock for their flight’s departure and arrival times and probably still holding your breath until one of them texts that they’ve arrived safely at the first hotel. You can’t dwell on it now, so you do your best to just send them off with a delicious breakfast and some snacks for the road. You listen as they tease and joke with the managers while they wait for the staff and vans to arrive and load up.  

Seonghwa emerges, perfectly composed and trailing his well-packed cases behind him. You smile at him, trying your best to look confident and peaceful, and he nods at you half-heartedly in the distracted, disconnected manner he resorts to when his mind is far away. You know he’s probably trying to ensure he’s remembered everything in an effort to keep his mind from wandering to what anyone is thinking about you all being late this morning, worrying about how much he’ll miss you, and replaying what happened last night. You realize, with a pang of regret, that he might have needed additional time to process everything that happened last night, and you feel terrible that there just isn’t time for that. You make a mental note to text Jjoongie to check in with Hwa about it the first chance he gets. You hope he won’t find it impertinent of you to make such a recommendation, but you figure he’s got six weeks to decide how to feel about it if it does offend him somehow. And Hwa is too important to you to worry about shit like that. Hwa is worth the risk. 

The elevator dings, pulling you from your mental risk and reward assessment. You gasp suddenly as you realize what that sound means, and you feel your stomach drop. You try holding your breath and busying yourself with the dishes before just turning and staring at the doorway of your kitchen blankly, as you know that in only a few minutes, the deafening silence that settles over the second floor will remain for the next six weeks. Your lower lip starts to wobble, and you suck it in, holding it pressed hard against your teeth. Hongjoong dashes in throws his arms around you and rocks you around in a slow circle as he tuts at you. “I will see you soon,” he says sweetly, lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “You’ll see; it will go by fast. I promise.” He kisses you ever so sweetly before hugging you tight and saying, “사랑해  (Salanghae).“ into your ear. You sigh, squeezing him back and kissing his neck right where his adorable little mole is, and say, “I love you, too. Be safe. Have fun. Take your vitamins.” He smirks at this and pouts, “I will,” he says as he wrinkles up his nose at you. He reaches down and smacks your ass before giving you one last look and then dashes around the corner to join the rest of your boys as they go conquer the whole wide world.  

Chapter Text

 You stand in the middle of your kitchen, frozen in place, as you hear the elevator door close, and the suffocating silence descends upon you. You stare, afraid to move or think, as you wait for any sign of any other movement or chance that the elevator will return and someone—Mingi or Yunho, perhaps—will dash out yelling, “We forgot something really important!” and someone else—Seonghwa or San—will be right behind them and yell, “Yeah! We forgot YOU!” You manage a wry, dejected chuckle at your own stupidity before your traitorous lower lip begins to tremble, and you can tell by just how far it’s sticking out that you’re not going to be able to fight it back this time. You quickly toss everything on the counters around you into the sink, dishwasher, or garbage and turn to run straight to your room with every intention of throwing yourself dramatically across your bed and crying until you throw up or pass the fuck out. 

 But as you approach the end of the hallway, you see that the door to Hongjoong’s room is still open, and without any thought, you run straight into his room instead of your own. You crawl up into his bed and wrestle the sheets out from under yourself. You pull the blankets up around you, wrap your arms around his pillow as you hug it to your chest, and shudder a couple of times before your greedy inhales of his scent from his pillow force your spasming lungs to calm. You realize you just accidentally practiced some deep breathing techniques and prevented the epic meltdown that seemed inevitable only moments before. You desperately breathe in his scent on the pillow again and find yourself drifting off to sleep almost instantly.  

 When you wake, it’s already dark outside, and you quickly check your phone to see that you, too, failed to charge your phone last night. Your heart jumps to your throat, and you hurry to your room to plug it in and wait, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet, for it to charge enough to turn back on and tell you if you have any missed messages or calls. You silently beg the universe that you actually don’t have any missed calls because you’d hate to know that someone was waiting to hear from you. You also grab your earbuds and jam them in your ears to at least muffle some of the silence of the empty dorm around you when your phone comes back on. You scoot down to the living room in your socks to turn on the lights in the kitchen and living room, knowing darn well that you’ll just curl up and stay in Jjoongie’s bed if you don’t at least make an effort to go down to the kitchen—this is a win-win: something to do while your phone boots up and a reason to go back down there later.  

 You get back to your phone, see that it’s powered on, and tap your earbud to start up “Man on Fire” on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You yell in frustration when the notification vibrations keep popping up for what seems like several minutes. You plop down on the floor to keep it plugged in while you unlock your screen with shaking hands and quickly open your notifications. You had figured the boys would have no way of contacting you when they were in the air because of “airplane mode,” but you didn’t realize they could still message you through the translation app when on the airline’s wifi. You quickly scroll to see that Hwa sent you the most messages, followed by several from Hongjoong, two from Jongho, and one, surprisingly, from Wooyoung. 

 You quickly open Hongjoong’s messages: 

  캡틴❤️‍🔥:    

Have a good day! I love you!  

_________________________________  

캡틴❤️‍🔥:    

I took my vitamins. 😁💞  

_________________________________  

캡틴❤️‍🔥:    

I miss you already.  

_________________________________  

You give a shuddering sigh and quickly text him back: 

I miss you already too. I took a nap. I love you.   

Have fun! Be safe! Good job with the vitamins!   

I’m so proud of you. ❤️🌟❤️🌟❤️  

[Send] 

When you open Hwa’s messages, the first thing you see is a picture of Hongjoong fast asleep in a chair in the special VIP airport lounge where they were waiting to board the plane. He looks adorable, as it appears all of the other members have piled all of their coats on top of him like he’s a spare bed at a house party. Hongjoong looks dead to the world with his headphones on and his head lolled off to the side. He adorably has his phone defying gravity as it appears to hang from his palm without falling, and you wonder which of his texts he sent before he fell asleep like this. Your raw heart tingles with warmth at this thought, and you open Hwa’s next text: 

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:  

 
Little Star⭐ do not be sad. I am so glad I have you to miss. 

I will send you pretty pictures. Please send me some too.  

I love you beyond the moon.  

_________________________________  

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:  

I hope you are sleeping. Everyone on the plane is fast asleep.  

I am thinking of last night. I am so amazed by everything.  

You have changed my world.  

I love you forever.  

_________________________________  

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:  

(another picture of Hongjoong asleep; this time on the plane)   

Our Captain 🩶🥰  

_________________________________  

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:  

I think we wore him out. 😴🤫🙂‍↕️🫢😏😘  

_________________________________  

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:  

I keep thinking about last night.  

I am not sure what to think.  

Did I do a good job? I feel embarrassed.  

I wish I could talk to you. 🥺  

I hope I didn’t make him disappointed in me.  

I don’t know why I think that.  

He didn’t say anything.  

I just feel so unsure. 😥  

I feel uneasy. 😔  

I miss you so much and it makes my eyes sting. 😢  

I’m probably too tired for such thoughts.  

I’m sorry to bother you with this.  

You are probably having enough feelings right now.  

Please forget about it.  

I’ll be okay. I’m just tired. 😴  

I love you 🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶  

_________________________________  

You curse and quickly reply: 

  
I am so sorry! I fell asleep right after you left. 

I was trying too hard not to be sad.   

Apparently, the only way to not be sad was to be asleep. 🥺  

You are okay!   

I know a little of how you are feeling, and  

I know that it can be hard to ask for more reassurance.  

If you want me to tell him to check in with you, I will.  

But I can definitely tell you that you were AMAZING😍  

And you have nothing to be ashamed of or worried about.  

The best thing about you is how you try and how much you care.  

I’m constantly in awe of you and your precious heart. 🩶🌟🩶  

You are my favorite and my best.  

I love you past the whole universe, Dear One.  

I miss you tons already. 😢😔  

Please send me lots of pretty pictures.  

I can’t wait for you to meet my mom and Bestie.   

I hope you have a wonderful time, and I can’t wait   

to get a hug when I see you next. 🩶  

[Send] 

You glance at the clock to see that they should be landing soon. Hopefully, Hwa has fallen asleep and will not be sitting there, among all his sleeping members, ruminating about any perceived failures from last night. For all the things in your life you may not know, you’re certain he was completely perfect last night. The arousal awakening in your core from just thinking about it reminds you that you should probably take a shower. But if you keep thinking about last night, it’s gonna need to be a cold shower. You scroll down to read Jongho’s messages: 

Buff K-drama Buff 💪🎬 / Main Vocalist🎶:  

I didn’t get to say goodbye before we left.  

If I order something for our friend,  

can I have them send it to the dorm and would you   

be willing to deliver it?  

_________________________________  

Buff K-drama Buff 💪🎬 / Main Vocalist🎶:  

Thank you again for introducing us.  

I’d say you’re an angel, but the walls are too thin. 😈  

_________________________________  

He’s not wrong there.   

What do you want me to deliver?  

It’s not alive, is it?  

[Send] 

Your finger hovers over Wooyoung’s message, feeling slightly less guarded and definitely less brave than you felt yesterday. You take a deep breath and open the message: 

Jung Wooyoung:  

Thank you again for dinner and the beautiful knife!  

I would like to learn how to use it properly and   

whatever else you want to teach me.   

What do I need to start learning?  

Tell me what to get, and I’ll buy it online when we have downtime. 😎  

__________________________________  

You stare at the message because it’s still weird that he’s even messaging you, despite this being the exact outcome you were hoping for all along with your whole kitchen throwdown plan. It’s pretty fucking adorable that he texted you before their plane even left the ground, though. He must really be thinking about things he wants to learn to cook.  

You are so welcome. I’m glad you want to learn!  

I will teach you basic cooking techniques and knife skills  

first. You won’t need anything for that, but there are   

some books you might find helpful. I’ll send you a list or you   

can send me links to books you think you might like,  

 and I’ll tell you which ones I think might work best.  

Have a great tour and we’ll talk when you get back!  

[Send] 

‘Treasure- Smoothing Harmonies Mix’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you set your phone down and stare across your room at the little lights illuminating your painting on the desk with the open curtains showing a sliver of the moon from behind. You sigh and groan, standing up laboriously before you decide to go take a nice, long shower and put on some of your comfy joggers to wear while you try to plan your week and rewatch something old and familiar on Netflix. When you get out of the shower, you have a message from Hongjoong. 

캡틴❤️‍🔥:   

(picture of the tinted window of a van with a heart drawn in fog on the glass)  

We just landed safely. Going to hotel now.  

________________________________  

Before you can respond, another comes through from Seonghwa that warms your lonely heart, and you are relieved that you can at least cross one worry off of your list. Hopefully, your two lovers can take good care of each other in your absence. At least you know Hwa will watch out for Jjoongie; you cross your fingers that this new dynamic will help Jjoongie remember to keep a better eye on Hwa, too.  

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:  

I talked to him. 🥹  

He had management change our rooms to share   

a door so that we can talk easily. 🥰  

He said I was very good, and that it was good  

that I am telling him how I feel, just like he  

told me to. I feel so relieved now.😚  

________________________________  

Oh, Dear One, I’m so glad.🥹   

Please get some rest.   

I love you so much! 🩶🌟🩶  

[Send] 

You quickly follow up on Hongjoong’s message as well to avoid inadvertently forgetting about it later. You run back to the bathroom to fog up the mirror a bit and send him a matching heart back, only yours has the reflection of your naked torso in it, though the fog obscures all but the small part of you reflected in the outline of the heart, so he’ll have to fill in the rest with his imagination. 

I’m so glad you’re back on Earth.🛬  

I’m excited for you all! You’re going to have fun! 💞  

I’m getting some work done. I’ll try to message before I go to bed. 😘  

[Send] 

You finish putting on your favorite sweats and pull your tour hoodie from the deep, dark recesses of your wardrobe, and shuffle out to the kitchen. With a bottle of tea and a big bowl of frozen grapes, you head for the couch and start up Netflix to find something to watch while you plan out your week. You scroll and scoff, starting and stopping several shows as nothing feels right. You see “Vincenzo” on your list of recommendations, which makes you giggle as you remember one of Jongho’s impressions from one of the boys’ variety shows. You hit play, knowing that you’ll probably miss half of the dialog as you attempt to make yourself a to-do list, but you’re not overly invested in having something to watch as much as you are trying to find some form of background noise to keep the soul-crushing silence at bay.  

You munch on your frozen grapes and try to think of what you need to do in the next two weeks. If you can get things deep cleaned, like the fridge, the laundry, and the floors, this week, then next week can be planning for when the boys get home and packing for your trip. You would like to get a few things at Hongdae to bring home for Mom and Bestie. You are starting to realize how much you appreciate Hongjoong suggesting this little vacation in the middle of the tour because you might have been reduced to some sort of Gollum-type creature without sufficient human interaction or motivation to maintain proper hygiene for six whole weeks. This way, you get to see your family and have a little ‘me time’ without all of the pressures of living with others and having to monitor other people’s needs and feelings all the time. You also will be glad to get back a couple of weeks before the boys get home, which will be plenty of time to have everything completely ready for them.  

You also send Wooyoung a couple of links to culinary textbooks that you remember being impressed by when your excited culinary student employees brought their books in, and you got to thumb through them. You were relieved to find out that at least one textbook, ‘The Professional Chef,’ is available translated into Korean. You glance up from your phone and blink hard, noticing a slight burn in your eyes. Your eyes seem drier than usual, which may be due to the number of times you’ve teared up in the last forty-eight hours, or it might be that you’ve been staring at your phone and your list for too long, and you should call it a night and go to bed. You casually glance at the TV only to realize that you have no idea what’s going on in the show; you haven’t even been paying enough attention to know who’s who. You cluck your tongue in annoyance and shut off the TV before gathering up your empty grape bowl, a half-full bottle of tea, a pile of notepapers, and phone. The walk down the hallway to your room seems so much longer than usual without Hwa there to cuddle up to. You almost wish the boys had a dog or a cat or something. You make a mental note to give Hongjoong your biggest, cutest pout and ask him about it when he gets home. You send him a quick text goodnight and plug in your earbuds before you decide to bring your charger with you. You toss your lists onto your bed before swiping your pillow from the bed and shuffling straight into Hongjoong’s room without any shame. You curl up in the center of his big bed like a small child, pull his pillow back to your chest, and fall into a dreamless sleep.  

You wake to a message from Jongho: 

Buff K-drama Buff 💪🎬 / Main Vocalist🎶:  

I was thinking something more along the lines of a bouquet of flowers,   

but what would you suggest?  

Does a Venus Flytrap count as alive? 🪰🪴  

Does that mean you’ll help me out?  

_________________________________  

You groan and roll over to try to disentangle yourself from the nest of blankets you created in your desperate desire for security and comfort. You stumble out to the bathroom to brush your teeth and try to wake up enough to come up with a witty retort for Jongho. The boys will be rehearsing today and early tomorrow morning before their first show tomorrow night. You sigh, and your stomach does a flip, remembering the excitement of your first ATEEZ show. You now feel nervous for your boys, as you know how hard they’ve worked for this and how much they care about their performance quality. Of course, you have no worries about whether or not they’ll absolutely deliver. Still, there’s always the realistic concern that illness or injury could befall any of them, and you want them to have an amazing, if not uneventful, tour. 

The schedule for you, at this point, is rather inconsequential other than picking up your order at KQ and following a reasonable timeline to get things done. You figure you’ll allow your natural night owl tendencies to take over and hopefully shift your sleep schedule a bit over the next two weeks before you fly home and have to adjust to the extreme time change. You shuffle back to your bedroom to get your lists and put your earbuds in. “Ice On My Teeth- TELL ME BYE Version” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist as you slide down to the kitchen to get some caffeine into your brain before you even look at your prep list for the day.  

Chapter Text

‘Take Me Home’ cues up on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. Somehow you manage to numbly stumble through the next two weeks like a zombie by planning your trip home to visit your mom and Bestie, and, of course, to take the two of them to watch your darling boys kick ass and take names in your local arena as the mid-point of their six-week tour. You’ve lived with their voices in your head as you keep your earbuds in every waking moment to avoid the crushing silence around the dorm and the violent din of your brain gremlins trying desperately, in vain, to contradict all of the endorphins you’ve bathed your cortex in during the amazing week before your ATEEZ left.  

But you’ve had some pretty positive, life-altering shit go down in the recent weeks, and nothing short of a complete override of your memories would allow your nasty, self-deprecating fears to win out over the flood of joy that regularly unleashes at the thought of the moments you’ve shared with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You have also enjoyed some serious ego-boosting, hot-as-fuck moments with San, Yeosang, Mingi, and Yunho. You’ve restored peace with Wooyoung, though you’ll chalk that one up as a draw since you’re not sure how it will all play out over time. You gave him a beautiful knife; now, your main hope is that he doesn’t use it to stab you in the back later—metaphorically or literally.  

Even with the memory banks full of ‘w’s, the other thing that keeps you walking on sunshine is the steady trickle of adorable texts and pictures from the boys’ tour travels. The absurd candids are always your favorite; much more true-to-life than their lovely but too tidy edited photos that they post on IG. You love seeing the silly things they do together or to each other, the funny things that happen, or the odd things that they notice from their unique perspective as global performers in foreign cities. Your precious, goofy boys always bring a huge smile to your face just the fact that their messages tell you they’re thinking of you, even in the abundance of other experiences they are having. They still want to share this with you. And it stops your disbelieving heart every time the realization washes over you in a fresh rush of warm fuzzies. 

You lean your head against the cold of the van window as the driver winds you down the manicured approach to the airport. Your breath lightly fogs against the chilly window, and you pull back self-consciously as you realize you’ve left a slight smudge of foundation on the window of the van. ‘Wave’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you smile as you recall Jjoongie’s picture of the heart on the window that he sent to you when they landed in their first city on the tour. You’re oddly calm about the idea of visiting with your mom and going to see the show. When you think about your previous ATEEZ concert experiences, you were positively vibrating with nerves in the week leading up to the show. Even the idea of having to spend the week with your mom, which, to you, means reassuring her that you are doing well, regaling her with witty and humorous hyperbole and tales of the adventures you’ve had, which hopefully leave her laughing. You’d have to edit your conversations and make sure you leave out any details that might cause her to worry unnecessarily. Frankly, this level of performance is usually exhausting, which is why the two of you generally only got together a couple of times a month before you moved. Now that you’ve had some time and distance from it, you realize that it was probably just as stressful for your mom as it was for you, given how much she is prone to worry about you and how much, if you’re honest, your behavior probably warranted that level of hypervigilance on her part. 

You have so much more going for you now, yet you feel even less of a need to prove yourself to anyone at this point because you are content. You don’t feel the need to know whether or not if they agree that you’re doing well; you know it in your bones. ‘Star 1117 – BUDDY'S Melodic Mix’ comes on your playlist, and the tears that now shrink-wrap your eyes are the tears of joy that you’ve always heard about but had never experienced in such quantities until very recently. You pat your jacket to feel your sling bag and verify that your passport is nestled safely within it. A sudden lurching deceleration brings your awareness back to the immediate next step for you, which is having to navigate the airport situation in reverse, with only the translation app and your unsinkable positivity to carry you through. You snort back a laugh and lightly choke on the lingering tears trickling into your sinuses from your earlier sentimentality. The driver glances over his shoulder at you as he pulls up to the curb and nods politely as he quickly gets out to assist you with your bags.  

You’ve stopped being a complete pain in the ass about handling your luggage; you realize it’s just as weird to accept no help and force them to stand there awkwardly watching you struggle as it is to just let them help you and be free of the unwanted audience in half the time. The driver gingerly lowers your bag to the sidewalk as you flip your carry-on strap over your head across your body smoothly and mentally pat yourself on the back for the boss move as you immediately trip over the curb in your next suave motion. Laughing at yourself, you turn and thank the driver, and he kindly dashes away rather than lingering to watch whatever happens next in your act.  

You really are a pile of ADHD symptoms in a trench coat cleverly disguised as a functioning adult.  

Your memory of the arrival to Seoul provides you with very little insight into the departure side of things. You shudder a little as you walk through the double automatic doors and wonder if they’re the very same doors your boys so often have to line up in front of to have thousands of flashes and cameras directly in their faces as they depart to wherever they are headed. You always found those videos cringe, though you’ll be the first to admit that you always felt better knowing when they’d landed safely on either end of their trips. Still, there are plenty of ways that could be accomplished without the invasive filming and following that usually takes place when the boys travel. 

You shuffle along and look for signage to indicate your gates and the customs and security process. Much to your relief, there appear to be some multilingual signs that convey the main information about the airport, along with the universal picture icons. As you’re traveling toward your home country, in this case, you notice there are dual languages on most of your airline’s postings, so it is much easier to identify if you are heading in the right direction. Completely out of character, you swing by a small shop and grab some ramyeon on the way to the gate because you don’t want to miss the chance. You figure you can inhale it before you get on the plane, and, with any luck, having a belly full of warm soup and noodles will help you sleep the majority of the dozen-hour flight. You’ve worked hard to retrain your sleep schedule so that you’ll be pretty much back on your home time because you know the boys will also have acclimated, and you certainly don’t dare navigate the concert scene under the influence of jet lag. Of course, you’re getting the ultimate VIP situation, but you don’t want to press your luck, especially while you’re wrangling your mom and Bestie to boot. 

The flight arrives without incident—crowding, noise, and regular air travel woes notwithstanding. You retrieve your baggage and stumble out into the chilly air to look for Bestie’s partner’s truck, but you don’t have to look hard because a shrill shriek alerts you as you look to see her leaning her lanky frame out of his passenger window and flailing her long arms wildly as she grins from ear-to-ear at you. You can just see him smile awkwardly and roll his eyes as he tries to navigate the traffic to bring the truck closer to where you stand, disheveled and slightly swampy from the long flight.  

Bestie barely waits for the truck to come to a complete stop, and you suspect her partner made a split-second decision to let it roll a little further rather than coming to a stop too quickly and dumping his true love onto the sidewalk in a deranged heap as she still hasn’t stopped shrieking yet. She rushes up to you and throws her arms around you, knocking your suitcase handles out of your grip as she hugs you fiercely, and you attempt to return her wild embrace while laughing good-naturedly at her unhinged enthusiasm. She pulls back from you and stares at you with astonishment as you smile up at her serenely in comparison. Bestie cocks her head to the side and looks at you, perplexed by your unusually calm demeanor. Her shrieks have faded to curious noises of confusion, which causes you to laugh a little, sympathetically, as you reach down to retract your suitcase handles and assist her partner in tossing your bags into the back of the truck.  

She is still staring at you, and you can’t help but wonder if she expected you to divulge every single moment of your time with ATEEZ so far while the three of you are still standing on the sidewalk at the airport. You tut at her and pat her shoulder lightly, saying, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything after I can change my clothes and eat something that isn’t deep-fried or made almost entirely out of sodium, okay?” She rolls her eyes and agrees, “Okay. Okay. Let’s go home!” She still can’t act as chill as she’s trying to be, and a small squeal escapes despite her best efforts. You and her partner share a knowing look, and you laugh as you fold yourself into the backseat and heave a sigh of relief to be in a comfortably uncomfortable, familiar place. You also realize, with an odd sensation of surprise, that you don’t need the translation app here, yet you feel almost untethered without it. You absently hold your work phone in your lap like a security blanket as the airport becomes smaller out of the window as the truck speeds down the road toward their home. You quickly think to snap a picture of your hand in front of the window making a finger heart to send to Jjoongie to let him know that you are once again on the same continent. Now you feel the excitement whirl beneath your ribs as you suppress your own nervous squeal; you are tempted to feel a tiny bit guilty that you don’t have that level of excitement with Bestie, but you know damn well that once you’ve shared literally any tidbit from the last several months, she will completely understand. 

You’ve been wrestling with how much to share with her, honestly, and you’re still uneasy because you had hoped to have come to some sort of decision before you got here. Sadly, it wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, and you’re still undecided. You didn’t ask Hongjoong or Seonghwa because you didn’t want to risk it coming across like you were asking permission to kiss and tell. You also are more concerned about their feelings than any NDA you signed; of course, legal ramifications should matter, but their well-being matters so much more to you. Besides, there’s plenty of suspense and drama throughout the tale without spilling anything too terribly personal. She knows that Hongjoong invited her to the concert with you, so at least she knows you have developed some level of friendship there. It’s certainly not worth risking anything you have built with him just for bragging rights. Ultimately, it occurs to you now that the agreement itself makes it pretty clear what you won’t be sharing with her. 

Your phone vibrates, and you quickly flip it on to see that Hongjoong has sent you a short video. You open it, forgetting that you don’t have your earbuds in because you’ve pretty much had them in for the past two weeks straight. You jump as his voice suddenly comes through the speaker, loud and speaking your language, and you quickly shut off your phone as Bestie peers over the seat at you, wide-eyed, and asks, “What was that!? Was that Hongjoong?! Did he call you?” You laugh nervously and shake your head, “No. I mean, yeah, it was Hongjoong, but it was just a video on his Instagram. I don’t know why it was on so loud. He must have posted it from the concert last night.” She looks at you oddly but accepts your explanation and turns back around without question because that would make perfect sense in a world where you didn’t get to hear his voice everywhere—in your shower, in your kitchen, in your bed. You grimace lightly at this close call, and you try and fail to remember what it was like when all you had were the videos online of your boys. It seems like forever ago, and yet it was not very long ago at all that you would have struggled to imagine any other way of interacting with them. 

You suck in air to prevent any nervous giggles from escaping and figure you’ll listen to it later with your earbuds in when you get some time to yourself. You make sure to turn the volume down on your phone and send him a quick text back: 

I almost opened that in front of Bestie with sound on!  

Warn me next time! 😅  

I can’t wait to see you!  

I love you. 😘  

[Send] 

You grin broadly as the truck turns into the familiar little neighborhood and pulls up in front of the adorable little house that you know so well. You remember when they bought it, and you got to help Bestie pick out all of the new paint colors as her partner literally rolled out the red carpet for her and ensured that everything was exactly as her heart desired. Why these two nauseatingly perfect lovebirds didn’t have a picture-perfect wedding to add to their wall of envy-inducing lifestyle portraits was a secret very few were privy to. You knew, of course, that both of them were the products of divorced parents, and the amount of disrespect that ran roughshod over their parents’ marriages was enough to put nearly anyone off of the institution. The two of them just didn’t put much stock in it, and their stubborn shared aversion to it was one of the strongest foundations of their relationship. It always made you a little sad, though, because you’d always hoped to be someone’s maid of honor someday, and let’s be honest: you knew it would only ever be her who would choose you.  

But you’re glad she’s happily matched with someone who shares her conviction that the ultimate measure of a relationship isn’t in the title. And he knows damn well that if he ever does anything remotely shitty to her, you’ve got a fifteen-foot deep, unmarked hole and a truckload of concrete with his name on it, hypothetically speaking, of course. The three of you stumble into their dark little house as Bestie dashes around to turn on lights and drags your suitcases over to the office bedroom so you can change in there. You still plan to sleep on the couch since you’ll be heading to your mom’s tomorrow both to stay there several nights and to pick up your car and regain your freedom. But there was no way Bestie was going to let you spend your first night back home anywhere but where she can easily grill you about all things ATEEZ—and you can’t blame her for that at all. You’d be completely nuts for details if the situation were reversed. 

She offers to order a pizza and brings you a diet soda while she scrolls the options. You agree to all of her menu selections and think back to how the two of you grew up with nearly identical preferences for foods, which always made these types of negotiations mercifully swift and painless. Once she has ordered the pizza, she looks at you expectantly, and you suddenly remember that you want to watch that little video Jjoongie sent you and change into clean pajamas before you start into the highly edited version of your life with ATEEZ. She reluctantly accepts your brief excusal to go change, and you nonchalantly tap your pocket to make sure you have your earbuds handy this time before dashing into the office to change.  

When you manage to wrestle your suitcase open among the home gym apparatus and dusty office furniture from the pandemic days of trying to be a gainfully employed, functioning adult or student despite the entire world around you going to shit, when you’ve made sufficient noise opening your case, you grab your phone and earbuds and open Jjoongie’s video, and greedily wait for it to load. You see a blurry, shaky opening as he appears to be crawling on a bed. You can hear the sheets rustling loudly against the microphone, and you can hear his soft grunting as it sounds like he’s crawling on his belly toward a distant lump in the bed. He suddenly stops and says, in a stage whisper, “Naui Haneul, look what I found in my bed!” You see his hand reach out and gently shake the lump, which moans in irritation before it begins to roll over, revealing a messy head of silvery-blond hair and two grumpy eyes peering up at the camera in annoyance before Hongjoong finishes, “See? It’s a ‘good boy’!” And you hear Hwa gasp and groan as though something has lightly clenched his stomach and he begins to laugh before saying something to Hongjoong in Korean. Hongjoong chuckles and says simply, “No.” He then turns the camera around to face himself, his dark eyes shining with mischief as he says to you as much as to Hwa, “You don’t get any warning. Right, good girl?” You groan, yourself, laughing heartily, as his raspy voice and devilish grin are like the best kind of sucker punch. You roll your eyes as the camera shakes, and he quickly says, “Love ya!” before you see a large hand reach over the screen from behind. You hope Hwa gives him a run for his money on both of your behalf.  

You shake your head as you laugh and return to your suitcase to find a clean pair of joggers and hoodie. As you dig through the pile, you find the Mingi and Yunho tour shirts you picked up from the freebie pile at KQ before you left. You are now confident enough to dig through the pile shamelessly and pick out the ones you know Bestie will be super stoked to receive. After you change, you saunter back out to the living room with them hidden behind your back and a wide, goofy smile as you wait for Bestie to ask what you’ve brought her. She looks at you quizzically and sees your hands positioned suspiciously behind you before asking if you have something for her. She squeals with delight and races from the room to put one on. You try to guess which one she’ll return with, but you realize you didn’t respond to Hongjoong’s video. You quickly fire off a text before Bestie returns: 

Dear Captain,  

I am always your good girl  

So you will never surprise me to tell me so.  

😇🪽  

I am so ready to see you.  

I am staying at Bestie’s house tonight then I’ll  

Be at my mom’s tomorrow and until the concert.  

Be safe! Have fun! I’ll see you very soon!  

P.S. Take care of my dear Hwa, please, Captain!  

💞🥰  

You quickly put your phone on silent and slip it into your pocket as Bestie bounds down the hallway. When she reenters the living room, you ask her, “Which one did you choose to wear first? This is a very important decision!” She cackles like she’s outsmarted the Devil himself and turns to reveal that she has her Yunho shirt on. As you nod knowingly that you’re unsurprised she’s selected the most ‘boyfriend’ of ATEEZ, she grins mischievously and pulls up the hem of the shirt to reveal Mingi’s face underneath, and she whispers loudly, “I put Mingi closer to my tits!” before she descends into unhinged giggles. You look at her in undisguised shock and ask, “Did you switch to something stronger than diet soda when I wasn’t looking!? And if you did, why aren’t you sharing!?” The two of you share a knowing laugh, and she looks ready to settle in and ask you for all the tea when the doorbell rings and she exclaims in annoyance before stumbling across the living room to retrieve the pizza. You enjoy the additional minutes of time to try to remind yourself of all of the details you have decided are safe to share before launching into the epic tale of trials, tribulations, trees, training, and translations.  

The two of you carry on laughing hysterically as you lay out all of the epic drama you’ve been through, from stepping onto Korean soil through the return trip home. She marvels as you tell her about the places you went by yourself, and the surprising dinner and a movie with Jongho and Su-bin. Bestie has tears streaming down her face when you tell her everything you lost when your room was demolished, including—you realized much later—the custom picture of Su-bin and you that Seojun illustrated. Still, the two of you are equally relieved that you’d decided not to go to bed on time that night. You are just careful to skew the timeline of events slightly so as to not raise suspicion of the exact sequence and the obvious gaps in the story that would result. You feel only a tiny bit guilty, but honestly, it is the first time you’ve really kept something for yourself. Bestie has become better at setting boundaries when it comes to her current relationship, and you’ve recognized it for the sign of maturity that it is, though you’ve not had the type of relationship or the level of self-control to do the same when it comes to dishing with her. So, you feel largely peaceful about the information you’re not sharing with her at this time when it is clearly too soon and inappropriate. The only drawback is that thinking so much about your boys makes you miss them that much more, and you have a sneaking suspicion you’ll be running the highlight reel in your head as you fall asleep tonight since you’ve had to work so hard to avoid all of those particular details.  

When the pizza is gone, and your voices are hoarse from talking and laughing so much, Bestie gets up to get you some blankets and a pillow for the couch. You gratefully assist her in cleaning up the food wrappers, and you quickly brush your teeth to get out of her way in the single bathroom of the house. When you’re snuggled up on the couch, getting ready to plug your phone and earbuds in, she surprises you with a small kiss on your forehead as she looks down at you fondly and says, “I’ve missed you. I’m so very glad things are going well, and you’re kicking ass for our boys.” You beam up at her proudly and say, “I missed you too. I’m very happy there, too. It makes it less weird. I love you.” She nods, “I love you too. Goodnight!” She slips down the hall to where you imagine her partner is either already asleep or close to it while his favorite sports recap show blares in the darkness of their bedroom.  

Chapter Text

 Bestie awakens you with a gentle shake of your shoulder before pressing her AirPods next to your ear and blaring “Wake Up” directly into your brain as she plops down on the couch where you lie curled up on your side. You groan and laugh as she bounces to the beat. When your attempts to shush her and beg for more sleep fail, you slide your knees and palms behind her back and push her straight off of the couch, laughing diabolically as she squeals and falls to the floor. She gets up onto her knees next to you and suddenly becomes serious as she leans closer to your face before saying, in a conspiratorial tone, “I wasn’t going to tell you this,” she pauses for dramatic effect as you roll your eyes, “but there’s only one diet soda left.” She gives you a knowing look, and since this isn’t your first rodeo, you quickly shove your foot against her hip so that she tips over onto her side on the shag carpet. You kick your other leg free from the tangle of blankets and jump up and dash toward the kitchen because you know Bestie will be on your heels to race you to the last easy source of caffeine in the house.  

She cackles hysterically when you wrench open the refrigerator to see a full rack of your shared vice. Bestie nonchalantly strolls around the corner with her AirPods in and a triumphant smile on her face as she reaches past where you stand frozen, open-mouthed, in betrayal. She retrieves a soda and hands you one as well while she shrugs and points out the obvious, “Well, how else was I going to get you moving? Name one way that I could’ve done that faster without actually freaking you out.” You glare at her as you open and chug your soda before belching loudly and looking at her in mock disgust.  

When she sets down her soda after fairly chugging her own portion, you gaze up at her with a smirk and ask, “Where’s the fire? Why do you need me out of bed so fast? What the hell are YOU doing up so early!?” While she’s acclimated to the business world, she was always the later riser of the two of you when you were teenagers, which is pretty impressive considering what a night owl you were. She squeaks, and you jump back a little as you wait for her to explain herself. Bestie takes a breath and finally says, “Okay, you know how we always talked about getting matching tattoos?” She trails off as you stare at her in wide-eyed disbelief. You hesitantly respond, “Yes, we talked about it sometimes, but we could never agree on what to get.” She nods and clucks her tongue, immediately dismissing this as she has clearly found the solution to a problem you didn’t know you needed solved, “I know! But I’ve got it! We need ATEEZ tattoos!” You stare at her, dumbfounded, as she grins at you and bounces on her toes as she waits for you to congratulate her on this brilliant idea, as though she’s just told you she figured out how to win the lottery without ever playing. 

You stutter a little and cough lightly before turning back to the fridge to get a second soda and buy yourself some time. “What made you think of this?” you ask cautiously, keeping your face in the fridge longer than necessary to retrieve the can and turn back toward Bestie. “Well, I dunno! I was just thinking of you coming back and how we’d always talked about getting tattoos. I realized it would be amazing because we are going backstage and everything, and just thought it would be a cool way to remember this!” She is still grinning from ear to ear, and you try not to cringe at the idea. But Bestie knows you too well and sees the look on your face, and her perfect lips fall into a dejected pout, “What? I thought it would be so fun!” She stares at you, her surprise and hurt visible, though she is trying to maintain that it is only a silly, casual idea. You look at her with tenderness as you sip your second soda and say gently, “It’s a great idea. Or it was before I knew them at all. I mean, now it’s a bit awkward, right? Because I have to see them every day.” She groans at this and rolls her eyes to the ceiling, “I KNOW, but that’s why we’d get it somewhere they’d never see!” She looks back at you with that devious grin returning on her face, and you nearly choke to death on your soda. 

As you violently try to cough the carbonated beverage out of your lungs and wonder what in the world they put in those things that makes it burn so bad, she stares at you as if daring you to disagree with her current logic. You cough into your hand and welcome the tears stinging your eyes as you continue to sputter and are, mercifully, unable to form a sentence yet. Your brain is alternating between wild, unhinged hyena laughing at the fact that you no longer own a place on your body that isn’t at risk of being seen by one or more members of ATEEZ on any given day and howling at the horrifying thought of how you’d rather be boiled alive than get an ATEEZ tattoo now, but you can’t tell her why not. You try to cough enough air back into your lungs to raise the oxygen level in your brain and hope you can come up with a good enough excuse that doesn’t involve further lies like claiming to have recently acquired some horrific form of bloodborne pathogen, a new religion that eschews skin art—which would obviously be bullshit because you’ve never been known to shy away from a tattoo needle, or a false pregnancy scam since she was the one holding your hair back when you puked from your pain meds after your hysterectomy.  

You finally cough up enough of the neon green liquid to manage to squeak out a small “Ow” before staring up at your bestie and attempting to gracefully redirect this unhinged energy toward something more productive without divulging all of your personal secrets in one go. With a weak smile, you dare to ask, “Like where?” as you continue to wheeze up diet soda and watch her contemplate being directly asked to come up with a mystery location for this tattoo scheme. She thoughtfully considers this, and her tongue pokes out of the corner of her smirking mouth as she gestures toward the top of her inner thigh, “Like, here?” You snort a little as she looks shocked that you’re not immediately on board, “What!?” You shake your head at her and ask her if her partner will be as excited to see it every time he is up close and personal with that particular area. She groans, “Ugh. No, probably not. Where would you suggest!?” You dare to take another long swig of soda before ultimately crushing her hopes and dreams on this wacky idea, “Okay, here’s the thing. I love this idea, but we only have five days till the show. I have no idea what that’s going to be like for us, but I don’t think it will be healed up, and the last thing I need on my chubby ass is an angry, itchy, oozing tattoo while we scream our heads off for our boys, yeah?” She bites her lip and shrugs a little in acquiescence of your very valid point, and you congratulate yourself on coming up with such a good reason without making it weird. You quickly add, to find a way to harness her nervous energy more productively, “But! Mom needs a ‘fit and wants us to take her shopping, plus, maybe we should, like, go get our hair done or nails or something. Maybe all of the above?” She shrugs again as she considers this, looking a little more agreeable now. You decide to double down, “Besides, you do realize you’re going to be meeting the boys, right? I mean like, in-person, up close and personal. And not like a high-touch or a fan sign or anything; you‘re going to have time to really talk to them and stuff.” Her eyes widen to cartoonish proportions as she visualizes this scenario fully. 

 You chuckle at her sudden silence and wait for her to snap back into action as you know her brain is rapidly recalibrating her to-do list behind that shocked expression on her face. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go shopping. But I’m going to call my favorite salon and see if she can get us in. Oh. But first I’ve got to call the tattoo artist and cancel our appointment.” She looks at you a little sheepishly, but you just laugh and tell her you’re going to go shower while she plans everything out. It didn't surprise you at all that she’d already booked the tattoos without telling you. She’s unstoppable once she has an idea in her head, and to be fair, it would be super fun in any other scenario, but now that you’ve got the agreement, you’d rather be drawn and quartered than get some horrific tattoo on the fly that somehow cheapens your relationship to the boys and your bestie at the same time. When you emerge from the bathroom, she informs you that she’s got hair appointments for a couple of days from now for both of you at the same time and that they’re booked to do color and cut if you want color or whatever, so you have a little bit of time to decide what you want. You suggest that the two of you do some shopping today to get your own items squared away in case your mom is overwhelmed; you both know that your mom will need your full attention to feel like you’re really invested in helping her make a fashion choice that she feels confident in.  

After you are settled on a game plan for the day, the two of you head out to conquer the local mall, and the two of you chuckle at how different it all seems from the days when you were teens aimlessly wandering the mall looking for opportunities to socialize rather than now, when the adult versions of you are more focused on getting what you want and getting out because the whole experience is sensory overload. You realize now why you prefer to shop online so much now. Of course, you can’t try on the clothing you order, but that never really became enough of an issue for you to want to navigate being out in public.  

The two of you link arms and laugh and reminisce about some of the crazy shit you pulled while visiting the mall as teens as you meander past unfamiliar chain stores and random stalls that seemed to change as often as the seasons, though you couldn’t say for sure since you haven’t shopped the mall in a while.  

For old time’s sake, you swing by Hot Topic and feel the familiar discomfort of not being “cool” enough or not being the target demographic as the apathetic cashier gives you a vague greeting in an overly exaggerated vocal fry. You laugh a little at yourself for feeling insecure in this totally plasticized imitation of the actual definition of cool, as you saw it when you were young and impressionable. You think about the surreal situation you now find yourself in, and you wonder if you ever cared less about some nineteen-year-old cashier at Hot Topic thinking you were cool or not. You smile broadly at the adorable character accessories and make silly faces with Bestie at some of the more cliche items before you both look at each other and turn quickly to leave. It seems you both hit your ‘sensory overload’ and ‘that’s enough of that’ quota at the same time. The amount of nostalgia you have for the place can only compensate so much for the bizarre sensory assault of the physically and visually crowded space. 

You manage to find a few stores with pieces Bestie can put together to look amazing and feel confident at the concert without looking like an unhinged, diehard ATINY. It sucks a little to miss out on the fun of planning over-the-top fits inspired by your biases, but you want to show the boys that your bestie is a multi-dimensional person just as you want her to see them as whole people. You hope that you can give her a few tidbits about Mingi and Yunho to help her visualize them as actual humans rather than her biases and that maybe this sort of preparation will help her act as normal as possible. You know the boys will be kind and gracious regardless, but you worry that Bestie will kick herself endlessly if she feels embarrassed if she fangirls and then overthinks it all later. You hope everything will go smoothly, and you can’t help but space out a bit as you imagine a time, several weeks from now when you’ll have your boys back all to yourself. But at least you get to see them soon, and that’s going to have to be enough for now.    

You and Bestie split some nachos at the food court, and you make her laugh hysterically when you tell her how Mingi constantly runs you over in the hallway because he’s always distracted by his phone, and his height just puts his gaze naturally so far over your head that he isn’t even seeing you in his peripheral vision. She looks like she’s going to cry as she coos and clutches her heart over how Mingi and Yunho call you “Peanut” because you’re so short. She loves that you got to go see the art gallery with them, and you tell her honestly that you wish you’d gotten to keep some of the footage of them goofing off with you on the vlog cameras, but you know it’s for the best that you didn’t. Her mouth widens in surprise as she suddenly recalls something, “Wait! When was this!? I saw that vlog! They were so cute! You were THERE?! Oh my gods. That’s so cool!!” You shush her lightly, but she’s already pulling out her phone. She cues up the vlog and shows it to you. You suddenly feel tears spring to your eyes as you see the cement gray gallery and hear the boys’ voices as they film each other and talk about the art. Somehow, through the whirlwind of comeback and tour, it hadn’t even occurred to you to try to watch the vlog episode.  

Bestie smacks her tongue and stops the video before backing up the vlog and starting it again; she stops it and yells, “That’s what I thought! Is that you!?” she turns the screen toward you, and your breath catches in your throat. There, in the Kim Wonsook salon, you are standing in the far corner, a tiny, unmoving figure in baggy pants and a huge, furry sweater and hideous bucket hat, staring up at your painting. You only appear on the video for a split second, but the image and context bring tears to your eyes. When you look up and meet Bestie’s gaze, she startles at the emotion on your face. “What? Is it not you? What’s wrong?” You shake your head and wipe your eyes on a scratchy food court napkin, “It’s me. It’s just... I thought I wasn’t going to be on camera.” You chuckle sadly, and she, of course, misinterprets that completely, “It’s fine! I mean, no one would have hardly noticed except me because I knew you were there. What? You look great! Weird hat, but you know,” she trails off, and you laugh heartily at her comment about the bucket hat. When she looks up at you in surprise, wondering what she said that was so funny, you quickly explain, “The boys had the hat and mask for me so that no one would really see me—just in case, you know.” She nods knowingly, but her eyes are huge as she considers the ramifications of this; security concerns are definitely one of the less sexy aspects of life with idols. You shake off the weepy feeling of nostalgia and the idea of security before you circle back to the funny stories. You have been debating how much to tell her about San, though the exploding protein shake situation would certainly garner a laugh. You decide to save it in case you need a distraction in the next few days when her anxiety ramps up as the concert approaches. 

“So,” you change the subject, “What else do you want to get to feel fabulous and sexy as fuck when you finally meet my Yungi?” You give her an eyebrow waggle, and she shrieks as she slaps your arm, “YOUR Yungi!?” She nearly chokes on her nachos as she stares at you indignantly and dares you to try one more time to call her boys your own.  

If only she knew.  

You laugh hysterically at her overreaction and back down, “You’re right. MATZ is mine; you can have those lumbering giants. They’re cute and whatever, but imagine how much extra they have to spend on clothes made for their crazy tall asses.” She clutches her imaginary pearls, “How dare you!? They are the perfect height!” You shake your head sadly and just mutter, “Wait and see.” Bestie almost takes the bait, looking at you confused and slightly alarmed as though you’re about to tell her that her dearest loves, the twin towers, are actually some sort of freaks of nature as if she, too, isn’t also her own type of rarity. You can’t control a laugh, and she scoffs loudly in annoyance at you again, and you notice that a woman with young children is staring daggers through the two of you.  

While you hate your hypervigilance, you realize in this case it might be worth moving on to terrorize some other part of town. You start to scoop up your collection of bags, as you somehow managed to keep up with Bestie, bag for bag, despite having relatively few intentions to buy much on this outing. You did manage to find some cute things for Hwa and Jjoongie, though mercifully, Bestie was so absorbed in finding her own items that she didn’t pause to question why you’d be buying lingerie several sizes too small for you or why you laughed until you cried at the store selling “Feejays” where you bought two different sized sets of footed pajama sweatpants and matching hoodies. You can’t wait to give a set to Jjoongie and show him the matching set you bought for yourself. Bestie just chalked it up to shopping fatigue and ushered you out of the mall and back toward the car quickly after you cashed out. You couldn’t stop laughing for a while, and she didn’t know that you immediately got on your phone to see if you could order a set for all of the other members and have them shipped to the dorm or if you’d need to send them to your mom’s address and beg her to ship them for you. The idea of all eight of them—well, all nine of you—in matching footed pajama sweatpants sets is too funny and well worth the price of shipping either way. It would make a hell of an amazing holiday card photo, NDAs notwithstanding, of course. 

She drops you at your mom’s house with just enough time left before dinner to run your car around the neighborhood for a bit and go get some gas in the tank to ensure that it doesn’t end up getting weird from disuse. Your mom had scoffed at you when you had mentioned that you’d plan to run it and maybe get an oil change when you get back, and she informed you, a little haughtily, that she had already done that just a few weeks after you left, and she also was driving it to work once a week to ensure that it didn’t get all gummed up from sitting too long. She chided you to recall who taught you the most about automobile maintenance, and you laugh as your dad was always the two-wheeled gearhead and your mom was the resident automobile expert due to her own father having been a trucker, amongst many other things during his life. You still want to drive around a bit, if anything to enjoy the feeling of driving again as you’ve desperately come to miss the independence and time alone to your own thoughts—with ATEEZ blaring in the speakers, naturally. You just love the feeling of going wherever you want without having to have any conversation or plan beforehand. You stop by your favorite shop for candy and make sure you get some weird local favorites for the boys to try and hopefully give you their uncensored opinion on the treats you grew up with.  

A sudden inspiration strikes you, and you quickly change lanes to turn back toward the main strip you were just driving down with your brain in cruising mode. You pull up to the Asian market that you and your dad used to lose yourselves in for what seemed like hours when you were young. He loved taking you down the aisles and showing you all of the exotic ingredients that made up the cuisines of cultures which were only abstract concepts to you until so recently. He always took the time to teach you to be respectfully curious and not to forget that you are a guest in the store; he expected you to act as though you were a guest in someone’s home. You thank your lucky stars that they are still open, and you quickly head in because you are on a mission.  

Just opening the door hits you with a wave of memories and emotion as the familiar smells sweep over you. You swallow the lump in your throat and forge ahead to grab a cart. You browse all the aisles for old times’ sake and gather up the ingredients you will need for your brilliant idea. You also grab an onggi, as you can’t imagine your mom would have kept Dad’s old one. You pick up all of the ingredients for mak kimchi, bulgogi, and roasted 통닭, (tongdak), which is a version of fried chicken. As you debate other dishes to include, you suddenly remember 라볶이 (rabokki), which is a combination of ramen and spicy rice cakes, and you love that it hits two of the favorites in one. There is a small section of utensils and other items in the back of the store, and you head over to look for some dosirak boxes for the boys. You know you can figure out something else, like stopping at the cash & carry restaurant supply to grab some to-go boxes, but the comfort of seeing these favorite foods nestled into the proper containers seems like a soothing gesture to you; you figure it would be exponentially comforting to the boys. You find several family-size, stackable boxes and quickly snatch them up as though there is going to suddenly be a run on this very niche item. 

Beaming like you’ve won a fierce competition, you steer around to make sure you get all of the proper condiments and ingredients like Asian pears, toasted sesame oil, gochujang, 어묵 (eomuk), which are fish cake sheets that add flavor to the 떡볶이 (Tteokbokki) and 라면 (ramyeon). You grab a couple of bags of Jjoongie’s favorite snack, 농심 포테이토칩 먹태고추장마요맛 (Nongshim Dried Pollack Snack Cheongyang Mayo Flavor). Once you’ve obtained all of your items, you stroll up to the cashier, who looks at you in surprise, and you realize you’re still grinning from ear to ear. You chuckle a little and return her slight bow, which only serves to further perplex her. When you hand her your KQ visa card, she looks at you a little strangely, and you simply look at her with your best impression of Nam Timjangnim’s neutral look. The cashier shrugs and swipes your card before passing you your receipt and bags. You quickly say, “감사합니다 (gamsahabnida),” as you dash out to your car. 

When you get back to your mom’s, you can see the lights are on, and it appears that she’s home from work. You pull into the driveway and leave your car there as you’d like to drive it to go shopping with her tomorrow, so it gets a little more time running while you’re here. You groan a little to yourself at your slightly sore back and realize that maybe planning to shop two days in a row was a bit foolhardy of the two of you, but it is kind of how things just worked out. Your stomach flutters as you consider how few days are left before you at least get to lay eyes, if not arms, on your boys again. It seems excessive that you’re this pathetic after only two and a half weeks, but as Jjoongie said, it’s too soon given all that you have shared, and you feel slightly robbed of the time basking in the new feelings you’ve expressed before you were cruelly separated by the very thing which brought you together in the first place. 

Sounds poetic, but hurts like hell, right?  

You slip into the house and wait for just a half a second longer than you should before screeching, “WHERE’S MY LEETLE FRIEEEEEEND!???!” and hearing the dog’s little nails scratching repetitively on the laminate floor as her tiny feet run in place while she tries in vain to get enough traction to barrel toward you at Mach speed. Your mom hollers, “Oh, for crying out loud! She just pissed all over the floor!” You gingerly pet your favorite fur-coated maniac but think better of picking her up for the time being in case her excited sprinkles continue while she wags every single part of her body and spins in circles in unrestrained joy at being reunited with her favorite human. Your mom comes around the corner with paper towels and a flushed face before looking up at you and being unable to maintain her look of irritation, sweeps her arms around you in a big hug. She rocks you as she squeezes you tightly, and you feel the little dog jumping up onto your legs as she tries to recapture your attention.  

Your mom pulls back and looks you over as she tuts her tongue and, apparently unable to find any areas of concern, comments uncharacteristically, “You look good! Did you have fun with Bestie? You’re almost glowing. You shouldn’t look that good after an international flight and such a big time change.” You laugh as she stares you down as if trying to divine your secret. “I did work hard to shift my sleep schedule over the past two weeks so it wouldn’t be so much of a shock to my system. I think that helped. Going back will be brutal,” you add to reassure her that you haven’t somehow acquired drugs or magical powers to avoid jet lag. She nods in agreement and then turns and remarks that you should follow her back to the kitchen so she can check her recipe while you talk. You pick up the still-yipping and circling little mutt and pull up a chair at the kitchen island. Your mom offers you something to drink, and she groans when you show her that you stole several diet sodas out of Bestie’s fridge before you left. Despite having grown up with a fridge full of diet beverages while your mom tried the latest diet fads, she seems to have given up carbonated beverages altogether. You’ve known for some time to bring your own if you want to avoid caffeine headaches. 

Once she is satisfied that dinner is progressing according to plan, your mom turns back to you and places both her hands on the kitchen counter in a wide stance as she scrutinizes your face before asking, “So, you’ve been working for ATEEZ. How in the world did you pull that off? I mean, I know you told me, but that was a lot of information all at once. Tell me again.” You laugh and launch into the edited for content, safe for parental version of the whole story, and given that you’re prone to dramatic and meandering storytelling methods, the entire tale continues long after the two of you finish dinner and relax on the sofa with the single-minded little dog chomping happily on her after-dinner bone treat. 

You suddenly recall that you need to throw the kimchi together to get some level of flavor developed before the boys get here. Your mom eyes you suspiciously as you start pulling items out from her cupboards to prep the cabbage, porridge, and other vegetables. She only has to glance at the assortment of ingredients before she utters a cry of objection, and you look up at her with an apologetic smile without stopping your preparations. She shakes her head and mumbles something about going to get ready for bed. You laugh and pop your earbuds in, which fully envelops you in the comfortingly familiar sights, sounds, and smells as you lovingly prep this surprise for your hardworking boys. “Treasure” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist as you quickly get your cabbage salted and all of the other components ready before placing a wet paper towel over the other cut veggies and putting them in the fridge to wait until the cabbage has been turned several times and rinsed well. You figure it leaves you more time to work on some of the other prep for the dishes you want to include, so you carefully prep your meat, chicken, and some of the sauces you will need before wrapping them tightly and placing them in the freezer just to be on the safe side. Being that the concert is now four days away, that feels like a little long to risk that the meat will still be fresh as you never know how long things have been on the shelf before you buy them.  

Your mom shuffles in, bare-faced, with her little dog sleepily trotting behind her, and she surveys the wreckage you have spread out in your hasty prep mode. She tuts at you fondly as she leans over and kisses your shoulder, “Please don’t leave my kitchen like a hurricane came through, eh? At least get some of this stuff in the dishwasher. I’m going to bed. I love you.” You look up and smile at her gratefully, knowing how she struggles to watch your messy way of winding through prep tasks and the inherent pile of dishes that accumulate when you’re not working in a professional kitchen with an acne-prone young dishwasher following you around and offering to be helpful in exchange for whatever delicious tidbits you’re willing to throw him. You can tell your mom is just stoked to see you really cooking again and enjoying yourself. You smile gently at her and set down your prep to carefully embrace her without getting minced garlic in her hair or something. “I love you, too. See you in the morning,” you say into her hair as you give her one little extra squeeze. When she looks back at you surprised, you also add, “And tomorrow we’re going SHOPPING!”  

Your exclamation sets off the little dog, who now runs in circles like she’s just been invited to a party, and you bend down to pet her and spin her around with your one clean hand. Your mom growls at you and scoops the little dog away from you to carry her off to her crate for the night. You stand, still chuckling, and finish your prep with the wash of warm, tender feelings toward everyone everywhere but, most of all, your mom, that insane little mutt, your bestie, and your dear ATEEZ. 

Chapter Text

You and your bestie spend the later hours of the evening, long after your mom has gone to bed, texting each other with potential “mom outfits” while you go through the half-hour increments of tossing your cabbage before rinsing it and placing it in the onggi with tenderness and love. The plethora of K-pop mom ‘fit checks on TikTok and Pinterest offer you a shockingly robust range of options to suggest to her. You hope that she will find something that resonates with her, is comfortable, and, of course, is available at the local mall. You’ve regrettably come up a little short of the amount of time it would take to order anything online. When you’ve amassed a collection of laid-back, classy styles with various layers and luxurious textures, you call it a night and nestle yourself deep into the plush covers of your mom’s guest bed.  

You forget to set an alarm, but the smell of fresh coffee brewing wafts under your door and alerts you to the daylight shining through the impossibly thin curtains in the guest room. You laugh as your eyes protest the brightness, and you figure it probably goes over well with Mom’s occasional guests, who, like her, are early risers as people tend to become in their later years. You growl playfully at the lacy curtains and no one in particular and roll out of the bed clumsily before padding to the kitchen to delight your mom with your crazy bedhead. It has long been a family tradition to rate each other’s messed-up hair after long sleeps or on holidays, with the wilder hair indicating a better sleep. As you round the corner, the tiny canine terrorist announces your arrival with a series of sharp barks, causing your mother to jump and swear. You heave a sigh of relief when you see she wasn’t holding hot coffee or anything at that exact moment. A small smattering of sugar scattered across the countertop suggests that she was partway through doctoring her morning coffee, so really, no harm done. 

Nevertheless, you watch your mom mutter and grumble her way around the kitchen, shooing the small dog out of her way before turning to look up at you with theatrical annoyance as you give her a lopsided smile and tilt your head slightly to make your messy hair stand even more on end. She chuckles a little at you and murmurs, “Nice. Sleep good?” while she settles into a seat at the kitchen island to coach you toward the coffee and related condiments. You nod emphatically and shuffle toward the cupboard where all of the familiar mugs from your childhood reside. You sigh happily and select your favorite one that has a faded, yellow cartoon illustration of a sun on it and says, “You are my sunshine!” in the heinous ‘Comic Sans’ font.  

When you’ve filled your mug to the brim with coffee, creamer, and a disgusting amount of sugar, you carefully sip at the edge to prevent having to listen to your mother warn you about how full it is and caution you to move slowly and not spill. You’re confident that you currently lack the level of caffeine necessary to prevent you from robustly reminding her that you are, in fact, in your thirties, and as you’ve yet to trip over the rug and choke to death on a donut hole, she can go ahead and trust in your ability to walk with a mug of coffee. A weird smirk settles on your face at this imagery, and you quickly take another sip of the coffee to clear it before making your way to a seat next to your mom. Your sip, of course, is too enthusiastic for the current temperature of your beverage, and the burning sensation causes you to gasp and cough slightly, spilling just a little of the golden liquid down the front of your shirt. You lick the side of the mug quickly to avoid having to also fight the little dog away from a spill on the floor—goodness knows what caffeine would do to that little psychopath—and you roll your eyes as you sense the cool wetness on your chest.  

Your mom looks at you with a neutral look, as though all of the events unfolding before her are exactly as she expected. You avoid her gaze and slide into the seat next to her. She picks up the paper to show you the current ads for clothing stores around town, and you marvel at the familiar smell and feel of the newspaper in your hands. You didn’t know anyone still subscribed to the paper. You try to hide your nostalgic amazement and focus on showing casual interest in the stores and items she’s pointing out to you. You don’t want to act too excited and frighten her off, as you really don’t need her to know how huge of a deal this is to you. But you also don’t want to be too nonchalant, as she’ll take your apparent ambivalence as another excuse to try to duck out of the concert altogether.  

You give her your recommendations and ask her what she’d like for breakfast as you slide your mug to the other side of the island and slip out of your seat to go around to the other side to prepare to cook for her. She stares up at you in wonder as though you just did a round-off-back handspring tuck in her kitchen. You blink at her several times, keeping the cheesy, customer-service grin on your face. When she sputters and says, “I don’t know. I was going to have toast...” you fumble below the counter for the cutting board, grab her chef knife and steel from the usual places, and begin honing the edge of a knife you know hasn’t been properly sharpened in at least seven years. She stares at you over her coffee, which has nearly made it to her mouth, but now she hovers in mid-air as her body betrays her desire to act unimpressed. You turn away when she finally breaks into a wider smile, and you see the hint of tears welling in her eyes. A quick search of the fridge yields some ham, a small portion of Parmigiano Reggiano, and a relatively healthy-looking half of an avocado with the pit still nestled in its stomach. You dig a little deeper to find the eggs and squeal in triumph when you see a package of fresh basil in among her fresh salad fixings.  

You hold the items up for her approval, and she nods at all of them as you place them on your cutting board. She makes a little noise of protest that is silenced with a dramatically stern look from you when you pull out the Dijon mustard. You know she isn’t a huge fan of it, so why she keeps it in the fridge is a mystery to you. She’s the only one who eats here regularly, and she’s a grown adult. She could decide that Dijon is no longer needed in her life, and no one would argue with her about it. “Do you trust me?” you ask her with a smirk. She rolls her eyes, “Yes, of course I trust you. I just don’t really like Dijon; that’s all.” You chuckle, “Why do you buy it then?” “It goes in some of my recipes!” she protests, and you laugh and turn back to try to find the omelet pans which are likely buried in the very back of the pan drawer.  

She groans when you pull her blender to the front of the counter to whip the eggs, salt, pepper, a dash of chili flakes, some dried minced garlic, and a healthy dollop of the Dijon mustard. “You’re going to have to do all these dishes, you know,” she warns before muttering to herself, “I was going to have toast.” This reminds you to pull the toaster closer, and rather than grabbing a couple of slices of the boring-as-fuck whole wheat bread, you squeal when you see the loaf of French sourdough before holding it up toward your mother for her approval. She sighs heavily as though you’d just requested your inheritance in advance and gives you a benevolent nod. You bow exaggeratedly and mutter your humblest thanks before slicing off two healthy chunks with a nearby serrated knife.  

It suddenly occurs to you that there is no sound in the background, so you tell your mom’s digital assistant to play the new album. She starts to protest that it’s not her style, and she doesn’t understand it, before you hold up a hand, silencing her, and tell her that she needs to hear it in order to prep for the concert. She rolls her eyes, and you grin as you begin to shake your ass wildly around the kitchen and turn back to your cooking. She laughs, in spite of herself, and you finish dicing up the ham, chopping the basil, and pulling long, elegant slices off the Parmigiano Reggiano with the vegetable peeler. You lovingly craft a perfect omelet while the sourdough toasts under the broiler. Once the bread is toasted and buttered, you slice it on the diagonal and arrange it on her plate as you place the omelet under the broiler for a moment to warm the avocado on top. You cluck your tongue appreciatively as the broiler heat has also puffed up the omelet nicely. You slide it swiftly onto the plate, just slightly over the top of the toast wedges and pass it over to your mother with a fork alongside. You stare her down, daring her to dislike anything about this breakfast, which probably, sadly, far surpasses anything she’s eaten for breakfast in her own home for a long time.  

She holds your gaze, knowing she can outstare her own offspring, before taking a bite and being forced to close her eyes as she experiences the surprising combination of flavors that are soothing and fulfilling without being too strong for the early morning. She grumbles a little as she fights to retain her stern facade; you laugh and toss a crumb of cheese down to the tiny dog, who is uncharacteristically chill and lying in her little dog bed at your mom’s feet. “Okay. This is really good,” she says through a half-full mouth in a surprising violation of the manners she attempted to beat into you as a child. You nod and say, “I’m glad you like it!” which is a humble family tradition. For whatever reason, compliments are always awkward. You turn back to the stove to quickly make your own portion.  

When your mom has finished her breakfast and excused herself to go shower, you text Bestie to make sure she’s up and will be heading over soon to get to the mall before it gets crowded. While your mom doesn’t mind shopping at the local mall, at least she shares your aversion to crowds and insists on getting there as soon as they open to try to avoid any real or perceived rush on the sales items. Bestie replies that she’s up and will leave as soon as she finishes drying her hair. You know from experience that it will be at least a half hour before she leaves her house because of the amount of time her glorious hair takes to dry, even with the aid of a professional-grade blow dryer.  

You toss your phone down and attend to all of the dishes you’ve dirtied in your cooking frenzy. When you’ve largely gotten the mess under control, and the dishwasher is loaded but not running, you wait until you hear your mom’s shower stop to go and get yourself showered and ready to go. You and your mom emerge at about the same time, and she looks around the kitchen in surprise as you have removed all traces of your cooking and kimchi projects. You smile slyly as you reach a hand over and hit ‘start’ on the dishwasher without looking. She laughs, knowing that she raised you well enough to know better than to run the dishwasher while she is in the shower. You definitely didn’t need to reexperience the terror of your mother flying out of her bathroom, soaking wet, soapy, and furious when you inadvertently stole the hot water from her. You grin and let her know that Bestie is probably on her way.  

The trip to the mall is mercifully painless as Bestie knows just how to flatter your mom and give her confidence in a way that you never could. For whatever reason, the two of you always struggled to trust each other’s reassurances, but when Bestie tells your mom that she looks great, she believes it. Maybe it’s because you love each other and figure that you’re just being nice because you love her, but Bestie doesn’t have any obligation to love or be nice to her, so it’s easier to trust the affirmations when they come from an outside source like her. 

Your mom manages to find a couple of nice pieces to layer; you convince her to keep the color scheme fairly simple and advise that darker colors with different textures will look lovely without drawing excessive attention. She seems relieved by this, and she also condescends to try a slightly bolder set of jewelry options to add some styling to her look. You suddenly wonder if you’ll be held to the clear stadium bag requirements or if you’ll have a way of avoiding it, because you’re mortified at the idea of having to tell your mom she has to leave her monstrous cargo purse and her entire security blanket of its bizarre but useful contents. You quickly fire off a text to Jjoongie to ask: 

Hello dear Captain,  

I’m shopping with Mom for her outfit for the show!  

Do you know if we will need to get her a clear bag  

For the stadium? I know the rules usually mean that.  

But my mom is old school and likes her giant purse.  

What do you think is best?   

I am sure she will do whatever she needs to but I   

Want to make sure she is comfortable.  

Love ya! So excited!!  

🥰😘❣️  

You casually mention your concern to Bestie, who looks at you with alarm at the very idea before letting her know hopefully, Hongjoong will reply soon. You swing by your favorite cinnamon roll place and grab some snacks for the rest of the afternoon while you wait for him to respond. Bestie returns from getting Boba tea, and the two of you laugh until you cry as your mom tries to be cool but can’t hide her disgust at the surprising texture of the colorful drinks.  

After you’ve finished your celebratory successful shopping snacks, you move to head toward the car. You give Bestie a knowing look as Hongjoong hasn’t responded to your message, and you realize that it may have been a more difficult question to answer if he didn’t immediately know what the plan was and had to go ask someone. You figure between you and Bestie, you’ll probably have sufficient cargo room in your clear bags, and you secretly cross your fingers that you won’t be required to bring yours either, though you know that this may be wishful thinking.  

Bestie gives your mom additional hugs and encouragement that her outfit looked stunning and that she’s really looking forward to going to the concert with the two of you before she slips out the door and leaves you once again with your mom. You find yourself slightly at a loss for conversation topics as you’ve pretty much rehashed everything that you feel safe to share with her at this point. She looks a little overstimulated from the mall outing, so you take advantage of this and suggest that the two of you go take a quick nap or something to relax. She agrees, looking relieved, and you flop down across the guest bed before popping your earbuds in as “Deep Dive” alters your brainwaves in the best way.  

You close your eyes and imagine yourself home with your boys, or even here with your boys in some nondescript hotel room at the resort, as you fantasize about sneaking up to their rooms to see them. At some point, you doze off and are suddenly awakened by the vibration of your phone that is still held in your hand, exactly as it was when you drifted off to sleep. You blink hard and awaken the screen to see that Hongjoong finally messaged you back: 

캡틴❤️‍🔥:  

Hello Naui Haneul,  

I am excited to see you, too!  

I have asked our managers about the best plan  

For you at the show.  

They are looking into it and will let me know.  

I will tell you as soon as I know!  

Just a few more days! 🫰  

Love ya! 💘  

You sigh heavily and lay back on the bed before leaning back over to send him a quick “thank you” text and dragging your ass back out to see what your mom is up to and what she might want to do for dinner. While this morning was fun, you don’t really feel up to a dinner performance.  

You stop by the bathroom to check and see if your nap affected your hair at all, then reapply a little of your lip stain to try and at least look reasonably healthy. You vaguely hear the television on in the living room, so you make your way that way and laugh as the big, bat-like ears of the little pooch pop up over the edge of the couch, and her excited wiggling once again startles your mom into a slew of obscenities. “Who’s my leetle friend!?” you sing to her and watch as her little face curls into what can only be described as a huge grin. You scoop her up, weave your way around the coffee table, and sit beside your mom to see that she appears to be watching the news. You scoff at this observation, “Ugh. Why do you watch this crap? It’s just awful.” She looks at you with disappointment and replies, “Because it’s important to know what’s going on in the world!” You shake your head and scratch the little dog’s head as she licks your chin frantically, “But if you can’t do anything about most of it?” Your mom just looks at you as if her previous answer should suffice, so you add, “I guess I try to do what I can locally and then hope that the rest of it sort of radiates out.” She clucks her tongue at you and just turns back to the latest flood warnings and protests from thousands of miles away.  

Your heart is so easily broken by injustice and catastrophes that you have to carefully part out how many challenges you can take on and let the other ones go. You put all of your attention into scratching the little dog under her collar and trying to get her to lay in your lap, but she is clearly too cracked out to settle down. She jumps up and runs along the back of the couch like a tiny mountain goat, causing your mom to holler at her, which she skillfully ignores and races back toward you. In a moment of inspiration, you grab your phone and prepare for the next time she makes the dash to try to capture her attention and get a good selfie with her crazy little face up next to yours. Thankfully, the novelty of your voice pauses her in her zoomies to come next to you, and you capture several shots of her licking the side of your face and staring down the camera before the final shot, which is a blur of her returning to her precarious sprinting of the back of the couch and starts your mom yelling at her again to go settle down.  

Your mom finally gives up on yelling at the dog and grabs her from the back of the couch to turn and ask you what you want for dinner. You shrug, knowing full well that your ideas of a fun meal would likely be too adventurous for her tastes. She looks at you with disbelief and annoyance, vying for control of her familiar features. You marvel at how the years have not changed her face much, with the exception, perhaps, of finer eyelashes and even finer wrinkles now gracing the sides of her eyes. “I don’t want to cook. Do you want to make something?” she asks you hesitantly, as it seems she senses that you’re not ready to jump into becoming her personal chef at the moment, given all of the emotional baggage you’d be serving up with her meals. You take a deep breath before confirming her suspicions, “I am kind of tired. I was thinking takeout. What sounds good? I can go pick it up if you don’t want to get delivery,” you give her a little grin before adding, “I miss driving.” She smiles at you knowingly and says, “Delivery is fine or whatever you want. I don’t know what sounds good.” You sigh as you’re not even sure what restaurants are still open or what’s good nearby, so you open your phone to search the ‘most popular reviewed restaurants nearby’ and see what comes up. You hope that whatever the two of you decide won’t involve running into anyone from ‘back in the day’ as you’re not ready to relive the good old days just yet. 

You finally settle on a local Italian spot that you remember makes some pretty amazing authentic cuisine and includes your favorite styles from Northern Italy. Your mom selects a relatively safe pasta dish with a lot of fresh vegetables, while you order a handmade gnocchi and truffle dish which makes you drool just reading the menu description. You silently add extra garlic rolls and a couple of orders of tiramisu to the final order and send it off for delivery in an hour. Your mom protests lightly at the fact that you paid for dinner without asking her, but you remind her that she just bought a whole new outfit and stuff today for the concert that you’re dragging her to under duress, and she scoffs and throws her arm around you, squeezing you hard, before she says in a slightly constricted voice, “You’re worth it.”  

You beg your mom to turn off the news and to further convince her, you get down and dig through her collection of DVDs to find something old and familiar that she will enjoy watching with you while you eat dinner. The little dog delights in having her human sibling down on the floor with her and does her best to dance all over your legs and under your arms as you hold up DVDs to get your mom’s opinion on what to watch. She gets way too excited when you hold up some old romantic comedy with Meryl Streep and Steve Martin, but she loves it so much that you act as though you are really stoked to have remembered that this forgotten “classic” exists.  

The two of you head to the kitchen to arrange plates, silverware, and beverages for your meal and get the little dog’s dinner ready so that she won’t harass you while you try to eat and watch the movie. You are swaying and humming lightly as you get out all of the items and set out your mom’s favorite truffle-flavored sea salt. You notice out of the corner of your eye that she has stopped in her movements of getting the picky little dog’s cuisine arranged, so you look up at her, suddenly aware of your own behavior. You stop moving and humming to see her looking at you with a sparkle in her eyes. “What?” you stutter, wondering what in the world she’s thinking now. “Nothing,” she tuts before tossing the final scoop of kibble atop the dog’s spoonful of gourmet meat sauce for dogs. “You just seem really happy,” she says, and you try not to look insulted at the tone of surprise in her voice as she adds quietly, “Is there someone special I should know about?”  

You cough and nearly inhale the olive you’d snuck out of the jar you were opening to put out as an added condiment for dinner. Your eyes water as you clear the homicidal olive, and you thank no one in particular for your continued ability to draw breath. “No, not really. I mean,” you pause, thinking this may be the only time you’re glad she’s familiar with the amount of obsession you have for eight unbelievably talented and attractive Korean men, “You know how much I love ATEEZ. I’m just happy I get to work for them, and I get to make their life better just a little bit each day by taking care of them.” You look at her, feeling the blush rising, and you barter with the universe that if that damn doorbell could just ring, you’d give up any particular vice or whatever just now. 

She smiles a little less, though you can’t imagine why on earth she’d hope for anything more than that, considering where you’ve been for the past few months. “Oh. I mean, you really seem so happy I thought maybe you were, you know, in “ love” love.” You can’t believe she’s disappointed, but even more so, you can’t believe that she’s dead-ass accurate in her observation.

Shit. This is brutal.  

You mourn the one opportunity to bond with her over something truly wonderful and remarkable happening in your life as you prepare to unburden her of this notion, “No, no. I mean, I don’t speak the language. I don’t know who I’d even meet. The manager is pretty cute, but no one compares to ATEEZ, of course.” Your mom still looks at you with one skeptical eyebrow raised, “Okay, but what about that roommate you had, Su-bin?” Now it’s your turn to look unbelievably shocked. This is the first time your mom has ever acknowledged your queerness in a tone of supportive suggestion versus warning you about scary people in the community and domestic violence issues. 

Honestly, she really shouldn’t watch the news.  

You stare at her, bug-eyed, and attempt to wrangle your wildly panicking brain cells back to command central to come get this crazy train back on the rails. “No, Mom. I told you: she likes Jongho. I mean, she would, if she’d get to know him better and not be like, on the verge of fight-or-flight when she speaks with him.” You chuckle to yourself, thinking back to the movie date. Your mom just won’t let it go, “I know, but how do YOU feel about her?” You shake your head vigorously, “No, Mom. She is just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. She’s a great friend, and I care very much about her, but that’s all. No other motives.” Your mom bites her lip, looking disappointed, and you hate that you have to cause her to doubt her “mom senses,” as she’s actually unbelievably accurate in observing your emotions--despite not knowing who has set your heart on fire. But it doesn't matter at this moment, and you can’t let her have this win because, obviously. 

“Nope. I just finally have a great job that I love and that I’m good at. They treat me really well, Mom. I mean, look at the fact that I get this vacation time, AND they’re bringing us to the show and everything for free!” You look at her with undisguised joy, as you genuinely are amazed at how this whole thing has turned out so far, despite the utterly unimaginable fact that you can say, “I love you” to Kim Hongjoong and have him reply, truthfully, that he loves you too. She looks at your grin and sighs, accepting, with only slight reluctance, that you are reasonably happy for the current circumstances and for the right reasons. You laugh and look around to see that the two of you have fully prepared for dinner once it arrives, and now you’ll have to awkwardly wait as you try to dim the heat in your cheeks and think of something to make small talk over. You haven’t told her much about your training period, and you think maybe it’s time to share a story or two about your Korean mom, as you have come to fondly think of her: Nam Timjangnim. 

I can tell her a bit about cooking, and maybe that’s a fair compensation prize for ruining her moment of deadly-accurate mom radar.  

You reach down to check the time on your phone before realizing that you forgot to send one of the funny dog pictures to Hongjoong and Seonghwa, so you quickly send them the picture with a caption, remarking that your mom has replaced you with a much better-looking sibling. You grab the beverages and condiments, balancing them in the practiced manner of one who has delivered many such items across various distances through drunk patrons, fast-moving servers, oblivious busboys with their gigantic trays, and wild, feral children that your diners let run rampant throughout the restaurant—white tablecloths, be damned. Your mom starts to protest but follows with her own beverage and the dog’s dinner when she sees that you have everything under control.  

You regale her with stories of how scary you thought Nam Timjangnim was at first and how you realized she was sort of testing you as you fumbled your way through those first awkward days. She gets visibly angry when you tell her about the rude uniform lady, and then you see your mom relax as you tell her that you had seen Nam Timjangnim smile when you went back and forced the uniform lady to let you take men’s slacks in the appropriate size. She scoffs in mild disapproval at the whole kitchen-line-dash-of-doom stunt, as she never quite understood or approved of the antics that close-knit kitchen crews tended to get up to at times. You know, from experience, that it is these very things that bond a crew together during the toughest rushes and most frustrating times, so as long as the teasing steers clear of any forms of actual hazing, it’s all in good fun.  

You are rescued by the doorbell as the food arrives, and you’ve just finished telling your mom about the hotteok experiment. She looks intrigued, as you know she’d never turn down a good s’more. You promise that you’ll make some for her before your vacation is over; you figure after the concert is probably a great time for that as you have no idea if you’ll get post-concert depression and, if so, how bad it might be since it will be the double whammy of watching your boys leave again on top of the hype and let-down of the concert cycle. But you get more of your boys just two weeks after you return from vacation, so that’s a huge relief that you’ve never even dreamed of before. It used to take you two weeks to fully feel like you wouldn’t die from FOMO when you watched the fancams of the other concert venues on the tour.  

You and your mom dig heartily into the various dishes, and you grin mischievously as she notices the absurd amount of garlic rolls you ordered. You share your gnocchi with her—you cross your fingers that she’ll like it more than she likes her own order, because you always enjoy the feeling of smug satisfaction as you remind her she should be more adventurous. She tosses a small portion of her pasta onto your plate to try as well. The two of you eat, laugh, and snuggle the little dog between you as you watch her favorite movie.  

The surprise tiramisu is a welcome treat just before the end of the movie. Your mom’s feeble protest that the caffeine will keep her up fails to prevent her from tasting the beautiful cocoa-dusted custard, and despite both of you feeling incredibly full, you manage to each put away the majority of your portions of the delicious espresso and amaretto-soaked, creamy dessert. After the dishes are tucked into the dishwasher or sink to be dealt with in the morning, you hug your mom fondly and bid her goodnight. After she is in bed, you hop on her computer to peek at the boys’ tour reviews and videos so far, just for old times’ sake. You check your phone to see that Jjoongie still hasn’t provided the information about the night of the show, but you also realize that it’s probably getting close to showtime for tonight’s venue, and you send up a barrage of love and positive energy to hope that some tiny tingle of it will reach them all and that they will have an amazing night.  

Chapter Text

 You stumble, bleary-eyed, to bed after watching way too many fancams and greatly enjoying these glimpses into the success that the boys’ tour has been so far. You are amazed, as always, at the incredible amount of effort that has gone into the stages, the choreo, the styling, and the fan service. You still get butterflies when Jjoongie looks directly into someone’s camera, though you have much more direct knowledge of what comes next from that look in private. You crash and sleep heavily. When you wake up, you know you had a bunch of weird dreams, but thankfully, you can’t remember any disturbing details.  

You check your phone and realize that you forgot to set any sort of alarm to regulate your sleep while you’re here, and it’s later than you meant for it to be. You cringe and hope your mom doesn’t feel like you’re avoiding her. You quickly head out to see her and are surprised to find that she’s nowhere to be found. You look at the kitchen counter and see that she’s left you a note saying, “Hi sweetie, you must have needed the sleep. Help yourself to some coffee. I’m taking the dog to the dog park. We always go a couple of times a week, so this is our day. She has to go assert her dominance over the two Great Danes who like to come on this day, too. See you about 11:00. Love you!” 

You sigh in relief as you go get some caffeine and plan to take a long, luxurious shower. You throw your earbuds in and enjoy “Forevermore” on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You notice the icon for messages and quickly open it to find Seonghwa’s forty-seven hearts on your picture of yourself and the dog, and Hongjoong has sent you a message, too: 

캡틴❤️‍🔥:  

Good morning Naui Haneul,  

I slept well and took my vitamins!   

The manager has made arrangements for you  

And your guests the night of the show:  

They will send a car to pick you up at whatever time you want.  

If you want to come to soundcheck, and to spend time before,   

You can come as early as 13:00. If you need more time to get ready,  

Soundcheck is at 17:30. You can stay backstage for soundcheck,   

If you want. And then we have reserved seating for you in the row behind   

The general admission area where our managers typically sit for checking  

The sound quality and the visuals.  

But since this isn’t the first show, they said they don’t need to sit there.  

They will just stop by and check a couple of times during the show.   

I am so very glad I will get to see you soon.  

I miss you. I can’t wait to hold you,   

even if I have to wait until we get back home.  

I would wait forever.  

I love you.  

You swipe at the tears that suddenly burst from your eyes as you’ve gone through this rollercoaster of excitement about the show, the thrill of getting all of this thoughtful care in how to get there and where to sit, and then the last part that just bursts your little heart, breaks it, and heals it all in one sweetly devastating sentiment. You take a huge deep breath to try to hold onto what little sanity you can still claim before responding: 

My dearest Captain,  

Thank you so much for your thoughtful consideration.  

I know it will make my mom more comfortable.  

I will check with Bestie and mom to find out what time they think  

They will be ready for the car.  

I would come at sunrise if it were up to me. 😘  

Thank you for doing so much for us.   

I’m so excited to see you, too!  

I love you so much it hurts.  

Be good. Be safe. Have fun!🫰  

See you in a couple of days!! 😍😍😍  

[Send] 

You quickly text Bestie to ask if she wants to go at one o’clock or wait until closer to soundcheck, knowing full well that she’ll go as soon as you can let her. You worry, only slightly, that your mom may be nervous about sitting backstage for that long with nothing to do. You cringe a little as you feel guilty for the selfish feeling that washes over you when you sincerely hope she won’t hold you back from seeing your boys as soon as possible. You guiltily consider if there’s any way to have the best of both worlds without making her feel unsupported. You quickly discard the idea of asking if a second car could bring your mom out closer to soundcheck time because that would mean she’d have to get ready and come out alone, and you would never do that to her.  

Bestie fires back almost instantly that she’d like to be there ASAP. You laugh before quickly following up with your concerns about your mom and how you will make her feel comfortable for several hours before soundcheck while you get to spend a little time with your boys while they get ready. Bestie promises that she will talk your mom’s ear off or whatever, and she brilliantly suggests that you have your mom bring her knitting project so that she will have something to do. You sincerely hope that your mom actually has a current project in the works because if she doesn’t, you only have a couple of days to find something for her to get started on.  

You suddenly realize you’ve gotten sucked into more concert videos when you hear the garage door opening. Your mom has returned with the town menace micro-mutt. You laugh at the tiny tongue hanging out way beyond her little mouth as she’s clearly worn herself out trying to protect her turf from the innocent and confused larger dogs who, thankfully, had the good temperament and training to recognize an unstable but ultimately harmless ankle-biter when they saw one. Your mom puts her down in front of her water dish and watches as she drinks as though having just emerged from a desert. She laughs at her and chides her because, apparently, she won’t drink from her portable water bowl despite it always being clean, fresh, and accessible on their outings. Your mom looks up at you with a refreshed smile, and you’re grateful she has this odd ritual to get her occasionally outdoors, keep her physically and mentally active, and ensure she’s thoroughly entertained. She smiles and appears to be waiting for any updates or news, so you tell her the options about the day of the concert. She looks impressed that they will be sending a car, and you decide it’s probably appropriate to let her know that it’s the best option as you’ll be entering through the stage/staff entrance rather than past the crowds of fans waiting outside the front entrance. You’ll need to be invisible, basically, until you get backstage to see the boys.  

You carefully note that the time spent there before soundcheck would likely be in a sort of backstage lounge area while the boys go get ready; you emphasize that the boys won’t all be there at the same time, and you’ll probably just be there entertaining yourselves until soundcheck. You add, as an incentive, that the perk of getting there so early would be that you’ll be less likely to have to ride through crowds to get to the back entrance, and it would be safest to get there earlier when security is more focused on those areas than trying to maintain crowd control at the venue entrance. She looks contemplative as she considers these options, so you quickly offer her a bottle of chilled water and let her know that she can think about it for a bit before you have to let them know what time to send a car. She tuts lightly and scoffs in disbelief that anyone is “sending a car” for the two of you. You laugh to yourself as she seems to be wondering what sort of alternate universe she woke up in—not unlike how you felt when you first started this unbelievable journey.  

You back off to give her time to process and begin to entertain the little dog before standing to inquire if your mom is ready for some sort of lunch or snack. You didn’t have breakfast, but it seems logical to just skip to the next meal of the day at this point. As you putter around the kitchen, snooping through the fridge and cupboards for inspiration, you casually ask your mom if she’s had any new knitting projects lately. You silently hope that she has a current project that she’s really excited about working on so that you can suggest that she bring it to the show to entertain her during all of the downtime between arriving, soundcheck, and the concert, without it coming across as an excuse to go as early as the managers are willing to send the car. Your mom, of course, is not about to fall for this shit, as you’ve kind of blown your cover already by trying to convince her that going early is a great way to avoid crowds. She looks at you with one eyebrow cocked, and you know you’ve not gotten up early enough to pull one over on her today.  

You try and fail to fight back a sheepish giggle before asking her what she wants to do for lunch, though it comes out in a terrible impression of Mickey Mouse as you’re not able to force your voice back down to your usual conversational tone. She snorts and stares at you, and you turn your reddening face back to rummaging through the fridge before peeking at her through your hair to see if she’s still judging you. When your eyes meet, the laughter becomes contagious; thankfully, she seems to be catching just a little of your excitement about all of this.  

“I can’t stay to do lunch. I’m getting my hair done in forty-five minutes,” she says apologetically, but you swear under your breath and dig in your cargo sweats to find the pocket holding your phone as you completely forgot about the hair appointments Bestie booked for the two of you. You cross your fingers and hope that you have enough time to shower and change before you should be putting her salon’s address in your GPS and hustling your ass in that direction. Your mom just stares at you because you haven’t said anything to her to let her in on the situation, and you sigh in relief when you open your phone and see that your appointment with Bestie starts about an hour after your mom’s appointment. 

Okay, good. Thank fuck.   

You look up to see your mom looking at you with an odd smirk before you fill her in, “Sorry. I just remembered we had hair appointments scheduled, too, and I couldn’t remember what time. Or what time it is now.” You let out an awkward laugh. “Wait, you’re getting your hair done, too? Cute! What are you going to do?” you practically squeal and relish every bit of the self-conscious blush that floods your mom’s face despite her best efforts to maintain her long-suffering facade.  She sighs. “Oh, just my usual. I thought I might have her put a little more copper in my highlights, though. I don’t know. Probably nothing too adventurous,” she adds in an effort to temper your expectations. You are still grinning from ear to ear and bouncing on your toes, so she tuts in exasperation and suggests that you stop worrying about her appointment and go get in the shower if you’re going to make it to your own appointment on time. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” you reply dismissively as you quickly grab a piece of junk mail from her mail pile to use the envelope as scratch paper to quickly write down several other things you need to remember in the next day and a half, such as which recipes you’re making, what other items you want to be sure to bring like ear plugs for your mom and maybe your own sketch pad or something to entertain yourself and Bestie if the boys are busy or overly preoccupied with getting ready. A little roll of nervous excitement pinches under your ribcage, causing you to squeal a little, and your mom looks at you questioningly. You chuckle nervously and just say in a small voice, “What!? I’m excited.” She clucks her tongue at you fondly and reaches out to pull you into a tight hug before patting you on the ass and telling you to get going. “Augh! I know! I’m going!” you protest loudly, causing the little dog to jump up and run off toward the bathroom with you as though she is planning to rebel with her bigger sibling.  

You scrap your plan for a long shower and get through the basics since your hairstyle won’t matter. You silently beg the universe to throw you a bone and hope that Bestie has booked you with someone who can appreciate your vintage-style, K-pop, punk aesthetic. There isn’t really even a term for it; perhaps, back in the day, you’d be described as eccentric, but that would fall short by a mile of describing your style. You just choose things that tickle your brain, and the only reason it “goes together” is because the common denominator is that you picked it out. It seems to resonate well with people, and you often get compliments on your hair or certain pieces of clothing. It doesn’t really matter that it doesn’t come with its own Pinterest category. You shrug it off and select your favorite Y2K cargo pants, a fitted bodysuit, and a contrasting lacy crop top to layer over it. 

As you’re looking over your selection, a slight panic hits you, and you realize you really haven’t nailed down what you’re going to wear to the show. You’ve helped everyone else, and it seems weird now because you just feel like you’re seeing your friends, not a world-famous, kick-ass K-pop powerhouse.  You suck in a breath forcefully and quickly run back to your suitcases to throw your favorite pants back in and select a slightly less favored pair that you’d never choose to wear to the show. You also opt for one of your oversized, feminist t-shirts and an unbuttoned, collared shirt to wear over top. You sigh in relief at this course correction, and you head back into the bathroom to make your hair passable in case you get pulled over or need to stop for gas before your appointment. You put on some makeup because you always have difficulty evaluating a new hairstyle when your face isn’t fixed; you bag up the essentials to touch up when it’s done in case the process messes up your look.  

Once you’re confident that you’re ready to attempt to trust a complete stranger with your main source of confidence and personal identity, you dash out the door and hit the road as “Selfish Waltz” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You try to focus on the beat rather than the waves of rising panic at the idea of getting a haircut this close to seeing your boys again. You feel the bile rising in your throat and realize, with irritation, that you also failed to eat anything yet today. You stop at a local gas station and grab a couple of granola bars, a couple of energy drinks, and a few gallons of gas to hopefully last until you have to leave without leaving a ton in the tank in case your mom decides she’s tired of running your little hoopty around town once a week for you. You feel warm and comforted by this selfless act of love that your mom was doing for you while you were off on your crazy adventure. A slight pang of guilt hits as you realize how much you’ve been absorbed in your own experiences that you haven’t probably kept in touch with her as much as you should. Thinking of her alone with her little dog most of the time forces a single tear down your cheek, and you swat it away as the gas station cashier looks at you strangely and waits for you to pay for the items they have already scanned and bagged in front of you.  

You chuckle awkwardly, run your card, and dash back to your car to jump out of your skin when “Ice on My Teeth-Tell Me Bye Version” comes through the speakers, and the bass is nearly more than your little car’s pathetic sound system can handle. You turn it down a bit and get back on your way to your appointment. When you arrive at the salon, Bestie is standing by her car, leaning against the trunk with her long legs extended casually as she smiles when she sees you turn into the parking lot so quickly that your car almost catches air. You skid to a stop in a nearby parking spot and practically fall out of your car as she saunters toward you.  

She says nothing about your driving, as you know damn well she probably just did the exact same thing and, more than likely, got here only moments before you did. You toss her an energy drink, and she smiles gratefully. “Hell yeah. Let’s do this,” she says as she ushers you inside. You step inside a relatively small, hip little salon with four chairs and no current customers that you can see. Each stylist’s station appears to be decorated to their own tastes, as each lighted mirror and surrounding decor is slightly different, though the overall effect is cohesive as it’s still sleek and fashionable overall. You smile as you look around at all of the interesting decor, and the intentionality of it is soothing to your anxious nervous system.  

“I put you with Joshie. He’s the absolute best. You’re going to love him,” Bestie says confidently as she points toward a brightly decorated space on the end. “My usual person is Steph, and she’s great too. She knows how to handle my stupid, thick hair. But I think you will love Joshie’s style the best,” she adds, and you’re grateful that she has made these appointments thoughtfully. You’re also shocked that they were both available at the drop of a hat, though Bestie has a way of getting things to work out in her favor, so maybe she pulled some strings. “Hello!” comes a chipper greeting as a beautiful, curvy woman with her Black hair styled in two perfect pom-poms on top of her head. You admire the streaks of jade green that extend from the center of her part up into the sleek, natural curls exploding from the bands holding her hair up. “Hi! I’m Steph,” she approaches you first, extending her hand. You catch yourself in half of a bow before laughing self-consciously. She smiles broadly, waits for you to change course and shake her extended hand.   

“I heard you have been working in Korea! It looks like that’s definitely true. Very cool! And you two are heading to the ATEEZ show tomorrow?” Steph glances at you and then at Bestie for confirmation of the information she obviously already knows. “Yep! We got amazing seats!” Bestie beams. You wonder if you can disclose your employment but figure it’s probably best to let them make up whatever story in their head rather than risk violating your NDA. “Are you two big ATINYs?” Steph asks as she ushers Bestie to her chair and gestures for you to sit in the far chair that Bestie showed you a moment ago. “Oh, and Joshie will be here in a minute. He texted that he was on his way, but you KNOW he’s going to stop for coffee first,” Steph rolls her eyes in mock exasperation before adding, as an aside, “But it’s okay, honey. Trust me, you want him to have his caffeine.” She tuts and laughs as she shakes her head. You relax into the styling chair and enjoy the extra time to familiarize yourself with your surroundings and watch as Steph moves and lifts Bestie’s hair to determine her best course of action.  

Bestie discusses her ideas with Steph, and you marvel at the healthy relationship they clearly have as Steph appears to be completely comfortable giving Bestie her unvarnished opinion, and Bestie accepts her advice without a trace of disappointment. It sounds like Bestie wants to add a pop of color to her hair, but only temporarily, as it will not work well with her current job. The two of them debate whether to lighten and temporarily color a strand of Bestie’s hair, to do a color under her hairline that would be visible if she pulls it up, or to put in some colored extensions. You enjoy watching Steph as she flits around, pulling out bits of colored hair to discuss the tone and options; she has the cutest broad nose that is perfectly complemented by a nose piercing and a septum ring, which distract you due to your appreciation for shiny objects and body art. Her round cheeks are flushed beneath her rich, umber skin as she focuses all of her attention on Bestie and their negotiations.  

Steph catches you watching and quickly looks up toward a discreet clock on the wall before tutting and asking, “You need anything, hon? You want a bottle of water or something?” You shake your head gratefully, holding up your energy drink can to show her, and she laughs, “Oh! Breakfast of champions. I’ve already had two. I’d better stick to water.” You laugh and suddenly realize you haven’t eaten one of the granola bars you bought, so you quickly choke it down and sneak the wrapper into a nearby trash can. Bestie seems to have made a decision as Steph nods approvingly and dashes toward the back room of the salon, but you don’t hear the decision because, at that same time, the back door slams open, and her voice is drowned out by a flurry of rustling bags, scuffling, flamboyant cursing, and an annoyed groan, which you can only assume hails the arrival of Joshie. 

You bite your lower lip to avoid a knowing smile as you greatly identify with the loud, harried, and late stylist, and his slew of creative profanity causes you to giggle as you always enjoy a cleverly constructed run of curse words. A light breeze rustles through the salon as you hear the back door slam, and you hear Steph greet him chipperly in the back, “Hi Joshie! Your client is here,” before you hear a light whispering, and your heart flutters nervously as you don’t know what she’s saying to him. “Oh good!” you hear him exclaim in a syrupy customer service voice, which causes you to let out another nervous giggle as you and Bestie exchange glances. She mouths, “It’s okay” to you while you look at her slightly wide-eyed in a “what did you get me into?” look.  

You don’t have time to find out or receive any additional reassurances because Joshie comes around the corner from the back, slurping on an obscenely large iced coffee as he looks at the two of you and says, “Well, hello and shit! Who’s the lucky victim?” You stare at him, blushing heavily, as he is a whole mood. His hair is wild, but intentionally so, with sweeping bangs that he lightly shakes out of his face as he looks you over. His glossy hair defies what you can assume is a lifetime of color changes and various styling abuse. His green-blue eyes are flecked with gold, like the sunset reflected on the Pacific Ocean. The depth of them makes your breath catch, and you watch, fascinated, as he grins widely around his straw and looks you over. He wears a billowy short-sleeved button-up with the top buttons undone to reveal his lean, hairless chest, and a pair of baggy slacks hang low on his narrow hips, held in place by several belts of leather or chain. A wallet chain extends from one of the belt loops, and his slacks puddle over top of a pair of heavy, black leather boots with thick soles. He doesn’t appear to be much taller than Jjoongie, though it’s hard to tell due to the shoes and his tendency to stand at a perpetual lean. You smother a giggle at this as it causes you to suddenly wonder if your haircut will be at a similar angle or if he’ll be able to make it even despite his cock-eyed view of the world.  

After taking your hand in his, not as a shake, but a sort of demure grasp without the hand-kissing motion, he looks you over and says confidently, “Well, darlin’, you have a look. Tell me about you. What do you like? What do you want? What can I do to make your life just a little more fabulous and make the bitches cry when you walk in the room?” You blush heavily when he winks at you before turning to stand behind your chair and move your hair around in a similarly experimental manner as Steph was doing to Bestie just a few minutes ago. You chuckle nervously before showing him an approximation of your favorite styles, pulling up a couple of photos where you felt particularly confident on your phone, and showing him your typical clothing styles as well. You add, as an afterthought, that you’re currently living in South Korea. Joshie gasps dramatically and whispers, “Oh. My. God. You don’t work for one of those K-pop companies, do you!?” He looks scandalized before laughing and saying, “Oh, but of course, you couldn’t tell me if you did, right?” When you stare at him awkwardly, he simply shrugs and takes another long slurp of his coffee and leans close to your ear but whispers loud enough for Bestie and Steph to hear, “You know, I had an NDA once.” You stare at him through the reflection in the mirror, and Bestie laughs cheerfully.  

Steph clucks her tongue at him, “Sure, but you’re supposed to NOT disclose it! Hence the NDA part.” All of you laugh at this as Joshie rolls his eyes and sways around you, the ice in his coffee jangling and his other bent wrist held dramatically aloft. “Of course, honey. I wouldn’t share anything REALLY important. Just the juicy bits.” He looks at you knowingly before cackling to himself. “Okay, okay. Let’s get your hair going.” He returns to negotiating his ideas with you, and you’re silently grateful that he seems genuinely inspired by several ideas that he’s excited about, which is good since you honestly had no idea what you wanted to do.  

The two of you determine a good course of action that will tidy up your current style, treat your hair to some glossy, healthy treatments, and perhaps offer a little more versatility to your daily style options while still being able to create your signature look. You breathe a huge sigh of relief as he dashes back to prepare his tools, and Bestie looks over at you fondly as she’s just returned from the shampooing sink. “Got a good plan?” she asks supportively while she sits tall in her cape and chair. “Yeah, I think so!” you say optimistically. “He’s a hoot, isn’t he?” she whispers, and you can hear Joshie loudly chatting and fake bickering with Steph in the back, so you know he isn’t hearing a thing out front. “Yeah, I really like him. He seems like a snarky, fun gay. I wish I lived here so I could go to him regularly.” Bestie nods knowingly, “I knew you’d love him. He’s great. And he has so much style. You’re in good hands.” You smile at her thankfully and turn back to stare at yourself in the mirror as you imagine what you’ll look like when you leave the salon.  

Joshie returns from the back with an armful of products that he loudly drops onto his work tray before directing you to stand up and proceed to the hair-washing sink. He wraps the cape around you with a practiced flourish, and you let out a little involuntary whine as he lowers your chair, and your neck comes to rest on the curved edge of the plastic washing sink. He frowns down at you and tuts sympathetically, “Sensitive, honey? I got something for you.” He quickly places a rolled towel under your neck, and you thank him gratefully. You wonder if he knows he’s just saved you several days of invisible bruising and soreness in your neck. He hums to himself as he tests the water temperature before suddenly cursing under his breath and then turning to loudly holler at Steph, “Steph, jewel of my heart, what are we doing in here without any music on!? Holy shit, y’all trying to keep me trapped in here with my own thoughts or what?!” He drops the hose dramatically back into the sink before pulling out his phone and pausing only a moment to ask what music you and Bestie would like before gasping dramatically, “Wait. Wait-wait-wait... I know. Hold the fuck up. You’re back visiting from working in Korea, right?” He gives you a shocked look as he glances between you and Bestie before continuing, “You’re going to the concert tomorrow; that’s why you needed these appointments.” Joshie looks at Steph and then Bestie before turning back to you, “You two are clearly K-pop stans.” Bestie makes a noise of protest before he waves her away, “What? It’s a vibe. Trust.” You chuckle at this, and he looks you over triumphantly as he finishes, “So, you probably want to hear ATEEZ? Am I right?” When both you and Bestie giggle and say, “Of course!” He holds both of his arms up in victory before telling his phone to start up ATEEZ on their streaming app. You smile as “Answer- Japanese Version” comes on, and Joshie returns to his position behind your head to wash and condition your hair thoroughly.  

When you’ve been sufficiently pampered in the sink, Joshie guides you back to the styling chair and pumps it up to a comfortable height as he loudly slurps the last dregs of his iced coffee with a groan before saying to himself, “Well, it’ll have to do.” You chuckle a little, and he looks at you in the mirror before he pauses to listen to “A Day,” Jongho’s OST song, and then loudly tells his phone to skip it. When you and Bestie stare at him in shock, he shrugs dramatically before saying, “What!? It’s too sad! Augh. I can’t.” “Take Me Home- IDIOTAPE Remix” comes on, and Joshie visibly relaxes as he pulls out the tools he needs to craft your new cut and style.  

As he carefully trims and holds up pieces for your approval of length, you suddenly feel silly and ask him, “So, are you going to tell us about your NDA or what?” He laughs and pauses as though he has to think about it first, “Oh girl. I mean, it wasn’t really that amazing.” Steph scoffs loudly from behind Bestie, where she carefully applies a series of foils to include a bleached portion and a slightly richer version of Bestie’s natural color all over the rest of her head. “What!?” Joshie exclaims indignantly, “It was a long time ago. And really, it was all in German, so I’m not even sure what the fuck it actually said...” Steph calls him out as he clearly wants the three of you to beg him to dish at this point, “Oh come on! You said you’d share the juicy details. Get to it!” She laughs, and Bestie gives her a little high-five, causing Joshie to roll his eyes and act hurt, “Fine! Okay, so it was this really hot DJ in the club scene when I was young and unbelievably sexy, and well, I just, you know, happened to catch his eye...” Steph interrupts with a snort, “You mean you stalked his ass for weeks until he ‘noticed’ you at one of the clubs you basically lived...” Joshie holds his hand to his chest, pretending to look offended, “I lived above the club; I did NOT live at the club,” and he meets your eyes in the mirror before cackling to himself, pulling it together, and continuing, “ANYWAYS, I didn’t know anything about anything because I was so young and stupid. I didn’t speak much German or anything else; hell, I don’t speak our language that well, honestly. So, I had no idea that this guy was like, super famous. Like famous with a capital “F,” right? And it goes from, like, heavy flirting in the club,” he leans down near your ear to add, “To heavy petting,” as he gives you a wicked smirk in the mirror. “To his apartment. All of a sudden, there is a knock on the door, and there is this huge, horribly scary man in a suit with this gigantic, like, mafioso pinky ring and goatee; I mean, this scary mother fucker looked like some sort of Disney villain or whatever.” Joshie looks at you again to see how his story is landing, and seeing you enraptured, he continues, “So, this DJ guy lets him in like it’s no big deal, like a regular Tuesday or what the fuck ever, and brings him over to the couch we were just almost fucking on, and they basically explain to me in some sort of version of our language that I have to sign this contract shit if I’m going to spend any more time in that apartment. And I’m young and dumb and, like, horny as fuck,” he grins sheepishly at this point, “So, of course, I signed it! I have no idea what I could have negotiated out of that shit. But oh well.” He tuts as he now avoids your gaze and focuses on fussing with your hair, “I did get laid, though, and let me tell you, it was totally worth it!” He meets your eye in the mirror just long enough for you to see the twinkle in his eye and the dimples in his grin just below his lightly blushing cheeks.  

You and Bestie look at each other out of the corner of your eye and crack up as much as you dare without shaking too hard and risking throwing off the precision of your hard-working stylists. “Light” comes on the ATEEZ playlist, and you find yourself generally spacing out in your thoughts and memories of your darling boys, in combination with the warm, slightly buzzing feelings of anticipation beginning to grow in your stomach. Joshie works diligently as he carefully parts your hair, trims, and hums lightly to the songs. You can’t help but notice that his humming is quite accurate to the timing and tempo of the songs, and you think back to how he knew the concert was tomorrow, so you risk opening up a can of worms that you may never successfully close, “So, do you like K-pop? I mean, what is the music like in the German clubbing scene or whatever? Do you still go to Germany or know anyone?” You realize you should have probably limited your personal probing to a single question, but you can’t hide your curiosity, and you certainly don’t want to waste the chance to bond with the only other human you’ve ever met who’s signed an NDA and also slept with the subject of that NDA.  

“Oh, hmmm, I mean, of course, I like K-pop. I didn’t think I would, but once I got into it, holy shit, that was a fuckin’ rabbit hole, right?! Jesus. I almost had to get a second job, hon.” You laugh at his candor because you know from personal experience that K-pop is not an inexpensive hobby. He nods and continues, “No, I don’t go to Germany anymore. At some point, I kind of realized I was in way over my head. I was a young kid who was finally free to be myself, and I found this crazy community where I could be as crazy as my little gay ass wanted to be. But I was getting into some shit that ultimately wasn’t healthy for me. And the things I was running from, girl, they were all still there. Holy shit. They were different, but I wasn’t really dealing with it. And the people there didn’t love me like I loved them. I started to realize, the hard way, of course, that the only thing they tend to love about you is what you can do for them. When you start to want to take better care of yourself, it all kind of goes to hell because you make them feel bad about themselves by pointing out how fucked up that lifestyle can be.” He pauses to resection your hair again before continuing sadly, “I started to really get depressed and shit, so I knew I had to get away from it. I had to go begging for money for airfare from my mom. I basically had nothing that was my own. Even the clothes on my back were pretty much borrowed from someone else. Of course, my mom was happy to help once I kind of owned up to what I was dealing with.” 

“I came back here, and Steph made me go to hair school with her.” He playfully rolls his eyes at her, “I mean, it was that, or like, I don’t know, becoming a male dancer or some shit,” he laughs, and she scoffs loudly before saying to him, “You’re welcome!” The two of them share a warm look, and you and Bestie also hazard a glance at each other to share your own thoughts on the unexpected sweetness of this story. “So, I got my shit together and whatever and did, like, some serious therapy once I could afford it. I realized a lot of the fucked-up shit that happened to me as a kid was still following me around in how I treated myself.” He pauses to get a couple of styling products in closer reach. You watch him, fascinated by how he seems more comfortable with this level of self-disclosure when he doesn’t have to look you directly in the face, and he can just focus on the task at hand. You wonder how much his art has saved him from the pain of his past. He suddenly snaps back to attention, “Yeah, so that’s where the story ends, I guess. I mean, it doesn’t end, but like, it doesn’t get much more boring and normal or whatever.” You smile up at him and wait for him to catch your eye in the mirror again before saying to him, “I’m glad you had your mom and Steph to bring you back.” He gives an awkward nod as though he’s suddenly self-conscious, so you attempt to rescue him, “Also, you didn’t say what K-pop groups you stan...” You smile up at him with a goofy grin, and he chuckles lightly. 

“Work” comes on the playlist, and you gasp when Joshie looks you dead in the eye, sets down his shears on his tray, takes several steps back from the chair, and begins to dance along with the song while maintaining eye contact with you in the mirror. A squeal of delight escapes you, causing Steph and Bestie to jump, and they both cackle as they watch Joshie go through a flawless rendition of the Work choreo. You cheer and clap for him as he finally stops when he feels he’s sufficiently demonstrated his allegiance. “You’re ATINY!! Why didn’t you say so?!” You gasp at him, and he simply shakes his long blond locks away from his eyes to say, “What? And lose the chance to be dramatic? Hell no!” He laughs, and you just shake your head in amazement, “Okay, so are you going to the show, then?” You grin at him, hopefully, and he tuts lightly, “No, girl, I am trying to save up to buy my own place, so I’ve got to be smart about how I spend my money.” You nod at him, as you can definitely respect his goals. “Oh, that makes sense. But okay, so if you’re ATINY, who’s your bias?” You relish the chance to dish more and change the subject to something at least a little lighter. Joshie tries to take another sip of his iced coffee, which is now more melted ice than anything. He smacks his tongue and grimaces in disgust at the swig of coffee-scented water before flinging the cup into a nearby waste basket. He turns back to you with a swish and says playfully, “Who do you think it is?” You stare, terrified at his devilish grin, and you try to steal a look at Bestie to get some help before you dare to guess. Bestie, however, has her head under a dryer now and can’t hear a damn thing the two of you are discussing.  

Shit.  

You breathe. “Umm, I don’t know,” you appear pensive in order to buy time. You look up at him, wondering whether his bias represents his current interests or his past. You decide to make a game of twenty questions out of it, “Would your younger self like your bias, or is it someone only your current self can appreciate?” Joshie stops in his tracks and stares at you, “Damn. That’s a fucking deadly question, isn’t it? Oooh,” he lightly taps his comb against his shoulder thoughtfully before he decides how to answer you. “I guess it’s someone who is kind of both. He’s changed somewhat, and so have I.” You try not to grin like the cat who swallowed the canary at this before trying to think of another question to confirm your suspicion. “Is he an extravert or at least on the MBTI?” Joshie ponders this question again, and you bite your cheek, trying not to laugh. You decide to rescue him, “Okay, that’s a trick question. How about this one: has his MBTI changed from E to I?” Joshie stares at you in shock before turning toward Steph and Bestie, who now have silenced the dryer. “Who did you send me here in my chair, Bestie!? You didn’t tell me she was the goddamn FBI!” You laugh, and Bestie and Steph simply stare at him without comprehending. “Okay, okay, it’s Wooyoung, isn’t it?” You giggle as he turns back toward you, and he suddenly matches your grin before he adds, “Sure, but honestly, I’d love to be a Woosan sandwich, if you know what I mean.” He winks one of his stunning green eyes at you before turning and flouncing out toward the back and announcing over his shoulder that he’s got to use the loo.  

Steph rolls her eyes, and Bestie is cracking up at all of this. You sigh contentedly as you listen to “Utopia” and Seonghwa’s siren part that fills the little salon with the sound of your dearest loves. Bestie sees you smiling to yourself and gives you a dazzling grin to release the first genuine round of butterflies in your stomach. You try to ignore them as you don’t want to get your nervous system completely frazzled to the point where you’re practically ill when the boys arrive. You have too little time with them as it is. You suddenly think that Joshie’s impromptu bathroom break is the perfect time to check your phone to see if the boys are in town yet.  

So much for keeping the nervous butterfly crowd under control.  

A text from Hwa awaits: 

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:    

Hello Little Star,  

We have just gotten on the plane.  

Our Captain asked me to let you know.  

He is busy talking with the managers about things.  

I don’t know why he’s always so busy.  

He has been sweet to me.  

At least I know I don’t have to sleep alone.  

I can’t wait to see you.  

I love you so much!  

I will tell you when we get to the hotel.  

You manage to control your face, but Bestie sees your reactions to all of the pieces of his message and stares you down until you exclaim awkwardly, “What?!” She laughs and continues to stare at you until you sputter, “I’ll tell you later. Airplane.” She squeals, startling Steph to the point where she almost nips herself with the shears, and Bestie shrinks in shame when Steph admonishes her to be still. You both utter apologies, and you’re grateful when Joshie comes back around the corner singing along to “Outlaw” on the sound system, distracting all of you as his presence seems to always suck up all of the attention in the room.  

He looks at your hair and then down to your face fondly as though you are more than a first-time client. You feel as though you’ve known each other much longer than that. There have been a few people like this in your life; too few, if you’re honest. You marvel at the strange feeling of connection and try not to flatter yourself; it’s probably just his magnetic personality. But you decide to enjoy it anyway, and he pats your shoulder before launching into the familiar routine of styling questions and further tweaks to the cut and style to ensure that you’re completely happy with his work. You are, of course, relieved and grateful that he’s as talented as he is, as his instincts and communication definitely contributed toward the fantastic style you now see in the mirror. You’re confident that you can have some fun styling it a little differently, but you will always be able to create your favorite styles in case any of the boys have any objection to a big change in your look.  

You never cared what other partners thought about your hair; you never really felt as personally seen and appreciated as you do with your boys. You figured if your hair was a dealbreaker in the past, then that deserved to be sorted out. But now, with the boys, you appreciate that they like you just how you are, and you don’t want to make any big changes that might make them miss what you used to be like. It’s silly, you figure, but you just want to please them. You hope that they will be as excited about the new look as you are, though, because you really feel good about it. 

Steph’s skill at managing Bestie’s abundance of hair is evident in the fact that somehow, with all of your conditioning treatments and styling chats, you have managed to finish at relatively the same time. You’re grateful that you won’t have to leave her there awkwardly, as you also don’t feel like you’re in any particular hurry to leave your new favorite stylist, Joshie, and you’d happily listen to any of his unhinged stories that he chose to share. You and Bestie offer them offensively large tips, and you promise Joshie that you will try to get him an autograph from Wooyoung if you have a chance. He scoffs lightly, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you want to ensure that you don’t forget to do this for him. If anyone deserves a fresh ‘W,’ it’s this fantastic, spicy, swishy man who you’d love to introduce to Woosan, just, you know, to see what happens.  

Chapter Text

On the way home from the salon, you suddenly feel a rush of panic when you realize that you had made sure to get the dosirak boxes, but you failed to think about whether there would be appropriate tableware or chopsticks at the concert venue. You quickly recalibrate your GPS to find any and all Asian market stores on your way back to your mom’s before making a beeline for the nearest one. Mercifully, they’re open, and you’re able to buy literally every set of Korean chopsticks they have on the shelf. You also grab a stack of compostable plates and rush breathlessly to the front to pay.  

The cashier looks at you like you are completely insane, as it’s probably a safe bet just by looking at you that you would be highly unlikely to know more than a dozen Koreans. You chuckle at the profiling and pass her your KQ Visa card while watching with smug satisfaction as her brain attempts to adjust her snap judgment of you. Unfortunately, the dozen sets you are purchasing seem insufficient, as you’d like to bring enough for the staff. You cringe as you have no idea how many members of BBTrippin’ are also traveling with the tour. You begin to feel quite inadequate about the small gesture you’ve attempted to make that is now rapidly spiraling out of control due to your inability to restrain yourself and your deep desire to avoid making anyone feel left out.  

You swing through the aisles of prepared dishes and look for some items you can use to supplement your recipes. Hopefully, you’ll have enough food for whoever wants a little taste of home tomorrow in the middle of their tour. It seems, even more now, like a very fitting gesture to mark the halfway point and celebrate the amount of effort, ingenuity, and stress that has gone into their extravagant show. You get lucky and find some heat-and-serve items in the freezer section, as well as a healthy assortment of locally-made pastries. You conscientiously leave them in their original packaging as you would not want to have anyone assume that you made them—whether this is because you’re not sure if they’re actually good or because you are worried that you’d look completely unhinged as if that was all you’ve done since you got here—you can’t really say.  

You also realize that whatever you come up with will have to be heated up at your mom’s house and packed into whatever vehicle they send to fetch the three of you, so you’d better not overdo it simply to avoid unnecessary stress on the poor driver and your mom and Bestie. You might have to ask them to help you carry things in, which seems like a really awkward introduction for them to meet the group when they are carrying obscene amounts of food that no one was expecting you to bring.  

Yeah. You really need a better outlet for this nervous energy.  

You give yourself permission to clear out one more location of their selection of Korean chopsticks, given that they are shaped differently from the typical bamboo chopsticks you’ve found in all manner of Asian restaurants you visited in town. You always hated the sensory affront that the dry wood could be in your mouth; the cool metal of Korean chopsticks was a welcomed difference, as well as the thinner profile since they are not square or round like other chopsticks you’ve used. You have no idea what you’ll do with two dozen chopsticks, but you suddenly realize you can ask your mom to send them with the Feejays you ordered for the rest of the group, and that settles that.  

As you turn back toward your mom’s house, “Pirate King- Overload Mix” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you suddenly fight through a rush of nerves as you think of the boys and how far they’ve come since their debut. You wonder how far you will have the privilege to travel alongside them from here. Your stomach spins and falls lightly at the unfortunate realization that you honestly have no idea how long this will last, and as “Turbulence” comes on, you have to forcibly stop your brain from thinking through any more thoughts because it seems even the good ones can lead to bad ones. You roll your eyes as you think you’ve never understood the mindfulness bullshit because just the thought of trying to be grateful for where you’re at led you so easily to the downhill slide of ‘how long will it last?’  

You pull up to your mom’s house and find yourself ironically thankful for the distraction of having to try to talk to your mom and not make it weird. At the very least, the dog is a great outlet for nervous energy. You gather your bags containing probably every set of Korean chopsticks in a five-mile radius before heading into the house to wash them and thaw out your meats so that you can get some cooking done later tonight and in the morning. You make a quick mental note to choose carefully which recipes you prepare tomorrow because the last thing you want is to get close to Jjoongie and have his first comment be that you smell like dinner.   

You suppress a giggle at this thought as you awkwardly shuffle into the house, scooting the little dog along with you as she can’t understand why you haven’t stopped right there in the doorway to love her up, but you really want to actually make it into the kitchen before you set down your bags. You also hope your mom won’t be watching you because she’ll either lecture you for spending your own money to do your job or she’ll lecture you for doing your job when you’re on vacation, and no one actually told you to—probably both, actually. The little dog does her best cha-cha around your feet so you finally set the bags aside to indulge her in a very enthusiastic rubdown and loads of praise as she licks and rolls around in rapture at your return. Mom enters from her bedroom, prepared to tell the tiny dog to calm down until she sees you there on the floor, razzing her up. You look up and gasp at your mom’s new hairstyle, causing her to turn pink. “You look gorgeous!” You coo at her, and she asks self-consciously, “Are you sure? I don’t know. She got a bit carried away with the copper.” You laugh, “Mom, it looks great! Are you sure you’re not ATINY? You look too cool to just be there by accident.” She laughs and rolls her eyes at you before suddenly remembering herself and saying quickly, “Your hair looks very nice, too. You didn’t get carried away. It looks so healthy, though.” You chuckle as she seems to almost be backpedaling, but ultimately, you’re completely satisfied with how your hair came out.  

Your only wish, at this point, is that you could fast-forward to tomorrow and avoid the gradual destruction of your nerves over time as you get more and more excited and time moves slower and slower toward one o’clock. Your mom reaches over and hugs you, “Well, good. I’m glad you’re happy with it. I’m sure I’ll get used to mine. It’ll probably fade over time, too. So, whatever,” she scoffs. “Hungry?” you ask cautiously, hoping to get her away from the potential spiral of repeatedly appraising her look and her feelings about it without changing the subject so rapidly that it causes her to notice. Sometimes, talking to your mom feels just like being on a bomb squad. Thankfully, she seems as willing to get off of the subject as you are.  

“I’m hungry, but I don’t know what I want. We have some leftover Italian stuff. And why did you order so many garlic rolls??” she scoffs at you as she browses the fridge contents before shutting the doors and stepping back to look at you expectantly to explain yourself, seeming to forget that you paid for said garlic rolls, so she really doesn’t need to concern herself so much with your motives in that regard. You laugh as you look at her confused face, “Because we can always do something with them. Paninis? I can make some smashed sandwiches, or we could make some pasta sauce and just skip the pasta and eat it with bread!” You stare up at her with big eyes, and your cheeks puffed as she looks at you as though you are a creature from another planet. She laughs, in spite of her efforts to remain serious, as she sputters, “Why are you doing that face? What is this?” You can’t hold your cheeks full of air at her confusion, and you also begin to laugh. “So, what will it be? Pasta? Leftovers? Smashed sandwiches? All of the above?” She laughs and slides out from between you and the fridge before picking up her little pooch and saying, “That’s completely up to you. You’re the expert. Let me know when it’s done.” She slips out of the kitchen without looking back as you playfully growl at her. The little dog attempts to wriggle free of her grasp, but your mom impressively manages to hold onto her until they reach the couch, and you groan loudly as you hear the news program click on.  

You jam your earbuds on as “Inception” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. While you were hoping to dodge cooking responsibilities tonight, you realize that this gives you carte blanche to make dinner while working on your little side project to bring some joy to the boys tomorrow and remind them of what they’re working hard to come home to. You chuckle at yourself a little, though, because there are multiple ways you’d love to remind them of what they’re going to come home to, but this is the most, ahem, socially acceptable thing you could do. At least your mom won’t be wondering what you’re doing in the kitchen so much, and you get to avoid having to sit there and listen to the news since it’s considered “rude” to put your earbuds in and ignore it completely. Your mom likes to have those little conversations with you during the commercials, so you basically become a prisoner of broadcast journalism at that point.  

You enjoy the shivers that run down your spine as “Wake Up” comes on in your ears, and you work to gently reheat the pasta leftovers from last night while also slicing up the garlic rolls and creating parmesan toasts out of them. While those are crisping up under the broiler, you quickly pull out a couple of shallow dishes and swirl olive oil and balsamic vinegar in them. This time, you split the reheated pasta between two bowls, using the bread as a divider to prevent mixing the two different pasta dishes together and providing a means of getting an additional slice of parmesan toast. You carefully take the food out to the table and, in your best imitation of your mother, call out to her, “It’s time for dinner, Mom. You’re going to turn that off, right? I don’t want to have to listen to that while I try to enjoy my dinner. Eh? You’re melting your brain anyway.” You snort at your own hilarity while your mom grumbles and groans as she gets up from the couch to make her way toward the table. You quickly dash back to the kitchen to avoid any playful swats coming your way and holler at her to ask what she’d like to drink. She moans that she has no idea, so you dig around in the fridge to find a stash of grapefruit slices in juice and some of her favorite prosecco, which you find unopened in the back.  

Without bothering to ask, you pop it open, and she jumps at the sound and scoffs at you before she appears to think better of it. She looks almost relieved when you bring her fizzy glass to the table with several grapefruit slices sunk into the sparkling wine. She takes a sip curiously before smacking her lips lightly and looking up at you in surprise. You smile only a little smugly as she says, “Ooh. That’s really good. I hadn’t thought of that before.” You grin, despite your best effort to remain passive, as she adds, “I didn’t want to drink tonight, but for some reason, I’m starting to feel kind of nervous about tomorrow. Isn’t that weird?” You chuckle, as, for you, that is the furthest thing from weird, but it is actually surprising that she’s feeling that way, too. “Maybe it’s contagious,” you remark kindly as you slide into the chair next to her and cram no less than half of a single parmesan toast straight into your mouth, ignoring your mother’s protest, which includes both your first and middle name.  

After greedily choking down the huge chunk of bread, you look at your mom fondly and hold up your glass to her before saying in a shaky voice, “To new chapters, new friends, and hopefully, your daughter finally becoming a damn adult.” She is beaming at you until the end when she tuts in mock disapproval, but you know beneath it all, she probably echoes that sentiment. You clink the glasses together, and each takes a slightly larger sip than is civilized, and you grin at each other as you are both apparently having a few more feelings than you’d like at the moment.  

The two of you finish your dinner in comfortable silence, outside of each getting up for refills of your impromptu sparkling cocktails and offering to fetch refills for the other. When you’ve successfully polished off all of the Italian leftovers, the bottle of prosecco, and the tiramisu leftovers with a couple of healthy scoops of the secret chocolate ice cream your mom keeps stashed in her freezer “for emergencies,” you offer to clean up the kitchen. The suspicious eyebrow raised by your mother at this offer elicits your reluctant admission that you’d also like to work on the lunch you plan to bring for the boys tomorrow. She nods, unsurprised and apparently sated well enough to find no desire to argue with you at this point.  

You quickly work to clear all of the dinner dishes into the dishwasher and wipe down the countertop of the island so that you can spread out all of your prep items and visualize what you’re trying to accomplish tonight before you become too tired to continue. When you slide some of the items on the counter out of the way to make room for your cutting board, you accidentally expose your junk mail ‘To-Do’ list and see that you have forgotten to buy earplugs for your mom, despite having driven pretty much all over town today. You set the list on top of your cutting board to prevent it from being shuffled aside again before turning to preheat the oven for the 통닭 (tongdak).   

You quickly open your phone to fire off a text to Bestie to ask her to stop and pick up some earplugs on her way over in the morning. Your heart leaps in your chest when you think about how little time is left before you finally get to be in the same room as your boys. Before you get a chance to start the message to Bestie, you notice that you have a text from Hongjoong, and you swear so loudly in frustration that it causes your mom to yell, “Are you okay?” from the other room. You distractedly respond to her that you are, in fact, fine as you flip open the translation messages to read his message:  

캡틴❤️‍🔥:     

Hi hi hi Naui Haneul!   

Guess where we are!  

I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.  

🫰❣️😘  

The message is followed by an adorably shaky short video of the driveway leading up to the resort and a quick zoom-in to a close-up of Jjoongie’s eyeball before the recording stops. When you’ve watched it no less than five times and finally managed to stop laughing, you send him a quick reply:  

I love you so much! ❤️‍🔥  

😴One more sleep till I see you! 👁️👁️  

Hold my Hwa tight for me tonight,   

While I dream of sleeping in your arms again.  

You sigh heavily as soon as you’ve hit [Send] because you can’t help but envy them at this moment. You hope the loneliness you currently feel isn’t as palpable through the text. You try to shut off your feelings as you remember why you opened your phone in the first place. You send the text to Bestie about the earplugs before also reminding her to text you as soon as she’s on her way to your mom’s house.  

The signal sounding from the oven that indicates it has reached temperature startles you back to awareness of your current predicament. Your eyes sweep across the piles of vegetables and thawed meat and chicken on the counter. The sheer volume of this visual forces your brain to quantify the massive amount of work you still have to do before bedtime tonight. “It’s You” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you choke back a laugh before skipping it to hear “The King,” which energizes you to begin busting through your prep with a shit-eating grin on your face and giddy excitement bubbling up under your ribs. You dance around the kitchen, get your chicken roasting your bulgogi marinated, and begin prepping all of the condiments for the 라볶이 (rabokki). You are still on the fence about cooking the rabokki tomorrow because while you know it will be the best quality, you also really don’t want to smell like anchovy-kelp stock, either.  

You decide that it’s the perfect compromise to throw it together tomorrow morning before you take a shower, and you silently pray to no one in particular that your mom doesn’t make a big deal about her kitchen smelling like kimchi and anchovy kelp stock in the morning because, to you, it’s non-negotiable. The drive to make this food for your boys feels like a deep, biological need. You chuckle at your own delusional intensity as you turn to check the tongdak in the oven and fire up the grill on your mom’s underutilized professional-grade range.  

You sway and hum along to “Star 1117” on your playlist, and you don’t try to fight the happy tears that edge your eyes like glittering eyeliner. As you grill the bulgogi, you think of the pile of green onions and several shallots that need to be used up in your mom’s produce drawer. You quickly check to see how many eggs she has on hand and silently fist pump when you see she has at least a dozen-and-a-half eggs. You slice the green onions and shallots into long, thin strips before whipping up the eggs in the blender and adding cracked black pepper, a tiny pinch of gochujang, and salt. You pull out your mom’s largest cast iron skillet and lightly saute the onions and shallots in it before adding another generous drizzle of avocado oil and pouring the eggs over top. You swirl the egg around the pan to ensure that it is thoroughly distributed before throwing the whole thing into the oven next to the chicken to finish cooking the egg and avoid the shitshow that would ensue if you attempted to flip this giant 계란말이 (Gyeran-mari). Your version of the Korean rolled omelet will have to be rolled carefully since it’s so huge, so you lay a clean kitchen towel on the cutting board. When the eggs are cooked through but not brown, you pull the pan out of the oven and gingerly swing the heavy cast iron pan with all of your might to flip it over onto the towel in one swift motion.  

Your mom hears you grunt and the clunk of the pan against the counter—which must have sounded deadly—causing her to turn and yell, “You okay?” You laugh as you stand there, catching your breath from the effort. The tiny mutt is peering over the corner of the couch at you in concern, but her strong sense of self-preservation as a very small dog prevents her from coming to check you out up close. “Yeah. I’m good. Just flipping a heavy pan. Dang. I should do that more often. Who needs the gym?” Your mom tuts and turns back to the television, so you grit your teeth and force your forearms and biceps to lift as hard as they can so you can peek under the cast iron and see if the omelet has dislodged from it evenly.  

The kitchen gods are smiling on you today, or perhaps whichever gods watch over desperately passionate lovers and nurturers because you lift the pan to reveal a perfectly yellow, round egg and onion pancake. You lower the cast iron down to your side and turn it easily with a twist of your wrist before heaving it back up onto the stovetop to cool. Your bulgogi is browning nicely, so you pull the pieces off to place them on a sheet pan and cool them in the fridge. You are morbidly thankful that your mother, in her grief, has not yet become practical enough to get rid of the spare fridge your dad always kept in the garage for large cooking projects.  

It never ceased to amaze you that your dad still loved to cook for friends and family at the end of a long day at the restaurant. He was so passionate about trying new recipes and sharing delicious food with people he cared about that he seemed to have boundless energy when it came to cooking. Your holiday celebrations always centered around eating, though your mom tried to insert some fun activities and traditions that were not solely focused on food. You don’t envy her the challenge of trying to be married to such a talented cook and remain at a reasonable weight for her slight frame. She always carried her extra weight in her ass and hips, which greatly delighted your dad. He would make her squeal and giggle with his handsy appreciation and loud declarations that his sole goal in life was to make her ass as big as possible. She would turn beet red and swat at him, but she always left the kitchen with a huge smile on her blushing face.   

You focus your attention on rolling the still-warm omelet carefully with the assistance of the towel to lift it without tearing the edges. You hold your breath until it is rolled into a perfect log. You leave it to set a little with the towel over top and turn to check your tongdak again. It appears to be nearly done, so you pull it and let it rest on the sheet pan before taking it out to the spare fridge to cool. When you return, the omelet has cooled and set up enough that you can slice it into round wheels and lay them on their side on another pan. You wrap them in plastic wrap since they are nearly cool before putting them in the fridge with the other proteins. “Deep Dive” comes on your playlist, and you feel another roll of excitement in your belly as you check the clock.  

It’s later than your mom usually stays up, and you’re surprised she hasn’t made her way to bed yet. You quickly toss your prep dishes into the dishwasher before turning off the oven and kitchen lights and making your way out to see what on earth your mom is watching that is more important than her strict adherence to her bedtime routine. When you get close, you see the little dog is fast asleep in her lap, and she appears to be leaning over, petting the dog tenderly. She startles when you walk in, and you apologize quickly before asking, “What are you watching? Do you know what time it is? You never stay up this late!” You chuckle as the little dog lazily lifts one ear and peeks one eye open to look at you in agreement.  

“I know, but I figured I should try to stay up a little if we’re going to be at the concert so late.” You bend down and kiss your mom on the forehead for her adorable sweetness, and she pulls back in surprise. “What was that for?” You laugh self-consciously before replying, “You’re sweet. That’s really cute. Go to bed!” Your mom rolls her eyes and groans as she reaches for the remote to turn off the TV. She looks around at the wine glasses and dessert plates lying around on the coffee table. “Don’t worry about all that. I’ll get it. Go to bed. I love you.” She looks up at you with tired eyes as she turns to pick up her little canine companion and shuffle off to bed. “Hey, Mom,” you call out before she leaves the room. She turns and looks at you sleepily as you add, “Thank you.” She nods as she says quietly, “Of course, darlin’. I love you. Goodnight.” You watch her shuffle toward her room, and you head back toward your own room to make sure you have a clear idea of everything that will happen over the next twenty-four hours.  

It’s a surreal feeling that the boys are here, in the same postal code, sleeping under the same sky, and yet you can’t reach them. You don’t know how you’ll be able to sleep tonight, but you know you need to at least try. Once you’ve arranged and rearranged your concert fit and supplies for tomorrow, you double-check your plans to get everything reheated and packed up before the driver picks the three of you up at one o’clock. “Mist” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you stare up at the ceiling, daring to dream of getting hugs from all of your boys. You can’t wait to at least feed them all, as you know watching them eat the food you made for them will bring you so much joy and satisfaction. You’ve definitely missed feeding them.  

You close your eyes and listen to “Deja Vu” as you start to float between asleep and awake, and weird dreams begin to intrude into your fantasies about tomorrow. You manage to force yourself up to plug in your phone and earbuds; tomorrow is not the day to be caught with a low battery. You also dig out your spare power pack and make sure it is charging as well. Satisfied that you’ve covered all your bases, you roll into the plush guest bed comforter and fall fast asleep.  

When you’re awakened by “Better,” you practically fly out of bed to start prepping in the kitchen. In your haste, you nearly run over your mom, as it appears she was heading to your room. She looks up at you, startled, before laughing good-naturedly, “Oh! Hey, I was just going to come see if you were up. I didn’t know what time you wanted to get up, but I didn’t want you to sleep through your alarm, just in case.” You hug her tightly at this and kiss her cheek before saying, “Thank you! That is so nice. I’m good! My alarm just went off.” You release her and head toward the kitchen to get started on your rabokki as your mom shuffles after you. “What is your plan?” she asks a little hesitantly as she watches you pulling out yet more dishes and utensils that she knows will end up dirty by the time you’re done. You look up at her sheepishly before giving a very brief explanation of your plan, and you look at her in amazement as she doesn’t even roll her eyes. She just nods and asks if you mind if she takes the first shower then. You agree, of course, because it makes sense but also because you’re flabbergasted that she didn’t take this prime opportunity to offer unsolicited advice or criticism that you’re trying to do too much in not enough time or that you’re doing too much and may come across as trying too hard. You stare at her, open-mouthed, as she turns to head toward her bathroom.  

When she is gone, you start pulling out the ingredients for the rabokki, and you suddenly remember you also need caffeine and medications. You also run back to grab your earbuds, and “Twilight” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist as you bust through the recipe with a huge smile on your face. Once the broth and ingredients are cooked through, you turn it down to low and listen to verify that your mom’s shower is done before going to take your own shower and get ready to see your loves. You’re starting to think your face is going to be quite sore because you can’t keep from smiling at this point, but you couldn’t care less. You’d walk through fire to get to your boys, so what’s some sore cheeks in the grand scheme of things?  

You obsessively check your phone and the time as you get yourself ready. When it is about an hour from the driver’s planned arrival, you start packing the dosirak boxes. Your mom emerges from getting ready, and you gasp in appreciation of the full effect of her new hair color and her new outfit. She blushes, surprised, and you can’t believe she’s so unaware of how awesome she looks. Rather than going through the usual compliment-seeking dialog, she sees your assembly line of boxes, and her curiosity overcomes her self-consciousness. You tell her what each item is, offering her little tastes of each from the leftovers that don’t fit into your boxes, and she looks up at you in wonder, “You really love this, don’t you?” You stop wiping the edge of one of the boxes to look up at her face and see that her eyes are moist. “I really do. I don’t think I knew how much. I mean, it’s not just the cooking, though; it’s like feeding the family. It’s who it’s for.” She nods at this knowingly before saying, “I let your dad cook with you most of the time, but I always enjoyed cooking for you and watching you eat.” You smile up at her, your eyes gathering tears as hers threaten to spill over. You quickly hand her a paper towel before using one yourself and chuckling as you mutter something about “Makeup” to her. “I love you,” she adds, looking at you deeply one more time before adding, “Okay, sorry. No more mushy stuff. I’m going to take the dog for a little walk before we go. The neighbor boy will come to feed her dinner and let her out for a bit while we’re gone.” You smile and nod at your mom before finishing up assembling and sealing your boxes, piling the boxes and utensils into several tote bags, and going back to the mirror to make sure your sentimentality hasn’t ruined your look.  

As you head back from the bathroom, your phone buzzes, and you check it to see if Bestie is on her way. You see that Hongjoong is texting you, saying that everything is arranged for the driver to pick you up right at one o’clock. You also see that you must have missed a text from Bestie saying she’s on her way. You laugh heartily, as this might be the only time in her entire life that she’s ready to go so early. “Don’t Stop” comes on, and you head to the front door to make sure it’s unlocked for Bestie to stroll in when she gets here. You nervously triple-check your sling bag and the totes to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything, even though you’re completely certain that you’ve got everything. In fact, it’s only the nervous energy moving you at this point because, frankly, you’d rather forget something if it meant you could get to your boys sooner. You can’t believe the day is finally here, and you get to see everything they’ve been working so hard on. You are excited, of course, to introduce Bestie to all of them, and you don’t envy her the amount of nerves she probably has right now, too. You remember, all too well, how terrifying it was to finally meet them. But you hope that because she has you, it will be easier. You didn’t really have anyone to reassure you, so you had to forge ahead into the unknown. A fleeting thought crosses your mind, and you wonder if your mom is nervous at all. She always plays it so cool when it comes to your ATEEZ obsession that you wonder if it’s fully dawned on her that she’s meeting people who are globally known and loved.  

The front door bangs open, as you know Bestie has once again forgotten how easily the wind catches it once you open the latch. She swears, and you can hear a slight raise in her usual timbre, so you quickly dash out to assist her and hopefully prevent a frustration-induced nervous meltdown. “Ice on My Teeth-Olive Alive version” comes on, and you quickly rip your earbuds out and throw them into the pocket of your wide-legged corduroy cargo pants as you make your way toward Bestie. She is struggling to get the door closed and appears to be halfway between taking off her shoes and putting her bags down at the same time. She looks up at you with a panicked expression, and seeing your amusement, she begins to laugh at herself as you both are all too familiar with your own stress-related foolishness. “Hi! Can I help you with some of that?” You laugh as you hold out a hand to take her bag or jacket. She stumbles as she kicks off her other platform sneaker and hands you a bag from the store containing the earplugs. “Thank you! You are the best! How are you? You okay? It’s going to be okay, I promise.” You smile at her gently as she looks at you with a nervous grimace. “Did you eat anything? You should eat some crackers or something. Drink some water. It will be so good. They are nice. Don’t be scared. I got you. If they can tolerate me, they’re gonna love you!” She laughs nervously at this, and you just hold her gaze earnestly.  

The two of you are jolted to the reality that there are only a handful of minutes before the driver is expected as your mom and the little dog come in through the garage. “Other daughter?” your mom calls, using her nickname for your Bestie. The traitorous little dog barks ecstatically and runs toward Bestie as though you no longer exist, but your mom scoots her aside as she reaches out to wrap Bestie in a big hug. “Serves you right, you little turncoat,” you mutter at the little dog, causing your mom and Bestie to look down at her with her big, bulging eyes and huge ears turned up at the three of you in confusion.  

Your mom releases Bestie from the hug just as the little dog’s satellite dish ears have turned toward the door, and she runs to get up onto the couch, where she can look out of the front window. All three of you turn to stare at her wordlessly as she begins to bark incessantly at something outside. None of you need to look out the window to know that the tour company’s driver has just pulled up. All of you dash into action as Bestie scrambles back into her chunky shoes. You run to the kitchen to grab your totes and sling bag, and your mom grabs her Titanic purse and knitting bag. You all stop and take a collective deep breath before swinging the door open and stepping out toward the car just as the driver reaches the front door to collect you.  

Ready or not, here we come.  

Chapter Text

The driver looks up to see the three of you walking toward him and his town car with the deeply tinted windows, and he stumbles back slightly in surprise. “Well, hi there! I’m here to pick you up for the show. I’ve been told to check your KQ ID badge, alrighty?” You glance at your mom and Bestie anxiously, as it hadn’t occurred to you to have your KQ badge with you for this. You fumble to open your sling bag and see if you still have it tucked into your wallet or if you’ll have to run back inside and turn your suitcase inside out to find it. Bestie shifts nervously as she watches you flip through the contents of your wallet. 

You heave a sigh of relief as you locate your KQ badge, and you hand it over to the driver to verify that you are, in fact, the three luckiest women on the planet at this moment. He glances at the photo, up at you, and then does a double-take before sucking air through his teeth, “Wow! They sure got your good side, huh?” He gives you a lopsided smirk, and you step forward to grab your badge back before Bestie can come to your defense. The last thing you want is for this exchange to delay you in getting to your boys. You nod at your bags and direct him, “We have these which will need to be kept upright unless you want your car coated in kimchi. Do you have a place in the trunk where we can secure them so they don’t tip over?” He looks slightly confused, and you wonder if his corn-fed ass knows what kimchi is or if he’s just disappointed that he didn’t get a rise out of you with his little insult of your picture. You stare at him until he sputters and begins to move around toward the trunk. You turn to your mom and Bestie and tell them to get into the car. You do not want to waste any more time with this man than is absolutely necessary. 

Once the bags are tied to a couple of cargo hooks in the trunk, you make your way around to the passenger side and get into the car without a word. You are strapped in and staring straight ahead when the driver gets in, slightly breathless from hustling to keep up with you. “Whew!” he wipes his forehead and chuckles nervously, “You must be in a hurry, huh? Alrighty. I get it. Excited for the show and all. Okay. Let’s get goin’.” He smooths the top of his thinning hair in the rearview mirror before putting the car in drive and slowly turning to head out of the neighborhood. He’s going so slow that the car barely needs to brake to stop at the stop sign as he turns onto the city streets. 

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that none of you want to make small talk with him, and you’re becoming extremely annoyed as you watch him driving well under the speed limit. You angle your body around to see your mom and Bestie and check in with them. “I’m so glad you’re coming. I can’t wait,” you glance at the driver out of the corner of your eye and decide you’re not going to divulge anything about your connections. Instead, you turn to Bestie to ask her, “Have you watched any of the tour footage yet?” She stares at you as though she’s having a hard time processing your words, so you wait, knowing that getting her into a conversation will help her relax and stay calm. “I, um, yeah, sure I did. I wasn’t going to because I didn’t want to spoil it, but they came up on my feed, and I couldn’t resist.” She looks sheepish, so you chuckle at her and admit that you, too, have watched a few of the fan cams. You space out for a bit as you think about the amazing show you’re about to see firsthand, and you cross your fingers that it will all go as planned. 

Watching the scenery go by backward in the rear window, you can tell you’re finally getting close to the venue, so you continue your mission to distract Bestie and keep her talking. “Any parts we will have to cover Mom’s eyes?” you ask with a devious grin. Mom makes a disgruntled noise of protest, “Hey! I may be old, but I’m not THAT old yet! Let me have my fun, too!” You and Bestie stare at each other, eyes huge, as your mom grins fiendishly at your stunned silence. You’re reminded of the earplugs as you gape at your mom’s uncharacteristic outburst, so you turn to dig in your bag and hand them to her, “Here. Before I forget, Bestie got these for you in case the music is too loud.” She reaches for them and tuts at you, “Did you each get some too? You know, the volume at these concerts can really damage your hearing.” You stare at her blankly, and she rolls her eyes because she already knows the answer. “I’ll be fine, mom. I mean, my hearing is already pretty much crap anyway.” She groans at you and prepares to launch into a lecture on keeping what little hearing you have left when the sudden bounce of the car pulling into the parking lot startles the three of you. 

You suddenly find it difficult to breathe, much less engage Mom and Bestie in nonchalant conversation. You turn in your seat to watch as the driver slowly passes through some fenced gates toward the back of the arena. A couple of very large, slightly intimidating-looking men lounge against a cement partition nearby and nod as the driver gives them a friendly wave. You stare in wonder as you pass several lines of huge, white semi-trucks and trailers. While they have no logos or decals on them, you can’t believe they’d all be for the boys’ show because of the sheer number of them. You can see your own stupefied expression in the reflection on the tinted glass window and have to make a conscious effort to close your mouth. You realize it’s probably your last chance to check your appearance, so you pull down the visor and open the vanity mirror to make sure you don’t have lip gloss on your teeth or anything. Satisfied that you’ve plastered down every stray hair and made sure that all of your makeup is on point, you loudly slam it closed, causing your mother to jump and chide you from the backseat. Bestie lets out a nervous giggle, and you glance back to see she’s checking her own face using her phone camera. Your mom lovingly pats her arm and says, “You look beautiful, as always.” You scoff and turn back to watch as the car rounds a corner toward a loading bay and enters one of the large doorways where the rolling steel door is halfway raised for access.  

You blink in the relative darkness as the light inside the garage area is much less than outside, even with the heavy tinting of the town car’s windows. As your eyes adjust, the driver brings the car around and reverses into a makeshift parking spot next to a set of fire doors, which you can see are slightly propped open. As you look to the side, you see three black SUVs with deeply tinted windows parked in a tight line, and your heart skips a beat. You have no idea where the boys are now, but it’s too late to send a text warning Jjoongie that you’re here because he won’t have time to get it before you’re already inside. You stifle a squeal as you look at Bestie and fling off your seatbelt.  

Your unbridled joy is controlling you now, and you can’t even remember why you were nervous. Your boys are here, somewhere, and all you have to do is start walking. Bestie stares at you, unable to move or speak, so you jump out of the car just as the infuriatingly slow driver puts the car into park. He starts to protest your exit before the car is fully shut off, but you don’t hear him as you slam your door and wrench open Bestie’s door with a huge smile. Your mom laughs a little and collects her purse and knitting as she demurely steps out of the car. You have to reach in and unbuckle Bestie, who still hasn’t moved. You gently brush her hair back from her face a little, tap her chin with your fingers, and say, “Come on, girl. It’s time. You can do this. I got you. I promise.” She looks at you and stammers, “Yeah. Okay. I’m trying.” You hear the trunk pop open as you reach down to grab Bestie’s purse and then hold out your hand to help her get out of the car like a very short, very excited footman. You’re beaming and practically vibrating with anticipation, so when you get her standing in front of you, you capture her attention and instruct her to take several deep breaths with you to calm you both for very different reasons.  

The driver coughs, and you hear him awkwardly attempting to chat up your mom, which triggers your pit bull reflexes, and you hurry to rescue her the only way you can think of at this point. You reach into the trunk and begin checking all of your bags; everything appears to have made it in perfect order as you’d expect, given the aggravatingly slow and overly cautious driving you just had to endure. “Mom?” you call out, “Can you please help me with these? I can’t get them all.” With exaggerated ineptitude, you grunt and whine, giving her cause to immediately escape the unwanted attention of the driver and come to your aid. Bestie, who has somehow gathered her wits as well, leans over and whispers, “Infomercial struggle?” You nod, “Infomercial struggle.” The two of you immediately launch into telegraphed incompetence to demonstrate that you somehow, inexplicably, lost the ability to manage the bags you perfectly handled all by yourself earlier. Your mom chuckles as she comes behind you and takes a bag. The driver is the last to clue into your request for assistance and jumps to come help as Bestie raises the final bag out of the trunk, and you easily slam it shut with your spare hand.  

“Thank you so much! We got it! Thank you!” you practically yell as you start to head for the fire door before realizing, to your chagrin, that you have no idea where you’re supposed to go. You sigh heavily before falling back a pace to turn back to the driver and reluctantly ask, “Where are we supposed to go?” He chuckles as he shuffles in a little jog-walk to catch up to you before saying, “Oh, I was hopin’ you’d ask. Right this way. I’ll show you in.” You look at Bestie and cross your eyes as you turn to follow him through the open doors.  

The doorway opens onto an industrial hallway with scuffed concrete floors and walls. The driver leads you off to the left to another fire door, which is also held open by a small doorstop wedge, causing you to feel mildly concerned about the apparent lack of security. The next hallway is much more presentable, with marbled white and gray flooring, crisp white walls, and indirect lighting panels aimed up at the white ceiling. The hall curves around further toward the left as you follow the driver past a few framed pictures of the venue’s previous incarnations memorialized in large, grainy black-and-white photographs. 

As you round the bend, you can hear some nondescript music and a few voices up ahead, though you can’t make out anyone specifically. You know that some of the boys will be seeing their stylists or working with the sports therapy trainers, and you know that BBTrippin’ will be getting ready, as well as all of the stagehands. Your stomach does a little flip, nonetheless, and you force yourself to breathe and pull your shoulders back to walk confidently as you approach the first door off of the hallway. 

The driver doesn’t break stride at this door, though his shuffling, lackadaisical walk would hardly be noticeably interrupted by a stumble at this point. You peek inside as you pass and see some of the staff working on unpacking items from large metal trunks and boxes. You follow the driver as he continues down the hall, and you realize this may be a good time to get some background information if he is still feeling chatty. “So, have you worked here for long? Do you work for the venue or for the tour company?” He turns, surprised at your sudden interest, “Ah well, let’s see, it’s been about two and a half years, by my count. I just work here for concerts and sporting events and such. I did work at a comic con once, and boy, let me tell ya, THAT was an experience!” He chuckles, and you smile at him simply before probing further, “I bet! So, the back area here is, like, where they bring in all the supplies? Or...” you purposely trail off, anticipating that he will not be able to resist the urge to jump in and demonstrate his knowledge.  

Your instincts are correct, and he quickly explains, “Oh yeah. Back here, they bring in some of the high-tech equipment and costumes, but this area is mostly where the performers come in to get ready. See? Just ahead, here is the green room and, well, no, it’s not green... I had to learn that the hard way when I first started,” he laughs again, and Bestie kindly forces a courtesy laugh from behind you. You shoot her a grateful look for saving you the effort. The driver continues, “The green room is where pretty much everybody waits and hangs out before the show and during breaks and whatnot. That’s where they told me to bring ya.” You sigh in relief as this is pretty consistent with what you’d imagined and you love that it’s making sense with what you’d pictured in your head. You also love that it’s coming up soon, or at least sounds like it is, based on the way he’s talking. 

As the hallway curves further around, it starts to straighten out again, and you see several open doors on the righthand side, with music and light filtering out into the hallway from the rooms beyond. You don’t recognize this music, but it definitely sounds like some kind of pop, and you breathe through another stomach flutter as you fight the urge to break into a run. It has always been very difficult for you to try to act laid back about things you feel passionate about. You’ve been told it’s “part of your charm” that you have exactly zero chill when you’re really excited. You’d disagree, but regardless of your feelings about it, it’s one of the hardest things for you to control. The fact that you still have no idea what you’re walking into and how things will be when you get in and see the boys is the only thing that keeps you in check. You’re still new to all of this, and despite your confident assurances to Bestie, you’re pretty fuckin’ nervous too. 

When the driver finally arrives at the first door, he suddenly stops in front of you and gestures into a bright room with vanities and makeup stations. “This is one of the dressing rooms. I don’t know where the ladies’ room that they’re using is, but the makeup gals can probably tell you.” He smiles as if he’s being helpful, and he turns to the next door, “And this is the green room.” You hear Bestie mumble, “Thank fuck.” under her breath, and you giggle, in spite of yourself, because she’s just pulled the words straight out of your brain. The two of you contort your expressions into pleasantly thankful smiles as you follow his extended arm to walk into the room he’s directing you toward. You step into a room lined with mirrors and flat countertops with small stools underneath that appear to have been laid out with snacks rather than being used as a backstage makeup area as it was likely originally intended. You smile smugly at the trays of relatively untouched long deli sandwiches, which are composed of bland bread, wilted lettuce, anemic tomatoes, processed deli meats, and cheeses. You turn your attention toward the other half of the room, which is nicely spaced with large, low couches, a few chairs, several coffee tables with various magazines, and gentle lamps that illuminate it just enough to be comfortable for the eyes. You imagine this is because the performers will be going between very dark backstage areas and the greenroom, so they won’t want it to be brightly lit due to the discomfort that adjustment could cause. 

Your heart falters a tiny bit as you don’t hear the boys yet, but you also don’t know what their rehearsal schedule is. It occurs to you that they approved the driver for one o’clock, but that may have been because they anticipated they’d be done by then, and you know well enough that things don’t always go to plan. You look around and see another stretch of flat countertops, so you decide to take charge and head for them before turning to the driver, “This is where ATEEZ is coming when they are done practicing? Into this room, correct?” He stammers for a second before you clarify, “I need to set up this food for them, and I want to make sure that this is the room they are using to relax when they’re done getting ready. Right?” You look at him with all of the authority you can muster despite the fact that you’re essentially bluffing at this point. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I think so. I’m pretty sure.” You look him in the eye and ask, “Is there any other greenroom that they could be using?” As he pauses to think, you’re ready to suggest that he call someone to verify before he speaks again, “Well, now that you come to mention it, no, this is the only one.” He beams proudly at his own conclusion, “So yeah! This is the one!” You try not to roll your eyes and, instead, walk past him to take out your dosirak boxes and arrange the food, cutlery, and plates on the countertop.  

You’re grateful that you’ve got something to do, as all of your nervous energy seems to be back in full force while you wait. You are desperately trying not to worry that you could be in the wrong place altogether, and your stomach folds as you think how completely awkward that could make things, given you don’t even know how long it would take to sort that out. You really hate the idea that you could be delayed in being with your boys if you’re not where you’re supposed to be. Bestie looks at you nervously as she helps you place some of the items out and display things. You turn to see your mom has already made herself at home in one of the spots on the low couches that is closest to a lamp, which will be prime knitting conditions for her. The driver, seeing that he’s no longer needed, shuffles toward the door before half-heartedly calling out, “Well, enjoy your show. If you need anything else,” he turns and waddles out the door without finishing this little formality, and you and Bestie burst into laughter when he’s at least made it a little way out the door. Your mom tuts at you from the couch as she fusses to straighten out her knitting project from the bag.  

Once all of the food is arranged on the countertop, you fold the tote bags and place them inside one of the larger bags before looking up at Bestie with a weak smile and a nervous exhale. She looks at you with the expression of a lost toddler: concerned but trusting that you know what you’re doing. You look over and see that at least your mom seems comfortable, and you and Bestie begin to amble over to her to see what she’s working on. 

Just then, a door you hadn’t noted at the other end of the room flies open with a loud bang as a chorus of boisterous, familiar voices carries through, followed closely by all of your boys as they laugh, dance, and horseplay their way into the green room. You instinctively step in front of Bestie so that you can properly introduce her and give her the slightest cover for her likely shaking knees behind your wide pants and curvy figure.  

Yeosang notices you first and calls out, “Hey!” as he heads over to give you a quick hug. You step aside and introduce him to Bestie, and he gives her a sweet smile and gentle handshake. San is the next to realize you’re there, and he comes flying over to scoop you up in a big hug and spin you around. You try your best not to squeal as he’s all sweaty, and you don’t have a change of clothes. You smack his shoulder, and he puts you down quickly as he just noticed Bestie standing there awkwardly, so you introduce her as well as point out your mother over on the sofa. San smiles sweetly and pulls you by your hand to introduce him to your mom. He greets her and takes the time to ask her about her knitting. Seeing he is in full prince mode, you dash back to rescue Bestie, who is probably trying not to have a heart attack as the rest of the boys come in. You step in front of her again to point out the food you brought by loudly saying, “Dosirak!” and pointing to the countertop spread to resounding cheers from your boys. Wooyoung and Jongho are arguing good-naturedly about something, and they stop by to say “hi” and meet Bestie before heading to what you can only assume are the showers and changing rooms. Mingi and Yunho come in next; you know it’s them because Bestie gasps audibly as their impressive forms fill up the doorway as they come in.  

Mingi sees you and exclaims, “Ttangkong!” before rushing over to hug you. Yunho smiles fondly, his eyes shining and his cheeks red from the exertion of practice. Mingi pulls away from your hug and looks up at Bestie in surprise; you can only imagine how her height is a novelty to him. He can’t contain a small exclamation, “Whoa!” and you quickly step in to introduce her to the Twin Towers. She holds herself together remarkably well; you can imagine their easy-going nature helps a bit as they are probably the least intimidating people you know. They politely shake her hand, and then you point them toward the food you brought to give her a moment to process. As they excitedly dash over to dig into the provisions, you turn back to see her staring vaguely in wonder at the palm of her hand that they have just touched.  

You chuckle at her, which startles her back to reality, and she quickly shoves her hand in her pocket as if this is going to somehow allow her to save the feeling for later. Seonghwa enters and positively beams at you when your eyes meet. You are surprised at the tears that spring to your eyes when you see his bright, beautiful face. He comes over and, seeing Bestie refrains from hugging you until he’s properly greeted her and made sure she feels welcome. When he’s met her, he then turns and reaches down to hug you and whisper into your hair, “Salanghae.” You whisper back into his neck, “I love you, too.” before relinquishing your hold on each other and directing him to get something to eat before the rest of the boys annihilate the provisions.  

You try not to look distracted or disappointed as you haven’t seen Hongjoong yet, but of course, Bestie sees you looking around and notes the absent member, “Hongjoong?” she whispers down to you. You shrug and smile as you look around. Mingi and Yunho have filled plates and are making their way to the couches before Yunho suddenly calls out Bestie’s name and pats the couch between where he and Mingi are about to sit. She looks at you with panic in her eyes before you pat her on the ass and give her a little shove, “Go! Sit! Have fun!” She glares back at you with a twinkle in her eye as she nervously moves to go sit between her biases.  

San has excused himself from your mother’s side and is looking longingly at the food. He wraps a heavy arm across your shoulders and smiles down at you with his fabulous dimples before saying softly, “Kkulbeol, it’s good to see you. Are you excited to see the show?” You nod, distracted by Jjoongie’s absence but not feeling entirely comfortable asking San where he might be. “You brought us all this food?” he asks, as his eyes scan the spread before him, “Yeah. I wanted to make sure you had something good to eat,” you reply as you look over at the beige sandwiches on the opposite side and scowl. He laughs, “Of course. That’s why you’re ‘kkulbeol’.” He quickly places a chaste kiss on the top of your head and releases his arm from your shoulders to go get something to eat.  

You are about to turn back toward the couches when movement by the stage door catches your eye, and it’s your turn to gasp lightly as Hongjoong finally saunters in, and smiles at you through his sweaty bangs. You take a huge relieved breath as you beam at him and hold yourself rooted to the spot to prevent any overzealous displays of affection. He’s immediately followed by someone else, and your relief turns to nervous confusion as he pauses to hold his arm out for a beautiful, dark-haired woman behind him. She follows, smiling calmly, as they walk toward you. Your nerves shift gears but seem to ramp up rather than dissipate as she turns toward him to say something. You recognize that adorable profile you know and love, and you immediately realize that this is the woman who has given Jjoongie the world’s most perfect nose—her nose.  

He smiles and laughs, “This is my mom. Hello! It’s a surprise!” You smile and do your best not to stare as you greet her. You suddenly remember yourself and gesture to the food to encourage them to get something to eat. You also add, “My mother is here too. I will introduce her, but you should get something to eat first.” You gesture to where your mom is happily knitting in her own little world as the boys chatter and eat excitedly. You glance over at Bestie just in time to see that Yunho and Mingi appear to be taking turns feeding her bites of the bulgogi, and you make a mental note to tell her that they must think she is a goddess for them to be sharing the meat so freely with her. Hongjoong sees your attention diverted, and he gently tugs at your arm before saying quietly, “I’m so glad you’re here.” You gingerly lean to bump against his arm and say quietly, “Me too. I missed you.” You smile up at him, knowing that the hardest part is over. You’re together again, and that’s what matters.      

You snap out of your reverie and smile widely at him as you gesture toward the counter, “Go! Get some food; get your mom some food! Please! I worked so hard on it.” You look at him with big eyes and bat your eyelashes for added effect. He laughs and says, “Okay, okay.” He walks along with his mother, fixing her a plate and talking to her as he fills the plate for her before suggesting she take a seat near your mom. You realize that she, too, has a bag over her arm as she sits down next to your mom and smiles kindly at her knitting. You stand beside Hongjoong to introduce him to your mom so that he can introduce his mother to yours.  

Somehow, this unplanned cultural dance goes off well, and once the moms are settled in, the boys are eating, and you can somehow breathe again, you sigh contentedly at all of the love you feel around the room. You slip back over to the counter to clean up spills and combine the remaining food into fewer containers. Hongjoong’s mom complimented your kimchi not once but twice, and you add that compliment to the list of things you’d die happy after experiencing. She is, of course, gracious and good-natured. You like watching her interact with all of the boys, and you wonder if she ever dreamt that she’d basically end up adopting seven more sons because of her youngest son’s career.  

It could be worse; some groups have more than a dozen.  

You see Jjoongie perched on the edge of the coffee table, chatting with his mom before he makes some excuse and stands to walk to where you’ve been watching near the edge of the room, just enjoying having all of your loves in one room. He whispers to you, “Would you like to see the stage?” You cast a nervous glance at Bestie, not wanting to leave her out but desperate for a minute alone with him, however fleeting. Bestie is nestled between Yungi, and appears to be holding her own as they try to teach her how to use the chopsticks, so you nod at Hongjoong and take his hand to follow him out to the stage.  

He leads you through a darkened corridor before stopping halfway in the dark and pulling you to the side, causing your breath to catch and your heart to pound as you feel the heat between your legs spark up out of nowhere. He reaches down to stroke your neck and pulls you in for a deep, passionate kiss, causing you to stifle a moan as you desperately pull him closer to you. The two of you press your bodies together tightly, and you feel those tears come to your eyes again as your tongues caress each other, and your fervent kisses send hot arousal through your entire body. The two of you gasp for air before he pulls back and chuckles a little, adding sheepishly, “I wasn’t planning on doing that, but I couldn’t stop myself. I miss you, Naui Haneul.” You take a deep shuddering breath before pecking him on his exquisite jawline, “I’ve missed you too, Jjoongie. I’m so glad I’m here.” He smiles at you in the near darkness, and he quickly wipes a thumb across your lips and his own before taking your hand to actually show you the stage, “Come. It's really cool. I want you to see.” He leads you out, pulling you in front of him and guiding you with two palms on the small of your back. You gasp in wonder as the huge set looms in front of you. You stumble a little as it’s difficult to walk with your neck craned to look so far up, and he gently catches you with one hand on your waist.  

Jjoongie guides you out to the center of the main stage as you stare up at all of the fascinating components of their set. The lights of the structures are still on, and you are able to admire the different layers of digital lighting that highlight the futuristic design of the different structures. He gently keeps you facing the stage as he guides you to walk backward with him, down the center of the barricade portion, to see the whole stage from further away. You giggle awkwardly at your inability to walk backward without stumbling or threatening to trip over his feet until you finally manage to fall into step with him. “It looks amazing, Jjoongie,” you breathe, and he nods and murmurs, “Mm-hmm,” into your hair. “And you’re having fun? Everything is going well?” you ask, somewhat hesitantly, because anything less than a “yes” response would break your heart, and you both know it.  

Instead, he spins you around to face him, standing there in the middle of this huge place, in the center of the stage, and he gently kisses your forehead before you suddenly feel exposed standing there and begin to shrink back slightly from him. “It’s okay,” he says to soothe you, seeing you gaping at the size of the place and the fact that the two of you are in the wide open. “I am having fun. It has been good. I do miss you, though,” he adds thoughtfully. You smile up at him and say, “Good!” before tapping him on the nose and attempting to change the subject, “Where am I sitting? Will you be able to see me?” you look up at him as he looks around, pretending to be unsure where you are going to sit. “Um, let me think,” he says, spinning you around in exaggerated circles as though he’s disoriented by the view from the enormous stage.  

“One, two, three, four...” you begin counting softly while watching his face as he does this silly act. You are nearly to eleven by the time he finally registers that you are counting, and he stops, looking down at you, confused, “What are you counting for?” You stare up at him and reach a hand up to touch the side of his cheek, “I’m counting all of the places on your face that I want to kiss next time we’re alone.” He looks down at you, unable to keep up his “lost and confused” routine; instead, he growls lightly at you and begins marching you back offstage by pressing his body against your back and pushing your legs to walk forward with his thighs. You squeal in protest, “Wait! You’re supposed to show me where I’m going to sit! How will you know if you can see me?” and he nibbles at your ear as he marches you and growls again, “I will see you. I promise.” You giggle nervously as he drives you straight back to the dark corner backstage to press you up against a nearly invisible wall and kiss you passionately. 

He holds you there, up against the wall, kissing you deeply as his hands explore over your body and his thigh presses up against your heat. You moan and whine, pressing back against his hands and his mouth as you desperately wish you could just drop down onto the stage and take him inside of you right now. A suddenly horrifying thought occurs to you that there is currently a single door between not one, but both, of your mothers who sit in the green room, unaware of the desperate lust and brazen behavior occurring between their offspring nearby. You pull back, knowing that you’re going to have a hard time hiding the rush of arousal in your lips and cheeks, not to mention the likely effect on your hairstyle if he keeps this up. You’re starting to seriously regret bringing your mom, and you feel like a total shithead for that. “Jjoongie, wait,” you say into his mouth as you press your palm against his chest to hold him off for a moment. “Hmm?” he pulls back, and you can feel his breath on your cheek as he continues to press his lower body against you. “Your mom, my mom, everybody is in there,” you whisper, though you wish you didn’t give a single fuck at this point. “Mm-hmm,” he agrees, brushing his lips across your cheeks as he does. “I don’t want to go in there with my hair all messed up and more of my makeup on your face than my own face. It’s not right. My mom will be confused. I just told her about my job a month ago. And she asked if I was in love with anyone, and I...” you struggle a little at this admission, as it sounds much shittier out loud than it did in your thoughts, “I told her I wasn’t in love with anyone. I thought I shouldn’t tell her. Because of the NDA and the agreement and everything.”  

He tuts at you, and his almost amused tone surprises you. He should know better than anyone that the two of you have not had time to truly discuss any of these important decisions, so why does it seem funny to him?  “It’s okay, Naui Haneul. We don’t have to tell anyone anything you don’t want to. But I’m also okay with my mom knowing that I love you. I am used to sharing things like that with her. We can talk about it more and figure it out as we go, okay? I don’t know what your NDA said exactly, but obviously, that’s a different issue. I’m not ashamed of my feelings. I hope you aren’t either.” You stifle a gasp at this and quickly try to explain your concerns, “No, oh my gods, I’m not ashamed. Never that. No, I just don’t want to cause you trouble, Jjoongie. I will always try to wait for you to tell me what to do, because I just don’t know how any of this works. I’m so in love with you. I never want to cause problems. That’s all.” He kisses your mouth as you stare up at him in disbelief.  

“Okay, good,” he says with a little pout before saying, “You’re probably right though. No more kissing.” You whine, “That’s NOT what I said!” He chuckles before pulling back from you, “I know, I know.” He looks down self-consciously, and you see that he is wearing thin workout pants that are not going to effectively hide his cock’s enthusiasm for your little make-out session. You try and fail to suppress a giggle, “Oh... Jjoongie. That’s, um, oh no.” He looks at you, feigning dismay, “How can you be so mean?” You start to laugh before trying to free yourself from him, and he pulls you back by your hand to kiss you one more time, deeply, before suggesting that the two of you take a little walk to see where your seats will be to give him time to cool off before you return to the green room.  

Chapter Text

After he walks you down the stage again to show you where you’ll be sitting, he leads you off the stage through a side door to steal just a little more time for just the two of you. Hongjoong takes you on a little tour of the backstage areas to show you where he’ll be changing, getting his hair and makeup done, and where you and your mom and Bestie have access to restrooms and vending machines if you need them. When you return to the greenroom, no one appears to have noticed your absence, or if they did, they were kind enough to pretend to ignore it. Bestie is still feigning incompetence with the chopsticks so that the Twin Towers will continue trying to give her hands-on instruction, and you make another mental note to tell her how much you admire her audacity.  

Hongjoong leads you back over toward where your moms are sitting side-by-side knitting, and you watch them smiling and nodding at one another’s projects in appreciation, which warms your heart full-to-bursting. Seonghwa appears to have probably gone to get ready, and Yeosang is absently watching Mingi and Yunho with Bestie while he works on a word puzzle. You wonder if he’s figured out yet that Bestie is actually fairly proficient with chopsticks; it wouldn’t surprise you if Yeosang was able to pick up on that little tidbit. You look around for a place to sit, as you’re not sure you want to be attached at the hip to Hongjoong, as you are still trying to decide what to do with the fact that he gave you permission to tell your mom, at least, about your affection for each other. You also realize that you didn’t discuss other people, such as Bestie, though she’s as close as you have to a sibling, so it seems like that should fall under a similar category as your mother.  

Again, more shit we need to talk about. Clearly.  

Hongjoong leans against the armrest of his mom’s seat, and you quietly ask him if he’s eaten anything recently before you head over to double-check what’s left on the counter. His mom clucks her tongue lightly without looking up from her knitting, and you chuckle as he makes a noise in protest. You ignore him and put together a small assortment so that he can at least try what you’ve made and tell you what foods he likes best. He makes a point of exaggerating his effort and protesting being forced to eat actual food, but you catch him going back for more bulgogi out of the corner of your eye. You are at least classy enough not to look too terribly smug when he comes back with his second helping. His mom gives you a wink of approval, causing your heart to flutter in surprise.

You settle into the seat next to your mom and just enjoy watching the laid-back comings and goings of the boys between the hair, makeup, and trainers. Wooyoung returns first to call Yeosang down to get his hair and makeup done. Seonghwa returns next to collect Hongjoong, and you purposely scoot over to call Hwa to sit by you and your mom. He sweetly asks her about her knitting and hangs on her every word. You have to fight the urge to hold his hand and absentmindedly play with his fingers, and you’re surprised by just how ingrained this little habit has become between the two of you. You slide your hand down under your thigh, partly so you can sit on it to prevent you from forgetting not to hold his hand but also so that you can place the side of your hand next to his leg to at least feel partially connected to him. He chuckles quietly as you do this and sighs because he can read the look of irritation on your face all too well. You realize that Hwa may miss the comfort of this little habit of yours as much as you, and you suddenly find yourself wondering why you stubbornly are trying to deny showing anyone this precious friendship you have cultivated with him. Still, you’re not at home, and you have no idea which staff or others may come through or what assumptions they would make to see you sitting there cuddled up on the couch and holding hands with him.  

You suddenly feel Hwa shift his weight and lean to grab a throw pillow from the side of the couch. As he shifts back next to you, he places the pillow across his lap and cradles the pillow with the arm closest to you while sliding his opposite hand underneath to seek out your hand from beneath the pillow. You smile over at him adoringly as you shimmy closer to him and begin stroking his palm and familiar long, graceful fingers tenderly as you sigh happily and watch Yeosang and Hongjoong return to call Mingi and Yunho out for their turns. They both pout and act surprised, though you know they would have anticipated it; in fact, you suspect that the boys did them a favor by letting them go last, as you highly doubt they just happened to be seventh and eighth in the order. 

Jjoongie sees relatively little space left on the sofa with you and Seonghwa, so he politely asks Bestie if he can sit by her, and you greatly enjoy watching her turn bright red as she’s suddenly nervous all over again. He is gentle with her and engages her in conversation, though you can’t quite hear what is being said as Wooyoung has turned on the television on the wall and appears to be searching for a sports channel. You’re content to sit and tune everything out as all of the nerves and excitement have taken a lot out of you, and you relish the chance to relax against Seonghwa for a bit before everything amps up all over again.  

You suddenly realize that you didn’t see if Jongho got to eat, as he went with Wooyoung after they came off the stage, and you haven’t seen him since. You ask Seonghwa about it, and he nods, telling you that Jongho spends more time doing vocal warmups and will probably be back in a little while. “Will he want food?” you ask, hoping he won’t be terribly disappointed by whatever food is still left. “He usually has a protein drink, but maybe he will want food,” Seonghwa adds when he sees your hopeful expression falter. He pats your hand under the pillow and leans over to kiss you on top of your head. Hwa, understandably, has fewer hangups about showing his affection for you, and you’re grateful for this comforting gesture. Bestie catches your eye as she looks back from her conversation with Hongjoong, and you try to look nonchalant, although you know she’s going to interrogate you as soon as she gets a chance in private.  

There is suddenly a loud voice calling out as someone reaches around the greenroom door, which is propped open, and knocks dramatically as you think you hear “camera” in a sudden burst of Korean words from the hallway. Hongjoong rolls his eyes and says, “We have guests. No one is naked.” His mother looks up at the open doorway expectantly and says something in a chiding tone as Bumjoong and Maddox enter with huge, goofy grins and big brother energy. She directs them over toward the food on the counter, and they quickly voice their approval and thanks after she calls them back, likely telling them who is responsible for the food they’re about to descend upon. You cringe slightly and vow silently to make it up to Jongho after the tour if he ends up having to go without. You also recognize that he’s a professional and will ultimately do whatever he needs to do to be at his best for the show tonight, so it’s okay if your surprise dinner isn’t part of his plan. 

Once he’s filled up a plate, Bumjoong returns to perch on the arm of the couch next to Hongjoong, which further causes Hongjoong to scoot toward Bestie to avoid being at eye level with his older brother’s ass due to the low profile of the sofa. Bumjoong sees this and uses the momentum to turn and ask, “Are you going to introduce us to your pretty friends?” He gestures toward Bestie and then nods back toward you. He takes a large bite of food and watches with wide innocent eyes as Hongjoong breaks out in a horrified blush. Hongjoong somehow seems to collect himself and confidently introduces Bumjoong and Maddox to Bestie, you, and your mother, with all of the grace of a diplomat, and he now appears to delight in the blush that creeps into Bumjoong’s cheeks as he had not registered that another matriarch was present. You look over in time to see a smug nod from their mother at this final introduction, and you see that she is waiting for her younger son to put his big brother on notice.  

You stifle a chuckle as you smile politely at Bumjoong and Maddox. Hongjoong adds, unnecessarily, “She made the food you are enjoying. Isn’t she a very talented cook?” Both Bumjoong and Maddox were unable to respond at that moment as they had both been inhaling the food since they thought the introductions were complete. They both nod vigorously and hum in agreement. You share a quick smirk with Hongjoong, who now looks quite satisfied with himself. Hwa leans down to you and whispers, “Hongjoong’s mom is mad at Bumjoong for trying to embarrass him. She said it’s unfair that he knows Hongjoong doesn’t have the same time for friends that he does.” You look up at Hwa curiously, and he adds, “She also said not to embarrass him because he knows how important this is to Hongjoong.” You stare at Hwa now, and he gives you a knowing look. You squeeze his hand tightly under the pillow and whisper under your breath, “Holy shit,” before remembering yourself and saying, more directly to Hwa, “Thank you.” You truly have no idea what you’d do without Hwa’s selfless willingness to share these insights. You’d probably be staring hopelessly at your translation app, trying to catch some idea of the conversation happening all around you. 

The relative calm of the greenroom is shattered once again by the reappearance of Yunho and Mingi, who appear to be pointlessly racing back to sit by Bestie when they had both equally shared her between them on the sofa. Neither of them were prepared to see that Hongjoong was in Mingi’s former seat, but this spurs on the competition until Hongjoong, seeing them coming in hot, wisely stands and announces something before Hwa calls out to him and scoots closer to the arm of the sofa to allow you to also squeeze together and make a space. You really wish you could plant a huge kiss on his luscious, beautiful lips for this, as you’re now effectively the happiest little MATZ sandwich that ever existed, as Jjoongie has already clued into Hwa’s strategy and retrieved a spare pillow on his way over. You snuggle in and reach out to hold their hands, discretely hidden under the pillows, as you try to keep from looking like the cat who swallowed the canary sitting smugly between them.  

Your rapture is short-lived, however, because it is much nearer to soundcheck than any of you realized. A stage manager comes through and announces several things in Korean to the room. Hongjoong leans over to explain that he has to go through the show changes and stage notes after soundcheck, but the stage manager has just said that they will be letting in ATINY soon, so we have to keep the doors closed to the stage.  The green room’s lights dim slightly, and you see the stage manager flicking switches along the wall before heading out the stage door. You shimmy a little and let out a small squeal of excitement, causing both Hwa and Jjoongie to chuckle at you in surprise. You know they do this all the time, but they honestly forget how amazing it all is and how much it means to you to be here. You feel so incredibly lucky first to be their fan, then their caretaker, and now, whatever it is you call this overwhelming rush of love and joy that fills you every time you catch them looking at you.  

The boys have to go make one more pass under the practiced eyes of the stylists before soundcheck, which gives you a few moments to explain to Mom and Bestie what to expect. The stage manager returns to show the three of you, as well as Hongjoong’s mother and Bumjoong, where you can safely stand to watch during soundcheck and won’t be visible to any of the fans down along the barricade. Maddox makes his apologies but explains that he will be up in the sound booth for the majority of the show because he wants to learn more about the sound production and cueing that they use from the technical production side of things. You kindly tell Bumjoong that it is nice of him not to leave his mother to fend for herself, but he laughs and explains, haltingly, that she already told him to get lost because she likes your mom better than him right now. You bite your lip and give him a sympathetic smile, thinking back to what Hwa told you about their mother being mad at him for being an obnoxious older brother. 

You can hear the moment ATINY begin to file into the venue and jostle for their preferred places along the stage. You stare at Bestie with huge eyes as you’d never imagined just how loud it was, even from backstage. It’s almost embarrassing, but then again, this is what your boys live for. They definitely signed up for this, and quiet fans are not a good sign, at least not here in your hometown. You silently cheer for ATINY to be as loud as possible since you will be cheering with them in spirit, at least. You definitely won’t be as unhinged as you have been at previous shows because this is a whole different ballgame now. The lights on the stage flicker, and the crowd begins to scream without restraint. You get shivers as you know your boys are about to come out and make their dreams come true. 

Almost.  

You hear Hongjoong’s voice first as you look to see him striding out in full Captain mode as he waves and smiles kindly at ATINY, who are currently unable to do anything but shriek incoherently at him and the seven beautiful boys behind him. You know from personal experience that these fans have probably spent their rent money on this concert, and they’d gladly do it again because this will be one of the best nights of their lives. You catch yourself grinning from ear to ear as the boys parade out and work the crowd, posing, smiling, and being their charming selves. You are so fucking proud of them that you just want to scream, too, but you don’t dare as you wouldn’t want anyone to suddenly realize that there was unhinged cheering inexplicably coming from backstage. 

The boys bound off the stage after saying hello to the fans, thanking them for coming out and performing their three songs. The noise level in the venue dies down only slightly as they start the wait for the actual show to begin, and there is a lull before the rest of the concertgoers are allowed to file in. Bestie hooks her arm through your elbow, and the two of you enjoy a moment of unrestrained, joyful skipping as you return to the green room to wait for the boys to get into their first costumes. Your mom looks at you in surprise when you’re all seated back on the sofas, and it becomes evident just how loud the crowd can be, even from behind the closed doors of the green room. You and Bestie simply laugh and say knowingly, “Wait and see.” You quickly ensure that she still knows where her earplugs are, as now will likely be the only time you’d have a chance to replace them if they’ve gone missing. 

You busy yourself with putting away the food and utensils while you wait for the boys to get dressed and hooked up with their in-ears and mics. Of course, the problem with trying to keep yourself busy in this manner means that your back is turned to the hallway when you hear Bestie gasp. You turn in alarm to see that she’s just reacted genuinely to the spectacular sight of your boys, who have just reentered in their stunning black suits with the rhinestones and starburst motifs. You gasp, too, as for whatever reason, you’d been picturing them in their all-white sparkling suits, and you were vastly underprepared for their visual effect in the powerful elegance of black.  

You find yourself silently counting them as they come in, knowing damn well that Hongjoong will either be last or not yet with them as he is probably finalizing some important detail or ensuring he’s clearly understood any last-minute changes. Mercifully, you’re wrong again, as he is right there at the end of the line, entering behind Mingi, and your breath catches again as you see him with his styled hair lightly parted from his exquisite face, his eyes barely shaded by hints of eyeliner, and his full lips tinted the perfect deep rose to set off his blinding smile. Your cheeks hurt already from the delirious grin plastered there that you suspect will not shrink until the show is over, and you fight to keep from looking like a complete simp, but you honestly can’t believe that any of this is happening. He is looking at you with that fucking smile, and it’s all you can do not to fall to your knees. You glance over to see Bestie chatting up Mingi and Yunho with a strange level of confidence as she teases them and asks them about the differences in their costumes. You’re a little envious of the fact that she doesn’t seem the slightest bit dumbstruck, as you currently find yourself. 

Seonghwa kisses you on the top of your head as he passes by to go back to the sofa where you’d all been sitting before soundcheck. You quickly reach out and squeeze his palm as he walks by. You stand, waiting for Jjoongie to make his way toward you as time, your breath, and your body all seem to be frozen in anticipation. He saunters over to you, and he gives a quick nod to Bestie, who beams at him before resuming her flirting with the Twin Towers. You gape at him unabashedly because he looks so stunning. For all of the shit you mentally prepared for with this trip and the show, you had given zero thought to what seeing him standing there in full regalia would do to you. 

And with that dead sexy look on his damn face, too.  

It’s a testament to your stubbornness that your knees didn’t buckle.  

“Holy shit,” you breathe as he stands in front of you. He’s still beaming at your stunned expression. “You look amazing,” you sigh deeply and find yourself suddenly reliving the shock you experienced the first time you were in the same room with him at the dorm.  

He chuckles and looks down at himself coyly because there’s absolutely no way he isn’t aware of how hot he looks in that fit. “You like it?” he looks up at you through his bangs. Without thinking, you reach up to smooth the hair away from his eyes, and he mimics biting your fingers, causing you to squeal and pull back your hand in surprise. You take a nervous step back, realizing that your shriek has just captured most of the attention of the room’s current occupants, and he saunters closer, with his legs wide as he reaches an arm behind your waist to pull you closer to him and prevent you from falling over backward. He leans down and kisses you on the apple of your cheek. You realize you are fighting to free yourself, pressing your palm against his chest, though you cannot explain why—other than out of the habit of trying to maintain appearances and to deny the fact that every cell in your body is inscribed with his name on it. 

Just the feeling of his lips touching your face causes your resistance to melt, and you relax your body against his, swaying slightly with the movement of his hips as he pulls you close to him and braces your knees with his along either side of yours. You close your eyes and breathe in deeply, trying to steal as much of his atmosphere as possible. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping back to grab your hand and twirl you around using this and his arm behind your back to spin you and guide you back to the couch. You quickly steal a glance past his shoulder to see that both of your mothers appear to be engrossed in their knitting, though you find it hard to believe that your own mother wouldn’t have been fairly mesmerized by the vision of all of them looking so handsome and professional in their stage costumes.  

Once you are seated on the couch by Hwa, you force yourself to sit carefully upright to avoid smudging any of your makeup onto their stunning clothes. Hongjoong informs you that the managers will come and get you just before it’s time to start and will walk you through a side door to the place where he showed you earlier you’d be sitting. You give a shaky breath and realize you are suddenly sad that your time together is about to be shared with the twenty thousand screaming ATINY just one doorway away and already blowing their lungs out, yelling the fan chant to the recording of Guerrilla playing through the arena’s sound system. “Thank you,” you say to him quietly before taking a greedy moment to look deeply into his eyes, hoping he can sense all that you want to say and do to him at this moment. “I love you so very much. I’m so proud of you,” you whisper before turning to watch the rest of the room. Bestie and her Twin Towers have settled back onto the couch, as all around you, everyone is now in waiting mode.  

All too soon, the stage manager comes in and calls you, Bestie, your mom, Bumjoong, and Hongjoong’s mother out to go to your seats as it’s nearly time for the show to start. You gasp and squeeze Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s thighs quickly before heading out to see the show. “Have a great show! I’m so proud of you all!” you call out to the boys before rounding the corner and heading out into the crowd. You can’t help but think how odd it is that you’re actually walking out into the place where you truly belong, to be among your ATINY, your people, as you’ve been one of them for much longer than you’ve been anything else to ATEEZ. But now the line you’ve crossed is one that makes this distinction feel so much more foreign as you know there are more than a few people in this crowd who’d tear you limb from limb and step over your dying body without a moment’s guilt if they thought it meant they could have what you currently have. You suppress a shudder and think that it’s probably a damn good thing that none of them will ever know that you’re not one of them. You know exactly how to blend in.  

“Don’t act special. We are ATINY. That is all,” you say to Bestie with a knowing look. She looks back at you, a little bewildered, as the few hours she’s just spent behind the curtain have clearly altered her self-perception in a meaningful way. She seems to be picking up on your meaning, as evidenced by her slightly alarmed nod. You plaster a shit-eating grin on your face and turn to model this level of unhinged enthusiasm for her. She laughs a little nervously and then contorts her face into a similar look as the two of you troop behind the stage manager and pretend you have no idea where you’re going. You make sure to thank the manager fervently, as though you’ve only just been informed that you have the best seats in the house, which technically are not even seats.  

You barely have time to get seated before the lights in the entire arena dim and the crowd’s screaming amps up to a deafening roar. You strain your eyes to see up on the stage if you can tell where the boys are coming in because you know what happens next. The lights of the stage structures kick on, and you can hear Maddox’s narrative from the diary starting up as fog starts to roll in from somewhere on either side of the stage. The lights flicker on and then off, and your briefly blinded eyes try to recall if you had actually seen all eight of them standing there on the stage or if you had only imagined it, when the lights flash again, and you are sure now, that the silhouettes are your ATEEZ in descending order with the fog and multicolored lights going off behind them. The lights flash off again, and you can’t hear anything but the crowd as the lights finally come on and the boys launch into their first song.  

Your heart is pounding along to the beat as you, too, find yourself screaming without any restraint, and you couldn’t say whether this was due to reflex, peer pressure, or pure adoration. The show is living up to everything you would have dreamt of for them; you are just as caught up in its magic as everyone around you. You can’t believe the visual spectacle, as well as the quality of their sound, their cohesive movements, and the way they match the size of the stage and their spacing so that every member can be seen and appreciated for their contribution. Jongho, of course, shakes the rafters with his amazing voice. You’re once again struck with awe by the way he sounds as good or better than he does on any of the recordings. He probably doesn’t even need the mic, honestly, because that man’s lung capacity defies the laws of physics. 

Your mom elbows you sharply in the ribs when Jongho sings, and you chuckle because you worry you’ll have to inform him later that he has another “mom” fan.  

But honestly, if you’re not at least a little ‘ribo,’ can you really even be ATINY?  

That man is the voice of ATEEZ.  

You and Bestie have screamed until your voices are nearly gone despite assuring yourselves that you would be chill and not lose your shit. But the seats were far enough away that you felt comfortable giving into your emotions while still wondering just how many of those sexy looks were directed straight at you. You are more than certain, based on the fan cams you watched before the show, that Mingi’s favorite filler move was directed quite intentionally toward your special seating area; you’ll have to have a chat with him about that later.  

Mom loved it, though.  

After the encore, the stage manager returns and takes the three of you out the side door to head back to the green room while the group gets ready for the send-off moments with fans. You shuffle around awkwardly, trying to ensure you’ve collected all of your belongings and disposed of any unnecessary items while you wait to hug and praise your boys for their amazing show. Bestie is chattering excitedly with your mom about all of the different sets and scenes from the show, and your mom is kindly listening as though she, too, didn’t just witness the entire spectacle. Thankfully, you don’t have to wait long, as they just have to free themselves of the electronics before they rejoin you in the green room. San and Wooyoung give you quick hugs and move off to chat with Hongjoong’s mother, Bumjoong, and Maddox. The Twin Towers squish you between them in an enthusiastic hug before going to stand beside Bestie and receive all of her overflowing compliments. Jongho stops by, and you introduce your mom before making him blush when you tell her he is probably the best vocalist on the planet; the blush really spreads when your mom fervently agrees with your opinion. Seonghwa wraps you in a big hug, and you feel him trembling slightly, which calls your mind to the fact that they will be moving on tomorrow and that you’ll have to be without them for three more weeks. You smile up at him and tell him he was fantastic; you tell him how proud you are of him and how completely amazing he is. You hope he trusts your sincerity because you know, better than most, just how hard he worked on his performance.  

When you look up to see if Jjoongie has returned, you see him off to the side, speaking with your mom and his mother. You can’t hear what they are talking about, but he’s smiling sweetly and nodding as he looks between their faces. Your mom is facing away, so you begin to walk toward them. Seonghwa joins them and begins speaking with the two of them as Hongjoong sees you approaching and moves around them to come hug you. He hugs you so tightly that you can hardly tell him how much you loved the show, and he pulls back laughing when you wheeze slightly and whine out, “Good job,” after he finally lets go. You stare up at his huge smile as he is just looking at you with those damned stars in his eyes, and you can’t remember anything you were planning to say to him just now. You’re lost in his dark eyes and don’t even see it coming when he leans down to quickly kiss your lips. It seems like the whole room falls silent when he does this, but as you come back to your senses, you realize that it was just your heart pounding in your ears that made it seem that way. Everyone seems to be chattering away, unaware of the captivating effect this man has on you.  

You whisper up to him, “You are amazing.” He looks down at you fondly and tuts, “Did you like the show?” You look up and squint before saying playfully, “Yeah, the show was pretty good, too.” He laughs and looks like he wants to say something before the stage manager pops in to holler something to the group. “Ah,” he sighs, “We have to go do send-off.” Hongjoong pulls back from you with a look of regret before adding, “But your mom said you’d come to brunch with us at the resort in the morning. Okay? You will, right?” You stare at him, surprised, “Um, I can do that. Sure. Of course. What time?” He happily tells you that they have it set for nine o’clock so that there will be a special seating area where no one will bother the four of you. “Four?” you ask, confused. “Yeah! Me, you, my mom, and your mom,” he says with a contented smile. You stare at him in wonder and have to fight the urge to ask him if he hit his head during the show. “Oh, just us? Okay. What about your brother?” Hongjoong shakes his head, “No, Mom told him he can’t come.” He laughs at this and squeezes your hand tightly as he moves to pull away but thinks better of it and sneaks one more lingering kiss. You are emboldened, too, as you pat his ass lightly as he jogs toward the door and calls out to round up the boys, leaving you standing there, dumbstruck, staring at the empty door and absently touching your bottom lip.  

Bestie saunters up, still yapping excitedly, and you feel your eyes welling up a bit at the sight of the empty room as she wraps a long arm around your shoulders and thanks you profusely for an incredible night. You turn to see your mom gathering up her things and turning back in what appears to be a hurry to get going. “Are you ready to go?” you ask her, and she nods before muttering something about traffic, the parking lot, and the dog. You quickly try to reassure her, “We have the driver, remember? They will let us out of the parking lot in a secret way. But yeah, let’s go rescue the tiny dog.” She nods, and you turn to take one more look at the empty green room before making your way down the hallway and out to the waiting driver.  

Chapter Text

Your mom walks wordlessly toward the car. She seems a little flustered, but you chalk it up to fatigue, overwhelm, and her discomfort with language and culture barriers, as she has anxiety about acting wrong and unintentionally insulting someone. You also can’t help but wonder if she has ever left her little dog alone for this long, even with the neighbor kid “babysitting” her for a little bit. When she gets into the backseat without saying anything, Bestie turns to give you a look, and you can only shrug. You consider texting Bestie on the way back to the house to see if you can figure it out, but you realize that if your mom isn’t in a bad mood already, then the two of you being on your phones and rudely ignoring everyone will definitely put her in a bad mood right quick. Of course, you and Bestie both are turning your phones back on before you slide into the car because at least one of your brain cells are still connected on a deep, spiritual level. She’s going to text her partner, you know, while you want to have your phone on in case any of your boys decide to text you.  

You glance over as you get into the passenger seat and see that the three black SUVs are still parked in the loading bay, so you know the boys are still in the middle of their send-off activities: signing autographs, taking selcas, and answering questions. You devilishly wonder if there is some way you can sneak out of your mom’s house to go to the hotel tonight, at least for a little while, but you also can’t believe you’re thinking about sneaking out at the age of thirty-one. You just don’t know how you’d explain it otherwise, and she already seems tired, so you don’t want to have another whole “Sorry, guess what, I lied!” conversation so soon after the last one. Even if you left a note saying you’ve gone down to the resort to have a drink with the boys, that seems excessive since you’ll be there again practically first thing in the morning. She’ll think you’ve lost your mind or developed a drinking problem or something. 

Shit. There’s just no reasonably excusable way of getting down there, is there?  

You groan a little and wonder whose bright idea it was to pick nine o’clock for brunch. It probably wasn’t Jjoongie’s idea since he doesn’t like to eat early in the morning. You assume it was probably for your mothers’ sakes, and that’s fair since his mom won’t have to travel to get to the restaurant, so making her wait around the hotel too long for breakfast would be cruel. Your mom will be up at the crack of dawn with the little dog, so nine o’clock isn’t a stretch for her, either. You hope you can get up with enough time to have your wits about you since you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of his mom. At least at the concert, you had all of the other people around to divert attention.  

“Well, did you ladies enjoy the show?” You are jolted from your thoughts as the familiarly grating voice of the driver pipes up once everyone has buckled their seatbelts. You all mumble your enthusiasm for the show while trying to avoid further conversation. Your mom even engages in this level of avoidance, which is unusual since she’s typically the one forcing you to be personable regardless of your own feelings on the matter. She stares out the window and clutches her knitting bag across her lap distractedly. You notice this and gently ask her, “Mom? Are you okay?” She looks toward you, surprised, and says with a sigh, “Yeah. I’m just tired,” before turning back to her window. “Is the dog okay?” you probe, not sure that being tired ever got you off the hook for bad manners before. “Yeah, hon. I’m tired,” she repeats without looking at you, and Bestie looks up from her phone at you in alarm at your mom’s snappish tone. You shrug silently and turn back to your own phone, figuring if your mom won’t even look at you, she’s not going to be mad at you for texting, either.  

Of course, Bestie’s already on it; same brain cell and all: 

BFFBestieSpaghetti:  

WTF was that about??⁉️  

________________________________________________  

I have no idea.   

She seemed grumpy, so I asked if it was about the dog. 🐕  

IDK if she’s ever left the dog alone this long.  

Maybe just worried?  

[Send] 

_________________________________________________  

BFFBestieSpaghetti:  

Hmmm. She seemed to have fun at the show though?  

_________________________________________________  

Yeah. I think so! She made JH blush! 🍎🐻  

Then was talking to HJ and his mom.  

Then she got really tired and wanted to go home. 😴  

Probably just hit her limit?  

[Send] 

_________________________________________________  

BFFBestieSpaghetti:  

Maybe. What was HJ talking about?  

Also, did he kiss you on the cheek or were my eyes getting tired? 👁️👁️  

That was so fun btw.  

I can’t believe how amazing they all are. ❤️‍🔥  

Holy shit.  

I’m going to be thinking about all of that for a long time.   

I wish I could have gotten a selfie with Yungi, but I understand why not. 💔  

_________________________________________________  

HJ asked Mom and me to go to brunch at the resort with him and his mom tomorrow.  

IDK. I guess I’ll just have to wait till we get home and see if she snaps out of it.  

Nice job with the chopsticks, BTW.   

I’m surprised you didn’t ask for an NDA.  

[Send] 

_________________________________________________  

BFFBestieSpaghetti:  

Who says I didn’t? ☠️

I’m a satisfied woman.

The fantasy is probably better than the reality, anyway.  

_________________________________________________  

Oh, my sweet, sweet summer child.   

_________________________________________________  

Yeah. Probably.  

[Send] 

_________________________________________________  

BFFBestieSpaghetti:  

Well, keep me posted I guess.  

I have to work next week but let’s do dinner before you go, ok?  

I love you tons!  

_________________________________________________  

Of course!  

Love you too!  

[Send] 

The car turns into your mom’s neighborhood without warning, and you’re suddenly scrambling to pick up your bag full of metal chopsticks and your purse to get out of the car and catch up with your mom, who is inexplicably already at her front door. You turn and flash an alarmed look at Bestie, who shrugs at you and mouths, “Text me!” as she slams the car door and has barely started walking toward her car before the driver reverses without even waiting to see if you and your mom made it into the house safely. 

The tiny dog is barking incessantly from her crate as your mom makes her way to shut off the security alarm, and you sense the final defeat in your adolescent urge to sneak out of the house. You’d previously known the code, but your mom may have changed it at some point, and now there’s no way to ask without arousing suspicion. You mindfully stand back as she frees the little dog from the crate and urges her to go outside to go potty, but the little dog runs right past her and heads straight for you, causing your mom to stand and uncharacteristically walk away grumbling, “Fine. Do whatever you want. Everyone else does.” as she turns and stalks into her room.  

You and the tiny dog stare after her, the dog’s bat-like ears being the only distinguishing difference between your identical, confused expressions. You glance down at the little dog and shrug before heading to the back door and letting the both of you outside wordlessly. You know better than to even speak to the tiny mutt before she gets outside because just the sound of your voice will start her excitedly peeing all over, and you definitely don’t want to spark your mom’s ire further than whatever seems to be angering her at the moment.  

Once the little dog has done her duty, you call her back over to you and sit there, outside, on the stoop where you can safely get her all wound up and praise her for doing her business outside, “There’s my leetle friend! Who’s a good girl!? You went potty outside! You’re my good leetle friend!” She seems relieved by this as it is the expected greeting from you, however delayed, because the two of you have built your entire relationship on this silly routine.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that the light coming from your mom’s bedroom window has suddenly dimmed, so you know she’s turned off the main bedroom light. You scoop up the tiny dog and turn to bring her back inside for bed. You put her down and follow her somewhat hesitantly toward the master bedroom as you’re hoping that being home and getting ready for bed has improved your mom’s mood. When you get to the bedroom door, it is closed, and the tiny dog skids to a stop just in front of it, narrowly avoiding a collision that might have shortened her adorable nose. She turns to look up at you for guidance as if being the elder and more frontal-lobe-equipped of the two of you should best qualify you to explain this mystery to her. You shrug and mutter before knocking lightly at the door, knowing your mother was awake no less than a minute ago.  

Your mom wrenches the door open and looks at you as she asks in a flat monotone, “Yes?” You stand there, dumbfounded, and sputter, “Um, the dog went out. And she went potty.” You shift nervously and play with your fingers as you notice that even the little dog now hesitates to go into the dark room with the angry lady who is your mother. “Okay. Is that all?” she snarls out of the semi-darkness, and you cautiously hazard a glance at her face to see if you can glean any additional clues. She’s already washed her face, and without makeup, her eyes seem especially red—almost as if she’s been crying. You stammer, “Uh, no, I guess nothing else, really. Um, are you okay?” you shift again, kicking yourself for not just saying “goodnight” because this really doesn’t feel like the time and place to unpack whatever the unholy fuck is happening right now. 

She scoffs and stares daggers into you as she says, “No. But I’m too tired to get into it right now. And quite frankly, I don’t even know what to think; okay, I just need some space. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” She shuts the door just shy of the tiny dog’s face, and now you look at each other in shared horror as you mutter to the doorknob, “Goodnight. Love you.” before scooping up the tiny dog and flipping off your mother’s closed door with your free hand for good measure. 

You carry the little dog, whispering soothing words into her big goofy ears, which lay flat against her confused little walnut head, and you take her straight into the guest room and plop her directly onto the “company only” duvet that she knows she is not allowed on. “Screw that shit. You can sleep with me. You wanna cuddle? Who’s a good girl?” the dog circles a couple of times cautiously as she looks at you and wonders why all of the usually predictable humans in her life have suddenly lost their minds and gone way off script. You remove your concert clothes and fling them into a pile on the floor by your suitcase. You slide into the dirty cargo joggers and hoodie from yesterday before loosening your hair and crawling into bed to be the tiny dog’s big spoon. You groan angrily as you realize you really need to plug in your phone, so you further confuse and alarm the small dog by getting back up to pull the phone out of your discarded pants and plug it in next to the bed. You curse under your breath as you also realize you need to set an alarm for the morning since you’ll have to vie for shower time with your mom without negotiating it in advance due to the current hostility level around the house being well above the levels generally recognized as safe for living beings  

You set the alarm for six o’clock and curse again, startling the little dog, before crawling into bed and trying to calm her nervous shaking. You fall asleep with the lamp on because you just aren’t cruel enough to move the little dog one more time, and you can’t reach it from where the two of you are curled up: two siblings comforting each other after unexpected parental anger upsets the delicate balance of your structure and routine. When the alarm blares “Deep Dive” at six o’clock, you swear in frustration and startle the little dog into shaking once again, causing you to feel terrible that you’d forgotten she was sleeping there beside you. 

As your addled brain retraces its steps from last night, you suddenly realize you have much more to feel bad about, and you groan as you feel a full-bodied cringe come over you. The little dog looks up at you in concern, and you can’t help but laugh at her beady eyes and big ears. You lean over to grab your phone and silence the alarm when you see that you have a message from Hongjoong waiting for you.  

캡틴❤️‍🔥:       

Did you speak with your mother about brunch?  

My mom is worried that your mother was offended by the invitation.  

I hope my mom is mistaken.  

Good night, Naui Haneul  

I love you. 🫰  

Sleep well.   

See you in the morning!🌞  

__________________________________________________________  

Shit. There it is.  

__________________________________________________________  

Hello dear Captain,  

I didn’t get to talk with my mom before bed.  

I will try to talk to her before brunch.  

Did she say anything that made you think she was upset?  

I love you.❤️‍🔥  

See you in a few hours!  

[Send] 

He probably won’t even get up in time to respond before we’re in the car on the way to the resort.  

Assuming she is still willing to go to brunch.  

You figure your mom is going to come to brunch regardless of whatever she was mad at you for last night because, while being rude to the annoying driver was a bit surprising, even for her, she’d never be so rude to accept an invitation to brunch if she did not intend to go, especially for someone she knows has influence over your employment. But still, it seems like it would be prudent to get to the bottom of this before you go rather than risk duking it out with her over the strawberry blintzes or something. You chortle a bit at this morbid fantasy, causing the tiny dog to lift her head in surprise. You suddenly realize that you need to get her outside since she hasn’t been out yet for the day.  

You hold your breath nervously as you swing open your bedroom door. When you smell freshly brewed coffee, you are relieved that you can safely assume the security system is disarmed for the day. You still cringe a little in trepidation as you swing open the back door, but mercifully, the only sound that comes from the distant panel is the little chirp alerting you that the door has just been opened. You set the little dog down and step out the door to encourage her to follow you outside, which, thankfully, seems to be the only step of the process she needs you to model for her as she heads out to sniff all the sniffs and bark at any foolhardy birds who have mistaken your mom’s yard for a safe landing spot.  

You chide the dog and remind her that she’s out there to do her business; you suddenly realize just how much you sound like your mother as you run through the familiar phrases and directions that she always uses with the dog. When the little dog returns, triumphantly, to your promises of breakfast, you hold your arm out dramatically to usher her back into the house with a flourish and a bow. You hear a snort from the kitchen and look up to see your mom watching you with a sneer before she sets her coffee down with a loud clunk and turns to busy herself with the task of getting the dog breakfast. 

“Good morning,” you say haltingly, as you so far do not like your odds of a tempest-free morning. “Not really,” comes the reply, and you practically black out as you can’t believe this level of snark is coming from your mother and not someone’s body-snatched thirteen-year-old on a straight-to-DVD version of Freaky Friday. You take a deep breath and decide to embrace the role reversal, if nothing else than to give you and Bestie something crazy to dish about when you go to dinner with her later this week.  

“Oh? Why not?” you ask cheerfully, without being too perky as to provoke her further; your mom knows you are not a morning person, and you’re only awake due to stress at this moment. She sets the dog’s dish down on the counter with a bang before looking at you with a defiant snarl, “Because my daughter is a damned liar. That’s why.” You shrink before her withering stare as you try desperately to unpick the tangle of thoughts rapidly clusterfucking each other in your mind. When you are speechlessly moving your open mouth like a fish out of water, she is annoyed by the lack of satisfaction she gets from your unintelligent reaction. You can see in her eyes that she wants fuel for her fire; your idiocy is like a wet blanket as you’ve clearly arrived unarmed to this battle of wits.  

“Don’t know what I’m talking about? Is it that hard to keep track of your lies that now you’re not sure which one I’m referring to?” she stares you down, and the last thing you want to do is validate her shitty tone with a response, so you freeze your face in reboot mode and hope that her anger will override her patience. “Ugh. Fine. Whatever. I don’t have time to wait for you to figure it out since we have to get to the resort by nine o’clock for this brunch thing with these people I don’t even know. These people you act like you barely know,” she shakes her head angrily as the little dog dances around nervously on the floor and wonders if she is going to get breakfast today or not, based on the rate and volume at which things seem to be progressing. 

As she’s still not making it clear what she’s upset about or what you lied about, allegedly, you carefully contort your face into calm concern before asking, “Okay. We are supposed to meet Hongjoong and his mom for brunch at nine. Yes. Is that what you’re upset about? Because I didn’t know they were going to invite us until after they spoke to you about it.” She chuckles derisively as she shakes her head and glowers over the dog’s partially constructed breakfast, “You know, I don’t know why I’m even surprised anymore. I mean, it’s not like we’ve really ever been that close. You were always so much more like your dad. And then with him gone,” she chokes back a sob and covers her mouth with a trembling hand before lowering it back to the counter angrily as she continues with determination, “With him gone, I thought you’d finally have to talk to me. You’d have to let me be your mother.” She doesn’t attempt to cover the cry that comes next, and you look away awkwardly to find a tissue as her tears run into her mouth, frozen in an open sob, as a dam of unresolved pain and grief has just burst within her. You can’t locate the box of tissue she always keeps in the kitchen, though you keep looking around anyway. You are shamefully repulsed by the strands of saliva that connect her quivering lips and the tears that now run from her nose and eyes to join them. 

She grabs your hand and stops you from searching. Her words become louder and shakier, and she begins to lose control. “Who am I kidding? You can’t even look at me! Why did I think I could finally be your mother or even your friend?” She releases your wrist and now cries into her hands as you stand there, completely unsure how to approach this unhinged version of your mom. You wait for a lull in the sobbing to try to get the information you so desperately need to connect these puzzle pieces. When no lull seems to come, you forge ahead, figuring it’s unlikely that you’ll make it worse than it already is at this point, and you desperately need to figure out if you can calm her or if you need to get ahold of Jjoongie to cancel your brunch date. 

Gods, I am an asshole.  

“Mom, I’m trying to understand, but I don’t get it. What did I lie about? Why do you think you’re not my mom? Or my friend?” at this last question, your voice starts to tremble, and you decide to allow your stupid lower lip wobble to continue since it may at least show your mom that she’s completely freaking you out. She shudders and coughs into the elbow of the sleeve of her robe. “I know I’m your mom. But I wanted to be your mom , you know? Like the closest person you go to for help, that you talk to. That you trust with things.” She looks up at you through red-rimmed eyes, and you hope she didn’t cry a lot last night before she fell asleep, considering she seems to have started right into it first thing this morning.  

You stammer slightly as it doesn’t seem fair to have to defend what you choose to trust her with at this point. You still don’t know what the actual grievance is, in this case, and trying to go to trial over the big picture is beyond the scope and time allotted for this morning’s meltdown. “Mom, that sounds like a lot. Like, a ‘big deal’ type of thing. Is there something specific we can address now and try to figure out? Then maybe see if it is part of the big problem or what?” You try to look as calm as possible, though your brain is selfishly counting down the seconds it feels are racing by as you need to know what the hell you did to unhinge your mother so badly. 

She coughs lightly before suddenly recognizing the half-completed task of getting the dog’s breakfast. She holds up a finger to you to indicate that she is processing, and she takes several shaky breaths while she finishes getting the dog’s breakfast and sets down the bowl in front of the tiny dog, who jumps back in fright as she is unprepared for the sudden arrival of her dish right in front of her face without all of the usual little sing-song comments from your mom announcing her breakfast. Your mom laughs darkly and looks at you with self-loathing in her eyes, “Great. Now even the damn dog hates me.”  

“Mom,” you interrupt sternly, startling her a little, “Don’t say that. Please just tell me what happened. What is this about? You were okay until after the concert, right? What happened? Why did you say I lied to you?” She tuts as though she wants to tell you off for being authoritative with her, but she glances at the clock on the stove and realizes that she doesn’t have time for that either. 

Thank goodness for Miss Manners.  

“I saw the way Hongjoong looked at you and how playful he was with you. Then I noticed the way you were looking at him. And I thought, ‘No, I asked her specifically. No, she said she wasn’t in love with anyone.’ And then, I saw the way his mother looked at the two of you, and I thought, ‘There’s no way. Why would she know if I didn’t know?’” She chuckles angrily and thumps her fist on the counter, and you can see it is already full of soggy, tear-soaked tissues.  

“Mom,” you attempt to stop her there, but you’re not even sure where to start. Does your mom even know about NDAs? Does she even understand what various personal and professional factors are at play in this situation? If you launch into some sort of explanation of any of the practical issues, you could easily get lost in the minutia, and you’ll never make it to brunch at this rate. You decide instead to try something you’re pretty sure you saw on some sort of afternoon talk show or some shit. “Mom, I really want to tell you why I said I wasn’t in love when you asked me the other day. But I need a little bit of time to think about what that was like for me so that I can be thoughtful in telling you the truth and be clear in how I express it. Can we both go take our showers and come back to talk more after that, now that I know what has upset you?”  

You look at her and silently beg her to say “yes,” as you haven’t even had your meds or caffeine or had a chance to even take a piss since your mom flipped her lid, and you really could use the time to gather your thoughts. She looks down at the little dog, who has finally decided that her hunger exceeds her confusion over the behavior of her favorite humans and is now happily eating her breakfast in contented ignorance. Your mom suddenly becomes aware of the wet tissue balled up in her hand and turns to chuck it into the garbage before turning back to face you. You summon all of your courage to meet her gaze and wait for her response to your request. She takes a breath and nods, “Yeah. I guess. Are you going to shower first, or should I?”  

You are vastly unprepared for her to suddenly want you to make important decisions for her, so you stand there blankly until she thinks it through aloud, “Well, it’s going to take me longer to do my makeup because I’m going to have to fix my face.” She seems a tiny bit subdued, and you sincerely hope she’s rethinking her outburst and all of the massive conclusions she seemed to be drawing about your relationship with her based solely on the fact that you weren’t ready to tell her you’re in love with Kim Hongjoong. She nods as she seems to make up her own mind before letting you in on the decision, “I’ll shower first, I guess. Then you can. Then we can talk, but you better not make me cry more after I get my makeup on.” She looks like she’s trying to make a joke, but you’re still wondering how you could be blamed for making her cry in the first place. She seems to have done a fine job getting herself all keyed up on her own. She scoffs at your neutral expression before tutting to herself, “I know, I know. Don’t mind me. I’m just being your crazy, oversensitive mom. Just the weeping widow losing her cool again. Whatever.” You reach out to catch her by her sleeve before she shuffles off to her room, and you pull her in for a tight hug.  

You both have failed so spectacularly to process your grief from losing your dad that it is almost comical how clueless you both are about how it has impacted literally every facet of your lives. Some people can probably bond through grief, but you honestly have never met any of these fuckers, and as far as you know, they only exist in shitty cable movies. But you find that you can now admit that you share your mom’s desire for a closer relationship, and it seems unfair to lose one parent and become even more distant from the only parent you have left. You’ve only recently been able to see more clearly how your ways of dealing with your dad’s death have affected your life, so it’s suddenly less terrifying to also look at your relationship with your mother through that lens.  

She sniffles loudly into your hair, jarring you from your thoughts and into the visceral reaction this sound elicits from you, “Hey, don’t get snot in my hair, okay? I know I haven’t showered, but there’s got to be more tissue around here somewhere.” Your mom pulls back with a laugh and smacks your arm. You ensure you have her full attention when you say softly, “I love you. I want to fix this. I want to be closer with you, too.” She tuts and tries to look away, so you reach down and hold onto her wrists in case she’s still hanging onto any more soggy tissues, as you gently swing her arms a little to direct her gaze back to yours. “We probably don’t have time to figure everything out before brunch, but I want to explain why I said I wasn’t in love with anyone when you asked the other day. I think we can clear that up before we go to brunch, okay?” You look into her eyes, and she nods, with only a tiny bit of skepticism visible on her face, so you add, “Now hurry up. I want to get there before all the blintzes are gone, okay?” She laughs a little and turns to go take her shower while you shove your whole face into the fridge to cool down your emotions and then look desperately for another can of soda because your riled stomach is not going to be kind to you if you have to drink coffee to get your caffeine   

Lucky for you, there’s a can that seems to have fallen over behind the boxes of Italian leftovers, which have begun to leak lightly through the paper to-go boxes. You pretend not to see it and vow to deal with them later as you try to do some mental housekeeping instead to figure out why you didn’t tell your mom about your feelings for Jjoongie. Was it to protect him? Was it to protect yourself? Was it some well-intentioned but poorly executed attempt to spare your mom’s feelings from any unnecessary hope and disappointment if things go horribly sideways as they tend to do with you?   

You’re so used to protecting her from your own failures that it seems logical that you could be now doing that preemptively. But that doesn’t really seem to fit in this scenario. You’ve definitely avoided involving her in your drama or asking for help unless you’re dead ass desperate, but that’s part of that bigger-picture conversation you have to have later. You’ve chosen to spare her things because you honestly don’t trust that she’s strong enough to handle the adversity that is your day-to-day existence. Frankly, the absurdity of this very situation suggests you might be right: she finds out you’re in love, and she’s losing her mind because you haven’t told her about it yet. How’s she going to handle anything negative if she can’t handle the good shit? 

Putting the legal aspects aside, because as Jjoongie pointed out, they are another issue, not really an issue between the two of you. You realize, ultimately, that it is worse that you lied about your feelings because you could have shared them without actually violating any legal agreements. You wouldn’t have had to admit that he loved you too or that anything had actually happened between the two of you. So, you really can’t claim to have done it to protect him or your legal obligations. But, if you had told her that you loved him, that would have just led to your mom lecturing you that you should quit or cautioning you against workplace romances or some shit, and you just weren’t ready to tell her.  

That’s the bottom line, truthfully: you weren’t ready to share, and it was probably unfair of her to even ask you since it put you on the spot. Now that you’ve had this amazing argument in your head, though, you’ll have to see how much of it you can actually form into coherent sentences because she always seems to get you on your back foot, and then you sound like a complete imbecile. And you know from experience that she’s concocting her own TED Talk in her shower right this very moment, so who knows how many words you’ll even be able to get in edgewise.  

You decide to skip any other pointless rumination and cram your earbuds in to try to chill out before it’s time for you to shower. You start digging through your suitcase to try to figure out what the fuck to wear to brunch at the resort with your K-pop idol lover and his mother.  

Holy fuckballs.   

You realize any sort of activities like this had not factored at all into your packing, and you silently, lovingly vow revenge on Kim Fucking Hongjoong for springing this shit on you. And for surprising you with his mother, who is fucking delightful, of course, and for not having anything to wear somewhere like this and no time to rectify this problem with a quick shopping trip. 

Son of a bitch.   

Not you, of course, Jjoongie.  

Certainly not your mother, dear Captain. She’s a delight.  

“Good Little Boy” rings in your brain as your ATEEZ Complete playlist tries and fails to combat your spiraling thoughts. You’re really fucking stressed at this point, and the last blow is the realization that you have no idea what time the boys are leaving town today, so this fucked up brunch situation might be the last time you lay eyes or arms on him for three fucking weeks. The bottom falls out of the pit of your stomach, and a desperate sob cinches you in half as you stuff your knuckles into your mouth to try to stifle it. “Man on Fire” comes on, and you want to throw your earbuds, your phone, and yourself out the fucking window as you literally feel like the inside of your skin is on fire now.  

Fuck. Man. Get it together.   

You take a deep breath and try to remind yourself that you’re a fucking badass, and you can get through this because you have to. Because what comes next is worth it. Whatever you have to do to get through the next three weeks will be worth it. You would walk into these flames for them.  

For him.   

You search around for the last dregs of your soda to try to keep your throat from clenching and allowing you to descend into the torrent of tears threatening to break free. “Crazy Form” comes on and suddenly reminds you of the last concert you saw and the aftermath of that experience with hi-def clarity. 

Oh shit. I know what this is. Gods damn it.  

You really want to be pissed at your mom now because you realize that her emotional meltdown has probably prematurely triggered the beginning of the downhill slide into your post-concert depression phase.  

Holy shit. Not yet. I’m not ready.   

You suddenly wish you were back home, even if it meant not seeing Jjoongie today, if you could be curled up like a pathetic little creature in his bed for the next three weeks, starting immediately. But you get to see him today, and that’s so fucking worth it. You return your focus to trying to put together something reasonably passable for the resort’s brunch crowd while also retaining your authenticity as the stylish weirdo you have to be in order to feel comfortable in your own skin. You suddenly get a silly idea, realizing you’ve mentally disconnected from Jjoongie prematurely as “Dreamers” comes on your playlist.  

You open a text to him and figure it is probably prudent to let him know your mom wasn’t upset by their invitation:  

My dear Captain,  

What are you going to wear to brunch?  

I didn’t pack anything for something nice like brunch. ☠️  

I’m sure I can figure it out, though.  

Also, I spoke with my mom.  

She’s mad at me for not telling her about my feelings for you.  

She isn’t upset about brunch.   

I will talk to her more about it later, so do not worry.  

I love you, and I can’t wait to see you.  

[Send] 

You manage to dig out a pair of wide-legged slacks without cargo pockets, a mock-neck bodysuit, and a lace-cropped camisole to layer with your favorite freshwater pearl lariat necklace and black velvet choker. Once you’re dressed, you stare at the choker in the mirror and pull it off, opting to quickly gather-stitch it into a little velvet rose and tack it to the collar of the Angora cardigan you’ve layered on to complete your look. You sigh heavily as you notice the slight puffiness under your eyes, and you curse your mother for this as it’s her genetics, if not the emotional distress she’s caused, that has you looking a little less dewy than you’d like. Still, you do your best to create a sophisticated but natural makeup palette as you were much too glammed up last night for the whole ‘meet his mother’ gig—reminding you to add this to the list of things you plan to be a brat about later when you get him all alone. As you finish pulling your hair up into a softer, more sweeping version of your vintage style, “Better” comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you take a deep, cleansing breath before you emerge to see if your mom has finished getting dressed and is ready to talk.  

At the sound of your bathroom door opening, you hear the little dog start making the trek from the living room to come and see what you’re up to; you take this as a good sign as it means she’s not been trembling in fear outside the door waiting for you. You start to bend down to scoop her up before thinking better of adding her fur to your ‘fit. Instead of getting her wound up, you gently scratch behind her ears and under her collar as you quietly ask her if your mom is still mad. Of course, she’s a terrible source of information. She just stares at you with her watery bug eyes and runs back to the couch as soon as you stop petting her.  

A slight pang of regret hits you as you still have the ‘low caffeine’ light on in your brain, but there’s nothing to be done about it unless you want to risk the gastrointestinal side effects of coffee, and only a moment’s consideration is required before you turn away from the mugs with a resounding “Nope!” from your brain gremlins. You fumble in the unfamiliar side of the refrigerator for a bottle of water and cringe at this uncharacteristically healthy choice as you shuffle out to the living room to attempt to soothe the maternal rage as efficiently as possible—both in terms of time and collateral damage.  

Jebus fuck. I do NOT need this shit today.  

A little whinge of self-pity threatens to wind its way up from your belly. You take a big gulp of cold water, hoping it will drown any of your own insignificant feelings and keep you focused to remove the source of your mother’s anger with surgical precision to avoid nicking any nearby arteries running full of deep red, robust grievances. Your mom is sitting on the couch, staring at the darkened TV, while the little dog makes one more unneeded circle before plopping down next to her. You come around to see her, wearing her favorite plum-colored cable knit sweater, the pearl necklace she saves for special occasions, and the rhinestone brooch you are pretty sure you picked out for her when you were thirteen or fourteen and Dad took you with him when he went Christmas shopping for her.  

You have a momentary battle with the nostalgia as you recall him bringing you along to inform his Christmas shopping that year. He’d been working a lot in the restaurant in the months leading up to that Christmas, and you remember more than one occasion you’d heard them arguing about something late at night. He seemed apologetic for how absent he was, and your mom seemed miserable but unable to find a way out of her resentment to actually enjoy her time with him when he was around. It was almost like she had to punish him for coming home because she’d been so miserable all of the time he had been gone. Thankfully, there was never any fear that he wasn’t exactly where he’d said he’d been; the restaurant was a demanding project of passion. You had always suspected that your parents never had any additional children because Dad’s restaurants were his babies. You were his cherished only child, but you knew there was only a small difference in his feelings for you versus those for his life’s work.  

So, in an effort to make things right with your mom, he’d asked you to go shopping with him for her Christmas presents that year. You cherished the moments alone with him and were completely enthused to be his little spy leading up to the planned excursion. It was probably a brilliant move on his part because he really had been gone a lot and was probably horribly out of touch with the things your mother might want for Christmas. He was also undoubtedly wise to the metaphorical minefield this problem presented for him because a misstep in the form of a thoughtless gift may have really put him in the doghouse  

When he brought you to the shops with him, you had expected to spend all day trudging around the mall like you had when your mom made the mistake of dragging you along to shop for your cousins. You’d rewarded her by acting like the spoiled ten-year-old you were and making the experience pure misery for the both of you. But your dad took you downtown where the fascinating little independent shops were. You watched as he negotiated for a beautiful stained-glass window decoration, a hand-knit cashmere sweater, and an upgrade for your mom’s anniversary ring. Your dad had a way with people—and most people knew who he was by reputation if they’d never been to his restaurant. He made sure to speak with the shop owners and artisans, so when he offered them free meals or special menus at his restaurant, they were happy to heavily discount their wares in exchange. Of course, the brilliant move with this approach was that both businesses could use the exchange as write-offs, and both entrepreneurs benefitted from saving money during the holiday season.  

Your favorite shop had been the jeweler, where you browsed the vintage, antique, and consignment pieces in a neglected case in the back of the shop while Dad worked his magic with the shop owner. When he suddenly remembered to check on you, he found you there with your face pressed over the glass, trying to squint to see the price on a very pretty piece of costume jewelry: a rhinestone pin with a swirl of aurora borealis crystals arranged to look like a sweeping bouquet of cosmic flowers. Tiny gold leaves completed the illusion and effectively blocked your view of the small, handwritten price tag on the piece.  

When you muttered to your dad that you were trying to see how much it was, he laughed and asked if you liked it that much. He paused when you responded that you wanted to buy it for your mom, but you weren’t sure if you had enough money. Your dad knew you probably had ten dollars in small bills to your name, but he was moved when he saw you look up with unsinkable optimism that the number on the tag would somehow be less than your net worth. Of course, when the case was opened by the shop owner, the total was much more than your means, but your dad saw the stars in your eyes and offered to “split the difference” with you if you promised not to tell your mom that he did. It was years before the beauty of his gesture fully registered with you; he’d met you more than halfway on the price and had effectively given you sole bragging rights to tell your mom that you’d bought it for her with your own money. He knew, even then, how much the two of you would need those little moments of love as you headed into the nightmare that was your adolescence. You swallow hard at the realization that you probably need those positive moments now more than ever.  

Wasn’t it supposed to become easier when you were finally an adult?   

“You look really nice. I love your sweater. The pin looks great on it.” Your mom looks up at you with a slightly sad smile as she says, “Thank you. You bought that pin for me, you know.” You nod and move to sit beside her as you pretend to suddenly recall, “Oh yeah. For Christmas that one year. When I got to go shopping with Dad for you.” She looks down and fiddles with the little dog’s ears as you both awkwardly try to figure out how to get this uncomfortable situation resolved with minimal emotion spilled or wasted time. It feels forced and silly now, but you know that there needs to be some level of resolution before you go to brunch because you just can’t bear any more weirdness. She’s obviously been harboring some deeper issues about your relationship, and you don’t want to add anything more to your tab if you can help it.  

“So, um, I was going to explain to you why I said I wasn’t in love with anybody when you asked. When you said I was so happy that it seemed like I was in love,” you look at her for confirmation before continuing, “I didn’t feel ready to tell you. I am not sure why, exactly, but I’ve been through a lot of big changes lately that took a lot of courage to get through. Both the good and bad, I've just been through a lot. And I’m kind of used to things going wrong for me, so I guess that’s probably not surprising for you either.” It’s almost unnerving how she’s not interrupting, but you decide to go with it, “When I took the job, the last thing I imagined would have been to fall in love. I mean, I’ve always adored ATEEZ, but I knew my place. I didn’t think they’d even see me as a person, so I never thought of anything more than hoping for a decent job that I could be good at and be helpful to them. It was too amazing not to at least give it a try.” 

You look at her a little shamefully as you continue, “I don’t really even know why I lied to you about the job. I thought it would make it seem like I was being more sensible than I felt like I was being by taking that job. I didn’t want you to worry. I feel like you’re always worrying about me-” you’re cut off by her patting your leg and starting in on some variant of the “that’s my job as your mother” talk, but you can’t let this derail you, so you stop her, “No, Mom. I know you think that, but it’s more than that. I have put you through a lot, and I know that. And with Dad being gone, you’ve been through more than you deserved. More than most people.” You bite your lip and dig your nails into your palms to try to continue, “I see how you’ve fought, and I’ve seen how you seem so fragile, and I can’t seem to not fuck things up. Sorry, but it’s true,” you interrupt yourself to preemptively stop her from chiding you for profanity. “I can’t seem to make my life more successful and less dramatic, no matter how hard I try, so the only thing it seems like I can do is to try to spare you from some of the worries that I know I cause. That’s why I lied about the job. I regretted it as soon as it came out of my mouth, but I didn’t think about how it would feel to you once you found out. I thought you’d be relieved that everything was good, so it wouldn’t matter.” She nods slightly because she knows you weren’t lying to be cruel despite the pain you caused.  

“So, in the same way, when you asked if I was in love, you were right. But because of how complicated everything was, and I had only just told you about my job, I didn’t feel ready to tell you about that. The other part of that was all of the secrecy with the job and the NDA I had to sign; I honestly wanted to talk to Hongjoong about it before I said anything to you. Apparently, he had no issue with me telling you, but we haven’t even had the chance to really discuss things like that, Mom. It’s so very new. And you’re right, I do seem happy,” you look up at her and see that the tears starting to line up in your eyes are mirrored in hers as you feel more vulnerable and are painfully reminded of why you stuff down your feelings so often. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been, Mom, and I’ve never felt so lucky in my entire life,” she pats you on the leg again and smiles at you as the tears begin to gracefully slide down her cheeks before you finish, “and I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life, Mom.” She pulls back from you, her brow creased in concern, as she somehow fails to connect the issues. You hate that you even have to explain this to her because she just doesn’t see you the way you know the rest of the world sees you, and she still believes in you, somehow, despite an overabundance of evidence that suggests betting on you is a bad fuckin’ idea. 

“I’m scared because nothing ever goes right for me, no matter how hard I try! I’m gonna fuck this up, or it’s going to be a dream, or, I don’t know,” you add with a wry chuckle, “Or a goddamned tree is gonna fall on me or something.” You both laugh a little through your tears, and your mom shifts the little dog to her other side so that she can pull you in for a hug. “I don’t know about trees, but you can’t exactly say that nothing goes right for you.” She pulls back to look at you through her tears before thinking better of it and grabbing tissues for the both of you to prevent serious damage to your makeup because you’ve got to be approaching time to leave for brunch. She tuts as you both try to dab away the moisture before she continues, her unsinkable, chipper positivity taking the wheel as at least one of you needs to have their shit together, and she seems to have decided after her meltdown that it is her turn now. “You have good things in your life. You’ve had the right things. You had the right dad. I had the right husband. I couldn’t keep him as long as I would have liked, but it wasn’t our fault, and it wasn’t for lack of trying, right?” You roll your eyes slightly at this because the one thing you two could never disagree about was your love for your dad. It was the one undeniable truth, and it stung like a son-of-a-bitch. “You can’t pretend good things aren’t happening to you in order to try to keep them from being taken away by life. It’s not fair, but it’s true. And not telling me because you think I can’t handle it isn’t fair to me. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. And if I can’t, that’s not actually your problem to deal with. I need to be able to have emotions, react to things, and worry about my own feelings without you trying to live your life without upsetting me.” She laughs a little at this, and you kind of want to point out to her the very good reasons—all from recent examples in the last twelve hours—that would suggest it’s worth trying not to upset her. But you bite your tongue and nod quietly. 

She grabs you into a hug again as the hall clock chimes the quarter hour, and you both look up with identical expressions of alarm as you realize you’d better get going if you’re going to get to the resort on time. You sigh heavily and dash to the bathroom to check your face before scrambling to grab your purse and phone and meet your mother in the garage. You don’t bother to ask if she’d want you to drive; she’s always hated your driving, and you definitely don’t want to listen to her backseat driving when you’ll be trying to calm down and get ready to meet the love of your life and his perfect mother for brunch.  

Chapter Text

After finally getting the tiny dog to go outside and go potty by both you and your mother having to physically walk outside before she’d willingly follow you out to do her business, you carefully put the little dogtator into her crate with her favorite stuffed moose. You and your mom both make your last-minute circle throughout the house to ensure you have everything you need, though it’s hard to even guess what you could need for brunch. You notice she’s bringing her knitting, and you don’t ask why. You’ve known for a long time that she’s just found it comforting to know that she has something productive to do in case there is a long wait or a lull in the conversation.  

When you pull up to the resort, you’re flooded by a bunch of old memories; thankfully, enough years have passed that the brunch crew will all have been hired on after you left. There’s always that split-second temptation you have to remind yourself that it is not, in fact, socially acceptable to pretend to be someone else or to have amnesia should you encounter anyone who happens to remember you and wants to say “hi.” 

You guide your mom through the lobby toward the resort’s convention space, which is one of the areas typically used to host the weekend brunch service. As you pass the welcoming fireplaces of the resort’s multiple lobby seating areas, you hear a deep laugh and a higher timbre of giggling that makes your stomach flip. As you crane your neck to try to see through the layers of professionally maintained indoor plants that line the seating areas and offer additional ambiance as well as privacy, you catch the momentary glimpse of a flash of silver hair as well as someone with sunglasses atop their long, black hair. You hope that Hwa is having fun and getting coffee with Wooyoung before they go do something fun or see the sights around town. You’ll admit you feel a little envious that you can’t take them around and show them the sights.  

Shit, you could have invited them over for brunch at your mom’s house.  

But, of course, you cook for them all the time, so it really wouldn’t be very special and would likely stress the fuck out of your poor mom. Especially now, as she reaches down to hold your hand, the two of you turn toward the brunch host podium to ask about your reservation. Your mom has been holding your hand since you were a child, and you’ve found that she seems to find it comforting now that you’re grown and still willing to walk hand-in-hand with her in public. She seems to appreciate the affection of the gesture as well as the reduction in anxiety that the physical connection provides.  

“Two for brunch today?” the chipper young hostess asks as she starts to turn without waiting for a response. “We’re meeting another two people. I’m not sure if they are here yet; they said it was going to be a private room,” you are suddenly hesitant as, once again, you’ve forgotten to ask Hongjoong what name he’s reserved it under or what you’re supposed to say. You quickly pull out your phone to see if there’s anything in his text messages as you frantically scroll. Your mother places her hand on your forearm to stop you and says to the hostess, “Last name is ‘Kim.’” The hostess pales momentarily before catching her face and saying quickly, “Oh, of course. Right this way. Sorry, I didn’t see what time it was.” She hurries to lead you past the steaming tables full of delicious breakfast and lunch foods. You notice a shrimp alfredo at the end and make a mental note to tell Jjoongie that there is pasta.  

The hostess gestures for you and your mom to enter a small room set with a white tablecloth, four chairs, and four place settings, though the size of the table appears to accommodate more guests. You know that they have removed all of the extra places but have not bothered to exchange the size of the table for your small party. A large vase of fresh flowers is in the center of the table, effectively blocking the view in some way for all four seats, so you gingerly reach out and slide it to the far end of the table and request a diet soda from the bewildered hostess who was unsure if you even heard her ask for your beverage order while you were rearranging the carefully set table. You smile and thank her kindly as she bustles from the room. You sit and beam at your mom, who rolls her eyes at you, “Please don’t mess with the poor people too much today. Be nice. They’re doing their best.” You suck air through your teeth as you quickly look over the silverware on the table to ensure that it all appears clean and spotless. “I’m always nice,’ you say before looking up to notice that the curtains on the window have been closed, so you get up to go find out what kind of a view the room has, on a hunch. 

You’re in luck or being given some special treatment, as the window in the small room offers a beautiful view of the lake and the mountains in the far distance. You fling open the curtains and turn to gesture widely with open arms and a cheesy grin to your mother, who laughs at you in spite of herself until you’re interrupted in your shenanigans by the door opening as the harried hostess brings in your dear captain and his stunning mother. You startle and suddenly flush brightly as your mom stifles her laugh, and you make an awkward attempt to just comment, “Isn’t the view lovely?” as Jjoongie’s polite smile and nod remind you to get your shit together.  

Jjoongie seats his mother next to yours and gestures for you to sit next to him on the opposite side of the table. You smile demurely as he pulls out your chair and assists you in getting seated. You are practically holding your breath as you have no idea how to act or what to expect. When the hostess has taken beverage orders from Hongjoong and his mother, and the door finally shuts behind her, he breathes out a heavy sigh of relief and turns to you with a big smile.  

His look melts your heart, and as he leans to kiss you gently on the cheek, you feel his palm slide over your leg and squeeze your thigh, which sends heat through your entire body. He leaves his palm resting just on the inside of the top of your thigh, and you wonder how long it will take for any sort of beverage with ice in it to arrive and save you from overheating. “Good morning,” he rasps sweetly to you and to your mom, who smiles politely as she surveys the view from the now fully opened curtains. You suddenly realize you are unsure whether his mother speaks your language as proficiently as he does or if he’s planning to try to translate for her, like the overachiever he is. “Hongjoong, I haven’t spoken with your mom much. I noticed you translated her drink order for her. Would it be okay if we show our moms how to use the translation app so that they don’t have to feel like they’re waiting for someone to always explain what anyone is saying? Then, if they want to speak directly to each other, it might be more comfortable for them also?” He considers this, as he was starting to decline until he realized that their ability to talk to each other without his direct involvement might also give him a little time to speak with you, too.  

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, actually,” he says as he gets up to give his mother his phone. You stand to walk your mother through the process on your phone at the same time. You aren’t sure if the apps can understand knitting terminology, but it’s worth a try. At least, this way puts everyone on equal footing. As you look down to unlock your phone, leaning over the table next to your mom, you suddenly see the message notification from Hongjoong’s earlier reply to your text message: 

________________________________________________________  

캡틴❤️‍🔥:     

Anything you wear to brunch is fine with me.  

I’m more interested in what you’re not wearing after brunch. 😈  

We aren’t checking out until later this afternoon.  

Can I show you my room? ❤️‍🔥💋  

________________________________________________________  

You clap your hand over the message as you suddenly regret unlocking the translation app in full view of your mother. She kindly fusses with her place setting before remarking about the view as you blush crimson and open the recording function to show your mom how to translate the conversation. 

She tries not to be overwhelmed by all of the instructions, but you can hear a little frustration in her voice. You give a sigh as you prepare to explain one more time when the pause in conversation makes it more audible when Hongjoong’s mom makes a similar noise of annoyance with his directions. She looks over at you and your mom, embarrassed that you’ve heard her outburst, and your mom laughs and nods vigorously and makes a similar noise to ensure that Hongjoong’s mom understands that she isn’t laughing at her frustration but empathizing with it. His mom chuckles too and looks relieved; you catch Jjoongie’s eye and smile at each other as your moms bond over the absurdity that is your everyday lives.  

After you both feel confident that your mothers have grasped the basic concept and can freely decide if and when to use the translation, you return to your seats, and he shifts his chair slightly closer to you to more easily lean over to keep his hand on the top of your thigh. You try not to gasp when he occasionally flicks his thumb over the seam at the center of your pants. The rush of arousal and adrenaline, in combination with the urgent need for some stress relief, makes you feel sweaty and desperate. You know he hasn’t had to wait so long to get off because of the agreement; you’ve been left to your own devices and sadly less than inspired when what you truly need has been so far out of reach.  

Rather than quickly withdrawing his hand from you, Hongjoong nonchalantly reaches down when the server returns with your beverages, and you’re impressed when he comes back up to make it look obvious that he was only retrieving your cloth napkin from the floor. You try not to laugh at him when he throws it back down there as soon as the server leaves the room and he smoothly returns his palm to your inner thigh. The server offers suggestions on how to approach the buffet, and Jjoongie explains to you and your mom that it would make the most sense for you two to go first, and then he’ll go with his mom as no one would think twice about him taking his mom to brunch. Your mom gives you an odd stare but doesn’t ask, as you’ll have plenty of time to explain it to her while the two of you visit the buffet line.  

The food is as beautifully crafted and presented as you remember. You let out a happy squeal when you see the full tray of strawberry blintzes, and you are already concocting a means of sneaking several of them to Hwa after you’re done when you suddenly recall Jjoongie’s message. Your mom is happily filling her plate with all of the brunch classics like eggs benedict and broccoli craisin salad, and you just can’t bear to ask her to go home alone just yet. You’ll feel it out and maybe ask her later if all goes well. You slip over to the omelet station and ask the cook there to make a simple ham, bacon, swiss, and mushroom omelet just to see what it’s like being on the other side of the line for a change. You literally can’t remember the last time you ate an omelet that you didn’t cook yourself. It’s completely surreal to watch someone else do it for you; you try not to critique their methods and mentally busy yourself watching the room. When you and your mom have sufficiently loaded your plates, you slip back to the private room and send Jjoongie and his mother out with recommendations about the pasta and the blintzes.  

After they return with their plates filled, you all try the foods, occasionally sharing little bites of items that others didn’t have room to try. Your mom asks Hongjoong about the tour so far and about his experiences in your country as well as abroad. He is courteous and doesn’t say anything terribly negative about any place they’ve been, and you know he’s relying on his idol training to be upbeat and professional. You wonder if your mom can tell this as well because she is starting to look bored or possibly weirdly amused, and you are starting to get nervous about what she may be thinking. She asks how often he brings his mother on tour, and he tells her that both of his parents and often his brother tend to go to at least one show when he is on tour. His dad was unable to take the time from work, so his brother accompanied his mom this time. His mom, using the translation app, adds that the chance to go to some of his shows has given her the opportunity to travel to places she hasn’t imagined going, and she’s really enjoyed seeing the world through her son’s eyes. Your mom nods and remarks how she’s always wanted to travel but hadn’t made it a priority since your dad died unexpectedly seven years ago. Hongjoong’s mom nods knowingly, and your mom looks surprised; Hongjoong explains to her that he had told his mom about that a little bit when they moved your things from the damaged room.  

You find yourself holding your breath because you sincerely hope he wasn’t as free with his disclosure of the rest of the storm-tree-room story; you’re counting on the fact that he probably wouldn’t have wanted to tell his mom how he got hypothermia, so you’re probably safe from the rest of that night’s activities being discussed over lox and mini bagels. You look at him a little nervously out of the corner of your eye, and he pats your thigh before busying himself, trying to wrangle the pasta alfredo onto his fork. When you lean over and give him big eyes at the last prawn left in his alfredo, he tuts but swiftly rolls it up into the pasta and gently feeds it to you. You shimmy happily in your seat at the delicious pasta and sweetness of your lover when you suddenly realize both of your moms are watching this little interaction, and both you and Jjoongie blush heavily and giggle nervously at their attention. His mom clears her throat, and your mom softly tuts before they redirect their attention to their food with sidelong, satisfied glances at each other. 

As you all fill up on the food, the conversation once again becomes more of a priority. Hongjoong asks your mom if she enjoyed the show. She is very complimentary in her assessment of the performances, particularly Jongho’s vocals and the synchronicity of the group’s dancing. She gets a slightly weird smirk as she says this, though, and she suddenly blurts out, “I am wondering something about the smaller group numbers.” “Oh, the unit songs?” he asks her, eager to offer any expertise on the subject. “Yeah,” she continues, “The one where the three guys are just, well, it just seemed like a lot of pelvic thrusting to me.”  

At this, you snort into your diet soda, and Hongjoong looks like he may need CPR as you both can’t breathe for laughing at your mom’s unfortunate audacity where this particular song is involved. She and his mom share a bewildered look at your unexpected, identical reactions to her question. His mother taps the translation app and remarks something before showing it to your mom, who nods vigorously and says, “It’s a fair question!”  

Hongjoong is the first to manage to control his laughter, and he can barely summon a suitable response other than to say, “The unit choreo is usually based on the mood of the song and how the members want the dances to be.” Your mom doesn’t seem satisfied with this and asks him, “Okay, I get that, but why was all of that hip thrusting seemed to be directed right toward us at the center of the auditorium.” 

Dear gods, kill me now. Why did I insist on dragging her to the show?  

You gasp for breath and Jjoongie’s mom looks at you in alarm, “I’m okay. Mom, it wasn’t just in our area. It was toward all of the sides of the stage, too. They’re very good at making sure everyone has an equal, um, experience.” You manage to squeak out as you look around desperately in hopes of some other topic of conversation.  

Well, it had to get fuckin’ awkward at some point, right?  

Hongjoong seems to sense a need for a change of subject as well, and he straightens up a bit and removes his palm from your thigh, causing you to stifle a whine of protest. You see him cast a lingering look at his mother, who also seems to sit up straighter in her chair. You find yourself reflexively mirroring this gesture unconsciously as you glance between the two of them. Hongjoong turns toward your mom and addresses her more formally now as he explains that part of the motivation for inviting the two of you to brunch today was to take the opportunity for your families to get to know one another better as he hopes to be spending more time with you in the future. Your mom looks at you oddly for a moment but returns her attention to Hongjoong to see what else he has to say. His mother nods and clears her throat as she watches him with pride and affection. 

He continues, in a quiet but confident tone, “In Korea, family connections and traditions are very important. It is traditional for families to meet to ensure that their goals are compatible for the future. I hope that we can openly discuss your hopes and dreams for your family because much of our culture is based on the value of family. The time I hope to spend with your daughter isn’t just about the two of us because we are part of our own two families, and this needs to be taken into consideration for everyone’s well-being. Part of the way we establish that is through a 상견례 (sanggyeonrye), where the families get to meet and discuss these things.” He looks at her earnestly and waits for her to process the information before asking her if she has questions about this. You stare between the two of them, fascinated, as he doesn’t shrink from her as you often do when you’re not sure how the conversation is going to land. 

She sits back slightly in her chair, opposite Hongjoong’s forward-leaning posture, as she considers what he has said. It’s interesting that your mother doesn’t look quite as confused as you feel as she sets her napkin on the table and tilts her head to the side ever so slightly before asking him, “Don’t you think it’s a little soon? As I understand it, this is all very new for the two of you.” She shoots a pointed stare at you, and you suddenly find your hands in your lap to be the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. Hongjoong returns his palm to your thigh before clasping one of your hands in his and drawing your eyes back up to him. His loving look and reassuring smile fill you with warmth, and you keep your eyes on him rather than risk letting your mother level your confidence again. 

His mother speaks, surprising you enough to turn and watch her as she has opted to address your mom’s question, “It is very soon. And that is unusual, as it has not yet been one hundred days. But I am sure you have noticed that my son is very different, and when he makes up his mind about something, he doesn’t change it easily.” She chuckles a little and looks at him with a twinkle in her eye while your mom reads the translation before passing the phone to you to read. Once you have returned the phone to your mother, his mom continues, “There is no rush; we just want to be on the same page and get to know one another. He has explained how deeply he cares for and loves your daughter to our family, and we thought this would be a good opportunity to show our support—not only for his happiness but also for your daughter’s happiness and your family’s interests.”  

Your mom reads the translation and passes you the phone again before taking a long sip of her ice water as she watches you read it. You look up at her, mildly confused but touched by what seems to be a pretty kind effort on their part. Your mom raises a single eyebrow at you before turning back to Hongjoong and his mother.  This tiny switch in her mood has your heart racing and your palms turning clammy, as her cool reaction doesn’t seem reasonable based on what they have expressed so far. You swallow hard and silently beg her not to make this weird; they seem to be trying to do something kind for her. 

“I appreciate that your culture places a high importance on family and that you are making an effort to get to know our family because of your feelings for my daughter. But again, I am not sure I understand why this conversation is necessary if we can just have a pleasant meal and get to know each other over time, as you suggested. You foresee wishing to spend more time with my daughter in the future. I have only just learned of your feelings for each other; I only just found out that she was working for your company very recently,” she seems to be losing steam a little as she realizes she may be asking for more personal details than are appropriate for this conversation. His mom seems to sense her faltering and steps in to try to assist, “I was a little surprised when he told me how much he loves your daughter. But I know that he does not always tell me about things when he does not want to worry me,” she gives a wry chuckle and shoots Jjoongie a meaningful look across the table which causes him to shift slightly in his seat, before she continues, “When he was young and wanted to pursue his music career, he left to become a trainee and did not tell his father or me much about it for a long time. Eventually, the group was formed and we had the honor to watch them debut. He had held his dream of being an idol for so long that even though I was nervous for him, he was confident and determined.” She pauses again to allow your mom to see the translated words. 

“Oh, you raised a stubborn one, too?” Your mom laughs a little, and Hongjoong’s mother smiles knowingly when she reads the translation. “He did not want me to worry, but he later told us that the first six months he had been working as a trainee, he was alone in the basement of a building, working by himself. He had even started to doubt whether he had come to work for a legitimate company or had been caught up in some sort of a scam.” She looks at him directly again, and he meets her gaze with an apologetic little smile. Your mom sucks in her breath as she reads this, and she, too, shoots a judgmental gaze over the two of you, which causes you to lean against his shoulder and laugh nervously. “He didn’t tell you anything?” she looks incredulous, as she has seen that Hongjoong and his mother are clearly quite close and open with one another. “No, he didn’t want me to worry and to force him to come home. I couldn’t force him, really, but he is a good son, and he would have come home if I had insisted.” She clears her throat as she looks at him lovingly. Your mom tuts at the two of you and grudgingly admits, “Well, then it sounds like we have our hands full if these two think they are going to team up against us.”  

Hongjoong’s mother tilts her head back as she lets loose a musical laugh. She reaches out to gently pat your mom’s arm and says, “Why do you think I wanted to meet you as soon as possible? We will be a great team!” Your mom smiles at her and nods. She appears more at ease with this reasoning, and you turn to look at Hongjoong with relief that the goal of this little introduction seems to have been accomplished well. He is already watching your face and leans over to kiss you tenderly as you squeeze his hand and hum contentedly at the press of his lips against yours.  

You hear your mother shift in her chair, and you fight the urge to kick her under the table as Jjoongie pulls back from the kiss respectfully to avoid making your mom uncomfortable. His mother sighs happily as she sees the blush blooming across her son’s cheeks. You notice your mother checking her watch, and you recall that you had planned to get some pastries for the boys and a little box for your mom to take home, so you lean over and ask Hongjoong and his mother to excuse you for a moment to go find the hostess to make your purchases. Your mom looks like she is about to rise and join you, but you gesture to her to remain and make your way out. You are trying to keep the smile on your face from reaching obscene proportions as you enjoy the spring in your step and make your way to the hostess’ station. When you locate the server, you ask to buy a box of the strawberry blintzes and an assortment of the resort’s signature pastries in a large and small box, as you’re now more optimistic that you’ll have the opportunity to give these to the boys if you send your mom off with a box of her own as well. 

When you’ve obtained your goodies, you return to the private room to find your mom gathering up her knitting and purse while Hongjoong offers to assist her in putting on her coat. His mother stands off to the side of the table with her delicate arms crossed and no jacket to worry about as she did not have to go outdoors to come to brunch, after all. She is absently turning her wrist and watching as her small gold bracelet shifts back and forth in the light, casting sparkles up her pale mauve blouse. Your mom looks up, almost relieved, when she sees you return, and you smile at her broadly before showing her the little box of pastries you’ve brought back for her to take home. You suddenly feel awkward for not bringing any for his mother, and you feel flames burning up into your cheeks before he sees you and says, “Good idea! Mom got some for the plane for later, too.” You heave a sigh of relief that is much less controlled than you’d like, but that’s the lesser of the worries you have at that moment.  

Your mother takes the box from you with a slightly forced smile, and your stomach falters. You had hoped, perhaps naively, that the positive atmosphere of this little introduction had maybe done enough to avoid having to launch straight back into the “big picture” conversation with your mom when you got home. You’d at least like to digest your food before either of you is in tears again. But when she looks at you, you see something that looks a bit more like guilt rather than hurt. You look at her with concern, and she gestures for the two of you to follow Hongjoong and his mom, who are starting to make their way out of the room before she leans over to quietly ask you, “They said they are not leaving until this afternoon. Is it safe to assume you’d like to spend more time with them before they leave?” She’s not mentioning Hongjoong specifically, which is odd, but still, you appreciate her willingness to consider your feelings at this moment and put off dealing with the pent-up frustrations of years of mother-daughter strife—at least for today.  

You reach your arm through her elbow and squeeze her arm as you lean against her, gratefully, “I would really like to spend some time with them, yes. I can get a ride back home when it’s time for me to leave.” She sighs with relief at this, “Oh, good. I think I’m going to go home and take a nap. I’m getting a headache.” You pull back from her in concern, but she waves it away and assures you, “It’s probably nothing. Maybe they mixed up the decaf and the regular coffee. I’m sure if I get a little nap, I’ll feel better.” You lean over and kiss her on the cheek before calling out, “Jjoongie, I will walk my mom to the car. Where will you be?” He holds up his phone wordlessly to indicate that he will text you, and you suddenly become aware that you are all walking through the hotel lobby, and a very different set of rules now apply. You shut your mouth and look straight ahead as you walk your mom out to the parking lot. 

When you finish loading your mother and her pastries into her car, you pull out your phone to see that Hongjoong has texted you a room number. You suppress a squeal and try not to speed walk back to the hotel’s elevators. As you reach his floor, you exit to see several security guards standing outside the elevator. You stumble a little, but they nod and gesture to the side of the hallway you need to use to reach his room. You’re relieved as it seems they were expecting you. When you knock carefully on the door, it opens, and you see Seonghwa there, which is a joyful surprise.

“Hwa! I’m so glad to see you!” you practically squeal as he ushers you in to wrap you in a big hug before he notices your big boxes and reaches to take them from you first to avoid crushing them or you in his arms. You hum happily and hold him tightly as his strong arms wrap around you, and you can feel him breathing in your scent as he kisses the top of your head. You turn your face up to his, and he adds another tender kiss to your lips before he murmurs, “It’s so good to see you.” You sigh and pull back slightly to see him better, “I was afraid I was not going to get to see you again before you left.” He chuckles, “I would have found a way. Don’t worry.” You smile at him, knowing he absolutely would have tried, “I know. But we just didn’t talk much about all the plans, so it’s been a bit, um, surprising.” He looks at you sweetly as you bite your lower lip. The sparkle in his eyes reminds you that you have something you hope will bring even more delight to his perfect face, “Oh yeah! Hwa! I brought you a present!” You quickly open the blintzes to show him, and he coos happily at the sight of the fresh strawberries mingling against the tender pastry and cream. “Oh, that looks so good. I forgot, too; Hongjoong will be back any minute. He was walking his mom to the car for the airport. She is traveling home today.” You tut, sadly, but figure this is probably typical for them as they are all too busy to truly have much quality time on tour. He adds, “He asked me to be here to let you in if he wasn’t back yet, but I will be going to the lake with Sannie and Wooyoung in a minute, so I have to go soon.” 

You reach out to pull him in for another hug as he gingerly closes the blintzes up to save them for later. He leans into your embrace, and you feel completely enveloped by tenderness as you listen to his steady heartbeat in his chest and feel his chin resting atop your head. “I love you so much, Dear One,” you say, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw. He nods and whispers, “Salanghae,” before squeezing you again. A distant knock alerts both of you that San and Wooyoung have probably arrived at his adjoined room and knocked on the door to collect him. “Have fun. I’ll see you very soon.” You say as he reluctantly pulls back and heads for his room’s connecting door.  

You listen as the boys chatter excitedly in the next room, and you look around to see that Jjoongie is unsurprisingly not packed to leave this afternoon, as the majority of his belongings are in piles around the room. You busy yourself picking up the random clothing items and shoes before tucking them carefully into a hotel bag in case they need to be laundered at his next destination. You find this to be a soothing habit of picking up after him, but you also selfishly hope that if you do this now, you can have all of his time until it is time for them to leave. You take off your cardigan, slip in to use the restroom, and check your hair before he returns. 

As you are checking your hair, you hear the room door click open, and your heart leaps in your chest as you slide out of the bathroom to see him. He looks as eager as you feel, and he doesn’t wait for the door to swing shut before he wraps you in a powerful embrace and begins kissing you so passionately that you struggle for balance and breath to keep up. He chuckles a little awkwardly as he seems to have just realized he almost knocked you over, so he steps back and leads you toward the unmade bed. Hongjoong suddenly notices the piles of his belongings are missing from the end of the bed and the rest of the room, so you simply point at his open suitcase where you have laid the items. He smiles gratefully before he places one knee across the bed and lays down on his back while pulling you down across his body and wrapping his arms and legs around you. He moans as he fervently kisses you and licks at your mouth, alternating between gasping, desperate kissing, and licking across your lips and pressing deep, probing kisses that make you see stars behind your tightly closed eyelids. You are moaning and pressing your body against him as though he is the only thing tethering you to life at this point. His hard cock presses against your hip as he ruts against you, and his hands search in vain for the hem of a shirt so that he can caress and grope your bare skin. You pull back from him, watching enraptured as his full lips are deeply blushed and swollen, and you know yours are likely similarly flushed from the friction and desperation of your arousal. You chuckle at his haste and unfasten your slacks to reveal the bodysuit, which surprises him so much that he laughs at his own horny cluelessness while you gingerly unfasten it and slide the unnecessary obstacle out of his way.  

It’s your turn to be surprised as he slides his palm down your mound and presses hard against it, cupping his hand over you and setting all of your nerves alight with pleasure as he massages you there. Your breasts almost burn with the unfulfilled desire and expectation that the skin there would be the first area he blessed with his touch as his mouth continues to search yours, and you whimper as his cock presses against you in increasing desperation. You whine and reach your hand down to press against his erection as he gasps into your mouth and ruts even more forcefully against your small hand. You shudder and moan as you feel him flexing it against you. 

You slide your hand down under the waistband of his boxer briefs, causing him to almost cry out in desperation as your fingertips near the hot, tender skin of his engorged cock. You rut your mound against his palm and try to drive his palm lower toward your heat as a sudden pounding at the door causes you both to pull back in alarm. He groans and apologizes, reaching down to adjust his cock beneath his waistband and pulling his shirt loose to cover the bulge there as he sighs and straightens his hair before opening the door a crack. You have pulled your pants up to cover the loose straps of your bodysuit as you listen to the man’s voice speaking quickly and authoritatively in Korean through the door.  

Hongjoong shoots a panicked look toward you before running his hand over his hair again, uttering a couple of short phrases, and stepping back to close the door. When he looks at you, his face is stricken. All traces of arousal have fled your body like a candle flame snuffed out as you look up at him in alarm. “We have to go now. There is a problem,” he looks at you regretfully as he appears to hesitate. “What do you mean, Jjoongie? Is everyone okay? What is going on?” He shakes his head angrily and begins circling the room and throwing any remaining belongings into his suitcase before he says, “There is a security issue.”  

You stare at him, waiting for him to continue, before asking again, just to be sure, “But everyone is okay right now, right? Did your mom get to the airport okay?” He stops frantically collecting his belongings to stare at you, and he turns to reach out to pull you back up to stand. He wraps his arms around you, “You are so precious to me. Yes, everyone is okay. My mom is fine, and she is at the airport.” He places a prolonged, tender kiss on your lips as your breath shudders nervously. He reluctantly releases you and continues packing his suitcase while he explains, “There is a threat that security has identified. Sasaengs,” he spits angrily and continues, “The security team has analyzed the situation and decided that it is best for us to just get to the airport right away since we will have more security at the airport when we are checked in. They do not feel it is safe for us to stay here.” He looks angrier than you have ever seen him, and you see the hints of frustrated tears forming at the corners of his eyes.  

You reach up to cup his face in your palms and smooth the tears from his eyes with your fingertips before nodding calmly and saying to him in your most confident voice, “Then that is exactly what you should do.” You pull him down for another kiss and force your lungs to breathe steadily despite the fluttering panic in your chest. He looks at you, pain in his face, as he is clearly unprepared to part from you so soon. You are somehow much more resolved to this as you had not dared to hope for any additional time with him after the concert, let alone the beautiful morning at brunch and the brief moments you had his full physical and emotional attention. “I will see you so soon, Jjoongie. This has been amazing, and I’m so grateful. You will be home soon, and we will be together.” He pushes the hair back from his face as he looks at you with wonder, “I know. I am sorry, though. I want you so bad.” He swears to punctuate the truth of this statement, and you shimmy your hips against him a little as you murmur, “Mm-hmm.” He growls at you before making one more circle around his room. His eyes dart to the door shared between his and Seonghwa’s room, and you suddenly wonder if Hwa will need help packing, but you hear rustling movement and low voices behind the door, and Hongjoong explains, “Our managers will pack up the rest of his things. He is probably mostly packed already anyway.” Hongjoong shrugs sheepishly as you are already well aware of the differences between the two of them.  

“The security will have you go out a different way. I can’t risk having anyone see you if we are watched when we leave.” You nod and try not to let his protectively concerned expression penetrate your attempt at keeping on a brave face. “I will do whatever they say. Don’t worry, Jjoongie. It will be okay, and I will see you in a few short weeks, okay? I am so proud of you. And so, so, so in love with you.” He nods and kisses you deeply before pulling away, “I love you so much. You should go now while security waits for the rest of the members. I will message you when we get to the airport. Please message me when you get home safely.”  

You promise him that you will message him when you get home and slip from the room without looking back. The security team ushers you down to the front desk, where a car has already been arranged to take you home. The driver appears to be checking frequently for any suspicious vehicles before dropping you at your mom’s house when he feels confident that you haven’t been followed. You gingerly open the front door, surprising your mom and the little dog on the couch. 

When your mom meets your eyes, you burst into sobs, and she rushes to hold you in her arms until you have regained the ability to speak in full sentences and explain what has happened. You suddenly realize you still have to text Hongjoong, so you further alarm your mother by ripping your phone from your pocket and texting into it furiously before explaining the whole situation to her. Just as you finish the censored version of the events of this afternoon, a message comes through from Hongjoong, letting you know that he is glad you are safe and telling you that he and the boys are comfortable and waiting in the private airport lounge for their next flight. He also lets you know that additional changes to their accommodations will be made in the next cities to prevent anything else from going wrong. You sigh heavily and ask your mom if she has taken a nap yet because you could damn sure use some time away from your thoughts for a while now. 

Chapter Text

When you finally awaken from a dreamless sleep, it is dark outside. Your body is stiff from being curled up in the fetal position, unmoving, with a death grip on one of the decorative pillows you had clutched tight against your chest. You can feel the swelling that has set in around your eyes already, and you tenderly reach up to see if they are truly as puffy as they feel. You probably look like you fell face-first into an allergic reaction. You also have a wicked case of cottonmouth, and you smack your dry tongue against the roof of your mouth uncomfortably as you shuffle out to find your mom. You’re extremely grateful to have her support right now because of how this whole experience has come crashing to a miserable end. You suddenly relish the fact that she will be here to help you cope with all of the letdown from the anticipation of the concert, seeing your boys, being close to Jjoongie, and having them all ripped away so suddenly without warning.  

Not to mention having to face another three weeks of celibacy.  

You really just want a ‘mom hug’ and maybe some coddling, like when she tried to comfort you after Hala died. At least this time, she knows the truth of why you’re upset, and this time, you’re not trying to navigate any potential maternal minefields for a change. This is only about your current hot mess of life or the crazy shit that seems to “only happen to you” if your mom’s history of snarky comments is to be believed. No one can blame your innocent heart for bleeding so freely at this early injury to such a vulnerable new love. You’re just in an impossible situation.  

You blink and squint as you stumble into the comparative brightness of the kitchen. You glare around, looking for your mom or the tiny dog, or really anyone who might be a source of sympathy at this point. You hear a snort and a chuckle and turn to see your mom taking a sip out of a mug as she looks you over. Before you cried yourself into unconsciousness earlier this afternoon, you had put your dirty sweatpants and hoodie back on. Your hair is probably wrecked to the point where birds would be offended if offered residence on top of your head. You give your mom an exaggerated look of indignation, and you can feel the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks crease as you wrinkle your nose at her.  

Your mom smiles kindly at you and turns toward the living room to call out, “Look who’s up!”   

Weird way to call your dog, but okay.  

“Finally!” a familiar voice calls back, and now you hear the tiny tapping of your favorite monster mutt’s claws as she trots out to see you, followed closely by Bestie, who comes around the corner with a sad smile to wrap you in a consoling hug, and you are surprised to suddenly find yourself sobbing again onto her shoulder. She pats and rocks you as you bawl, and she tuts as you hear her whispering something to your mom behind you.  

She pulls back from you and hands you a tissue as you mumble incoherent apologies and questions. “Your mom called me when you came home early after brunch. I came as soon as I could. She’s filled me in on some things, but it seems like we have a lot to talk about, huh?” she looks at you tenderly, and now you’re avoiding her gaze, as you are vastly unprepared for the prospect of having to fill her in on everything just now. She laughs lightly, as you must have a panicked look on your blotchy face, so she quickly adds, “Not tonight, of course. Tonight, we’re having ice cream for dinner, watching pointless television, and doing crafts or some shit!” Your mom makes a noise of protest, and Bestie quickly utters an apology under her breath as she leads you out to the couch.  

“I want to know everything, of course, but I know you chose not to tell me everything because it’s too soon. And now, with what happened today, I don’t even want you to talk about it unless you really, really want to because I think it will just make us sad right now, maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, I stopped and got your favorite ice cream flavors, caramel sauce, and whipped cream. Your mom says she’s already got some powdered peanut butter, so we can make that amazing caramel peanut sauce you make.” she leans back to look into your face to see if any of this appears to be helping. You’ve finished drying your eyes with the tissue and aren’t actively sobbing anymore, so she seems to take this as a good sign. “I brought you a couple of options for yarn, too, because you said you haven’t been doing any crochet lately, either. I don’t know if you’ll like it or whatever, though I’m sure you can figure something out to do with it. I bet you will be glad to have something to work on for a bit, you know, because of the long flight and blah blah blah three weeks, but we’re NOT gonna talk about that! So, as soon as your mom’s brownies come out of the oven, we’re going to dish up and then watch something absolutely pointless!” She beams at you as you turn to sniff the air and have just cleared your sinuses enough to notice the smell of your mom’s fresh, scratch-made brownies in the oven.  

Your lip starts to wobble again as you feel so loved in this moment, and your mom chuckles compassionately as she comes to hug you and get you settled on the couch. A sudden thought makes you pause, “Actually, I do have a project to work on, but it’s in storage.” You look at Bestie with big eyes and high hopes—it would be a lucky break if she had your storage unit keys with her. “Oh? How far in there is it?” she cringes a little, which is a fair response since she helped you stack that thing floor-to-ceiling with all of your stuff. “It’s not that far buried, actually. I think I know exactly where it is.” Bestie glances at your mom before saying, “We can go get that if there’s time. I have the keys, but I think I should drive you because I don’t know how you can even see out of your eyeballs right now.” Your mom laughs despite her best efforts to hold it in.  

You must really look like a trainwreck.   

“Okay. Thank you,” you sniffle as you shuffle back to your room to get your shoes and phone. Bestie grabs her keys and coat before telling your mom that you’ll be back shortly as the storage place isn’t far from her house. The two of you get into Bestie’s car, and she pauses for a moment before turning the key in the ignition to ask what you want to listen to on the stereo. You sniffle heavily as it’s so sweet of her to double-check before firing up an ATEEZ-heavy playlist and breaking your tender heart all over again. “You know what I want to listen to,” you say, sounding pathetic as your nose is all stuffy from crying so much. “Okay. I figured. I just wanted to make sure, you know, first,” she says as she starts the car, and ‘Not Okay’ blares out of the speakers at an unhealthy volume, and you both burst into deranged laughter.  

Jebus fuck.  

“Well, that works,” Bestie says with a dark laugh as she pulls out onto the street. You stare out the window before realizing you should probably check your phone, though you’re apprehensive as you don’t want any further bullshit to derail you at this point. As you open the lock screen, you’re relieved to see that there are just a few texts from the boys with funny pictures or comments that they are sorry they had to leave without saying goodbye. Hongjoong’s text looks long, and you’re not really in the mood to attempt a reply to anyone at this point, so you shut it off and slide it back into your pocket.  

“Everything okay?” Bestie asks cautiously. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “It’s fine. They are at their next hotel. They beefed up security, so that’s good.” She nods stoically as she turns into the lot for the storage unit. You realize you don’t know the four-digit code to the electronic gate, so you have to pull your phone back out to scroll through your old emails to hopefully locate it. “Hang on a sec; I don’t remember the code.” Bestie nods and waits patiently with her window rolled down, as she’s ready to put the code in as soon as you tell it to her. She subtly turns down the stereo to ensure that she hears you accurately.  

Once she’s driven to the other side of the gate, heading down the row toward your little storage unit, she hesitantly broaches a subject that she clearly is struggling to leave alone, “So, I know why you didn’t tell your mom anything, but I’m just wondering if I did something wrong or why you didn’t tell me anything about how awesome things have been going for you lately, like with Hongjoong and the job and everything.” She sounds hurt, and an exasperated sigh escapes you, even though you know it’s just a carryover from your mom’s drama earlier.  

Bestie doesn’t deserve any flack for having feelings about being left in the dark; she’s always been there through all of the shitty stuff, and she probably deserves more than anyone to hear the good things without delay. You shudder a bit as this realization rips open a fresh pocket of shame and regret. “I really didn’t have a chance. I wasn’t ready, and I didn’t know if he’d be okay with me saying anything. We never got a chance to talk about it, so I was surprised when he told me that he was fine with my mom knowing. It’s been a really fucking weird week, to be honest,” you avoid her gaze as you put the key into the rolling door to get into your unit. You swear under your breath as you realize that your belongings are stacked so high that they effectively block out the single lightbulb that is supposed to illuminate the unit from above.  

You have to pull out your phone and use the flashlight on it in order to identify which stack of boxes to start moving first. Bestie pulls hers out, too, and begins to assist you in moving stacks around to try to find your project stash. Like all good crafters, you have boxes of partially completed projects that you abandoned for one reason or another. You’re hoping to find something to work on--however half-heartedly--as you attempt to cope with the dreadfully slow passage of time until your boys return to you. Nothing can be done about the inevitable post-concert depression (PCD), as you know you’re just going to have to cry and hydrate and repeat until you’re not devastatingly sad anymore; hopefully, you can get some funny videos or messages from the boys to ease your pain, but it won’t be the same until you can have them all back home with you.  

An ATEEZ cuddle puddle sounds pretty fucking amazing right about now.  

Bestie looks at you weirdly as you laugh at your inner monolog. “Sorry, it’s not you. It’s not that. I was just,” you trail off, fumbling as you nearly dropped a large box that was not as securely taped as you expected and began to change shape as you attempted to lift it.  

“It’s just weird for me because you’ve had your partner for a while, and you really didn’t dish about it a lot, especially when you were just getting serious, so I thought maybe it was better for me not to spill everything at the beginning either. I thought maybe it would even be healthier for me not to since there are all the other issues like the NDA. I don’t know. I’ve honestly just enjoyed being in my life so much that I haven’t really felt the need to freak out about it or talk about it much.” You look at her a little guiltily as this probably is a selfish reason for not telling her hardly anything going on in your life. It’s not her fault you moved around the globe; she’d be there for you if she could.  

Probably not a good time to tell her that Seonghwa has basically become her replacement lately.  

“I understand,” she says thoughtfully, “That actually makes a lot of sense. When my partner and I first got together, I kind of felt like talking about it too soon might jinx it, or like I might overthink the good shit and ruin it somehow.” You nod as she says this, as this is a pretty spot-on way to describe how you’ve felt about it. You also didn’t want to try to ask her to help you figure out things you’ve felt insecure about because she’s too far outside of the situation to offer any meaningful insight or observations.  

Again, not her fault, but still, you don’t need someone to just tell you you’re right all the time.  

You shuffle the boxes and finally locate the box with your crochet unfinished objects, or ‘UFOs,’ as the crafty bitches say. Bestie starts replacing boxes back into the gaps the two of you have just created in the precariously layered mausoleum of your former life. She pauses for a moment, “Hey! You should get some of these autographed!” she laughs, looking at you brightly as she digs through your tub of ATEEZ albums. You laugh a little, preparing to tell her that’s a silly idea before you suddenly think of a certain someone who would really enjoy getting a couple of autographs. “I could get some for you if you want. But you have your own albums! I should take ‘The World Ep 2’ and get it signed for Joshie, though! He sang all the words to Outlaw...” you say, starting to dig through the tub with Bestie to locate your options. “Or wait! He did the ‘Work’ choreo flawlessly, and he did say he was saving up to buy his own house! That’s it! That’s the one I’ll get signed for him,” you pull back, chewing your bottom lip for a moment. “I honestly don’t even know which one I’d want autographed if I was going to ask them for myself. It’s weird, isn’t it?” Bestie’s car stereo is still running and you suddenly become aware as ‘Say My Name’ ends and it launches into ‘My Way’. You smile up at her as she watches you in fascination. You retrieve the ‘Golden Hour Part 1’ album and put the rest back into the box.  

“It’s weird. But it makes sense. This is your way,” she looks down at you with a fond smile, and you snap the lid back on your box of albums before picking up the UFO box and throwing it into the backseat of her car. She raises a skeptical eyebrow at you at this. “I know, I’m just going to sort it at Mom’s. I’m hungry. I need ice cream.” She laughs at this, and you add, “I’ll keep the keys and put back what I don’t want before I fly out so Mom doesn’t kill me for leaving a bunch of shit at her house.” “Good plan,” she says knowingly.  

When you get back to your mom’s house, you carefully tuck the album into your suitcase to bring home with you. You know it will probably come off as a weird request, but honestly, it’s worth it. This isn’t for you, but is for someone who could probably really use the encouragement; and that’s pretty much ATEEZ’s M.O. right there.  

After several disgustingly large servings of brownies and ice cream and introducing your disbelieving but now-converted mother to the concept of heated caramel sauce and peanut butter, which turns into a fucking amazing ice cream topping, you are leaning back on the couch only half-heartedly watching some dating show Bestie is obsessed with. You’ve never even heard of it, but you always found those shows to be painful to watch, so you wouldn’t have seen it anyway, even if you were aware it existed before now.  

Your mom has polished off a few glasses of some kind of wine with her ice cream; Bestie declined to drink due to having to drive home later, and you already feel hungover from all of the emotional destruction that it just wouldn’t be worth it. So, it’s understandable when your mom is feeling a little disinhibited and starts down a line of questioning that leaves you and Bestie soberly speechless.  

“Okay, so I understand why you didn’t tell me you were in love with Hongjoong—at least not right away. But, I’m a little confused,” your mom says with only the slightest hint of a slur to her speech as she leans closer to you and Bestie to get the scoop. You and Bestie stare at each other, open-mouthed, in what can only be described as horror because your mom has never wanted details about your love life.  

“Uh,” you stammer, looking to Bestie for support only to be met with the same shocked expression. Bestie, however, is not actually speechless, and she turns toward your mom’s eager face to say, “Beats me! She didn’t tell me shit!” Something between Bestie’s audacity to swear and your mom’s tipsy state has reset all of the norms of your parent-child relationship to ‘anarchy,’ and your mom seems to have completely forgotten herself as she’s now attempting to use this information to transfer Bestie’s allegiance to her in order to work together to coerce a full confession out of you. She nods knowingly and tuts as she pats Bestie on the forearm before turning back to address you, “How did any of this happen? I mean, I know you worked for them, but I just don’t understand,” she genuinely looks bewildered, and you’re effectively holding your breath as she tries to voice her question before she finally launches it, “I thought he was the GAY one!?”  

The hysterical scream of laughter that Bestie unleashes was probably heard loud and clear by the neighbors at this point, and you are frozen in place as you can only sputter, “Mom! Around here, I’M the gay one!” This statement elicits further shrieks of laughter from Bestie as your mom nods thoughtfully, drains her wine glass, and stands to go in search of a refill, “Oh. Right. Nothing I thought I knew makes sense anymore,” she mutters; her nervous little dog looks between your face, Bestie’s soundless laughter, and your mom’s receding back as she shuffles into the kitchen. As soon as she’s out of view, you punch Bestie in the arm, causing her to double over, still unable to make a sound, but she can’t tattle on you either, so you’ll take it.  

You look at the carnage of the ‘ice cream and wine for dinner’ extravaganza and turn to clear some of the dishes away and hopefully convince everyone that it is probably bedtime. It seems that the quality of the conversation or of anyone’s personal choices is unlikely to improve as the evening wears on, so you should really get your mom put to bed. Bestie sees you and stands to help you clean up as you hurry to prevent your mom from opening another bottle of wine if it isn’t already too late.  

The two of you manage to convince your mom to go to bed, and you chuckle to yourself as you close the door after you’ve walked Bestie out. You can’t believe your mom tried to get Bestie to turn on you just for some intel. They’ll get what they get when you’re good and ready. You may have had an impressively shitty day, but you’re not ready to roll over yet. You look down to see that the little dog has put herself to bed in her crate and you get down on your hands and knees to pet her and kiss her little noggin’ before you head in to brush your teeth and try to remember how to function in the deep sad that creeps in between all of your thoughts as unintentionally and easily as breathing.   

The morning dawns, and you sincerely hope your mom isn’t hungover. You’re not sure you can handle your PCD and her in a state of self-inflicted misery, so you cross your fingers as you head out to the kitchen to find out just how fucked up your day is going to be. You are already grateful to yourself for remembering to chug a big glass of water before bed to try to reduce some of the swelling in your eyes and redistribute the depleted fluids throughout the rest of your body.  

It’s a relief to smell coffee in the kitchen and see that several miniature doggie kibbles have been left next to the bowl, which is the dog’s traditional mode of driving your mom crazy. Nothing says ‘love’ like stepping barefoot on a handful of tiny pebbles of dog food, which bruise the flesh and inflame the ego. “You ingrate!” your mom typically hollers, and you learned long ago not to ask why she doesn’t just put less food in the dish if the dog doesn’t eat it all.  

Not the hill to die on.  

As you head into the living room, you see your mom reading the paper while the pup snoozes in a post-breakfast food coma next to her on the couch. Without looking up from the paper, your mom informs you, “Bestie left you soda in the fridge. She must have known you’d need it. Or there’s coffee if you want to join the grown-ups.” She looks up at you with a wink, and you have to force the stupid look off your face before you say, “Grown-ups? Where? All I see are the knuckleheads who ate ice cream and brownies for dinner last night. You know some grown-ups?”  

She tuts in mock exasperation, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I see how you are. We could have had real food for dinner, but that’s not what you needed, now was it?” She folds down the paper and looks over it at you knowingly, and you smile at her gratefully. “No, it wasn’t what I needed. I needed my mama and my Bestie and ice cream and brownies for dinner.” She tuts as you reach over the couch to hug her shoulders, “Your mama knows. I may not always do the right things, but I know some things.” You kiss the top of her head as you turn to go see about the diet soda stash and try to find something a little more sensible for breakfast than brownies.  

You’re incredibly grateful to your mom for having taken the time to build this positive relationship with Bestie when you were monster teenagers and that Bestie had the sense to try to at least appear to respect your parents’ boundaries. You could never have predicted that you’d need their support in a time like this, of course, but the fact that these two wonderful women could put everything aside for you and just be present when everything was crashing down on you really speaks to their loving, gracious hearts. You look forward to a time, someday, when things aren’t always feeling so unstable, so tenuous, and frankly, so unbelievable that you’ll be excited to answer all of their questions and dish about all the details. Right now, it feels like you could speak it all out of existence, like the worst jinx ever, just by talking about it too soon.  

Chapter Text

If anyone had asked you a month ago to recommend a list of effective stress management ideas, spending a week at your mom’s place during a complicated bout of post-concert depression would never have made the list. But honestly, the time you’ve been able to spend with her here over the past week has been immensely healing for both of you as you have suddenly needed her in such a way that she was ready, willing, and able to assist you. If someone had suggested riding out PCD for a week at your mom’s house before this time, you would have laughed until you passed a kidney stone.  

But, of course, this is no ordinary PCD situation. In the past, you hid your PCD episodes from your mom because you worried that the intensity of it would scare her, and you really didn’t want her to start suggesting that maybe the concerts and ATEEZ obsession weren’t worth the time or the money if they brought you to your knees with such intensity immediately afterward. You really didn’t want a dose of common sense on top of the heaps of regret you were fighting when you considered the time, energy, and money you’d just spent for what basically worked out to be a week of bone-rattling anxiety leading up to a few hours of euphoria followed by a week or more of absolute devastation. The unfortunate lucid moments during the incoherent lows of the after-concert letdown often had you questioning your own life choices because that shit was awful. 

This time, the concert is the least of your woes because you are lost in the melancholy that is only known to lovers torn from their significant others in any violent or sudden way. She certainly doesn’t need to know that you are also missing the luxury of having the other members as a stand-in for the physical closeness you are desperately craving. The heaviest burden holding you under the depths of your loneliness, like a boulder pinning you in the darkness on the ocean floor, is the lack of access to Hongjoong and the intensity with which you feel his absence. Your mom has done her best to be gentle and thoughtful toward you and to only chide you for extremely excessive bouts of wallowing, which you probably indulge in a little too willingly. Instead of lecturing you, though, she finds new ways of distracting you and loving you out of your funk, which is a welcome change from her tactics when you were being dramatic while growing up. You sadly realize that maybe her change in perspective is due to the incredible loss of your dad and her unfortunate empathy as a grieving lover.  

The week drifts by in a blur of couch cuddle sessions with the dog, movie marathons of cheesy and intentionally sad movies with your mom, and more than a few non-nutritious meals. You barely feel yourself beginning to reemerge on the other side of the tunnel of despair as a functioning, cognizant human before it is finally time for you to return home. You feel buoyed by the prospect of getting home to get ready for the boys, even if they’re still two weeks out. Getting yourself back to Korea is one crucial step closer in the process, and it feels like you can’t get back there soon enough.  

You say goodbye to your mom, and surprisingly, few tears are shed between the two of you. She seems almost as excited for you to get back to your thus-far successful life as ATEEZ’s caretaker and Hongjoong’s sweetheart. While you don’t look forward to catching up on the tasks you failed to do before you left, you know there is plenty to do to get the dorms ready. You can definitely keep your mind and body occupied to the point of exhaustion, just making sure you fully prepare for the boys’ return. You decide to throw yourself--heart and soul--into these tasks, and before you know it, you have arrived at the day that they will return from their successful tour to your boundless relief. 

You remember Nam Timjangnim’s ridiculous bouncing around and grinning at the crack of dawn so many months ago when she found out that the boys had landed back on Korean soil and were on their way home. You now can entirely relate to her undisguised joy, and you have to admit that your difficulty sleeping last night probably had a lot to do with your excited anticipation. Finally, you will have your dorm full of raucous, crazy boys. They took such good care of you by remembering to occasionally send you messages and pictures or make short video calls to tell you something funny, but it’s not the same as being there, immersed in ATEEZ. Just as you marvel at their height now, in comparison with how you always thought they were smaller because all of your interactions were limited to screens or glimpsing them from far away at their shows, you now realize that their gigantic presence, their personality, the essence of who each of them are is richer and fuller when experienced up close. 

They are expected to be home in a few hours, so you wander a little aimlessly as you’ve already done everything you’d planned to prepare. Of course, you have already prepped the dorm thoroughly, stocking the fridge and the pantry with all of their favorite foods. You knew they would be homesick for their usual foods; you were sure to make their favorite comfort foods and stock up on healthy snacks.  

You decide to take a long shower now, which will give the hot water a chance to recover before the boys get home, as you know they’ll likely want to wash away the grime of international travel. You spend extra time enjoying the sensations of the water and the smell of your favorite body wash and hair products. You give a little extra attention to your grooming routine, optimistically, as you want to look and feel your best. You decide when you’re done to also do a quick moisturizing face mask, pop in your earbuds as you go lay on your bed, and allow it to set. “Blue Summer” comes on your ATEEZ complete playlist as you lay there thinking of your darling boys and how you’ve enjoyed hearing about the success of their tour. You hope they’ve saved a few funny stories to tell you in person, even though you’re just excited to have them close again.  

You must have dozed off for a few minutes because suddenly your alarm is blaring “Deep Dive,” and you sit up in a panic until you remember that you set it last night, in a moment of brilliant forethought, to give yourself a one-hour warning of the boys getting home. You laugh a little at yourself and run back to the bathroom to finish your hair, which has now dried in a bizarre configuration since you fell asleep lying on it while it was still damp. You don’t spend a ton of time on your makeup, but you make sure that you highlight your best features without looking overdone. You’ve already picked out a comfortable outfit but you’re suddenly struck by an inspiration as you feel the light breeze under your robe tickling up your naked legs. 

After the bathroom stuff is put away, you dig into your wardrobe to find the item you’ve got in mind. You also find your favorite strapless bra that doesn’t do much, practically, but restrains your large breasts to keep them from being obscene under a loose blouse. You have put on your favorite perfume and moisturized every inch of your skin. You put on the pearl earrings your mom gave you and look at yourself in the mirror. You can’t hide your smile, and you’re starting to feel the flutters of nervous excitement as your butterflies escape your stomach and spread throughout your entire body. You glance up at the clock at the same time as you hear the elevator ding. You decide to wait in your room because you know that your face will betray your excitement, and you don’t think you can keep your cool while all of the boys’ things are brought in by the staff.  

You practically float down the hallway, your bare feet silent under your favorite long, flowy summer skirt. You're pretty sure you hear a soft chuckle at your haste coming from Mingi's room, but nothing is going to slow you down now. The boys have been away, gone for six whole weeks, and it was all you could do to wait patiently while the rest of the staff brought in the luggage and departed.  

As the elevator door closes on the last staff member, you hurry down the hallway to the only place your body, heart, and soul want to be. When you reach his door, it is slightly ajar. You can just see his left leg standing on the floor by the bed. Peering in without moving it, you glimpse Hongjoong standing with one knee on the bed; his open suitcase had already spilled across the foot of the bed, and he had obviously rifled through it in a hurry to find something. His laptop is propped on top of the exploded suitcase contents, and he appears deep in thought as he taps a key and ponders the information on the screen. You give a quick downward tug to your off-the-shoulder blouse, ensuring that your rounded shoulders are evenly displayed, and you sweep inside, pulling your billowing skirt in behind you fluidly to avoid closing the door on it. He looks up at the sound of the door closing and gives you a soft, relieved smile. Your own shy, blushing smile melts away; you can't suppress a squeal as you dash toward him and jump into his surprised arms, effectively sending him sprawling back onto the bed. His smile spreads into a grin as you kiss his face and nip at his jawline until he chuckles at you and holds you away at arm’s length to look you over. Brushing back a lock of hair that has escaped its perfect placement behind your ear, he sighs contentedly and lowers you to him, whispering, "I missed you so much, Naui Haneul." His eyes almost look pained as he pulls you to him for a long, tender kiss.  

You lay across him and meld your body over his as Hongjoong kisses you more deeply, seeking more than just comfort in the embrace. His hands search over your shoulders, down your back, and settle on your fleshy hips as if he's trying to make sure everything is as he remembered it six weeks ago. The heat rises in your face and between your legs, as you bring your knees up to straddle his hips without breaking the kiss. He groans softly as you press yourself across his pelvis, and you feel the intensity of just how happy he is to see you through his jeans and the light fabric of your skirt. He holds tightly onto your hips now and pulls you down toward him decisively. You let out a small whine as his unyielding cock grinds almost painfully against your pelvic bone, setting sparks off behind your eyelids. His eyes open quickly and are flashing with lust as he deftly flips you onto your back, and he straightens up to stand beside the bed, gazing down at you. You are unsure which part of you he plans to devour first, but you feel a surge of delirious adrenaline as you know whatever he does next is going to go down in your mental highlight reel. He smirks deviously as he begins to unfasten his jeans, and you match his expression as you slowly tease your skirt upward until he can see just how ready you are for this. When he realizes there are no barriers between your wet heat and his body, he looks almost stricken and lets out a feral moan before kicking his jeans across the room and dropping to his knees beside the bed. Hongjoong pulls your hips to his face with a growl, causing you to giggle until his tongue is forcefully upon you, exploring your folds, licking long desperate strokes against your clit with so much pressure it makes you gasp, choking on a moan. He seems intent on releasing six weeks of tension in mere moments. You are never the patient one of the two, so you're completely satisfied to let him lose control and race to the finish line. You know he is going to claim your body as his own and take absolutely everything you are offering him freely and without reservation. 

You tug gently at his hair as he continues to lick, suck, caress, and nibble like a man starved. When his frantic tongue passes again over your clit, you buck your hips up, and he releases a startled moan, the vibration of which nearly sends you into orbit. You grab at one of his hands, which is clutching your hip, and push it downward. He accepts this cue and looks up at you through disheveled bangs and smiles almost abashedly, his face red and glistening with the combination of your wetness and his own saliva, before popping two of his fingers into his mouth and sliding his hand down your hip and under your thigh. You gasp, and your back arches as he simultaneously slides them both inside you and returns his mouth to your slit. His fingers explore deeply inside you for a couple of strokes, and Hongjoong lets loose a wicked chuckle at your insatiable wetness before pulling them back to a comfortable depth and curling them over and over in that perfect "Come hither" motion that worships your g-spot. The intoxicating smell of his musk from traveling hits you as you didn't give him time to hit the shower when he got home. He always laughs at you for enjoying his natural body chemistry so much; you can't even explain what it does to you to be near him when he smells like, well, like himself. No extra sprays or unnatural clean smells. Just him. The smell of his scalp, his neck, and his sweat jolts hot arousal through you without warning whenever you get a whiff. He licks up across your clit again, and when you buck your hips and clench down on his hand fiercely, he quickly withdraws and comes up to kiss you passionately. The smell of your own wetness and his scent brings tears to your eyes, and you arch your back up toward him, nearly losing control. He pulls back to look at your face, and he gasps as your hips press up, grinding against his throbbing erection desperately. 

"Take me home." You whisper into his panting mouth. Hongjoong groans as he slides back and drags your ass to the edge of the bed before pressing the head of his cock against your entrance. You moan desperately and arch again as your vision goes black, and he slams into your core, making you see stars. He pauses there, buried to the hilt, as you choke and nearly sob at the intensity of the contact. He looks down at you again with a look of reverie before it melts into the demonic smile you need right now. He begins driving into you steadily, and the smile doesn’t leave his face, though his eyes begin to roll back into his head before he closes them to focus only on the physical sensations. The rocking of your bodies together is almost hypnotic; all you feel is the friction of his aching cock against your core, his strong hands holding you in place, and the coolness of the sheets against your back. The angle of his thrust is perfectly stroking your G-spot and the tender nerve endings on your pelvic bone. The waves of your pleasure come closer and closer to crashing over the edge.  His breath shudders for a second, and he adjusts his grip to your ample ass without missing a beat. Driving his hard cock into you, you can feel the electricity pulsing in his body, and you instinctively know he is about to cut loose. Your body shatters in an explosion of pleasure, obscuring all other senses as you both climax hard, and you feel his pulsing cock empty into you. The two of you entwine your limbs and hold onto each other for dear life, panting and sweating as the world comes back into focus. When he regains his breath enough to speak, you hear him say, "You are my home." You moan softly, fighting back tears, and kiss him on the forehead. 

Hongjoong slowly thrusts into you a few more times before gently releasing your thighs and lowering your legs, which are buzzing and shaky, to the floor. But he doesn’t leave your side. He presses his body back over yours and meets your mouth in a slow, passionate, sensual, deep kiss that melts your soul and brings a single tear trailing down your cheek. It slides down and passes between your lips and onto his. Your throat constricts slightly as you think about how much you adore this man. There is more love, longing, and connection in this kiss than in any combination of words or sex you have ever experienced before. When he finally pulls away with a satisfied sigh, you open your eyes and see that he, too, has tears on his cheeks. You gaze at each other for a moment, seeing your feelings reflected in each other’s eyes and you begin to laugh with amazement at your unbelievable good fortune to have found each other in this lifetime. 

You scoot back onto the bed and reach out for him; he climbs up beside you and slides his arm under your neck so you can lay your head on his chest, and he reaches this hand around to tenderly stroke the skin of your upper arm. He wraps his leg over your hips and sighs with satisfaction as you reach across his body to thread your fingers through his. You press a small kiss to his chest and hum contentedly as you breathe in and out together.  

After several long minutes, you feel him getting restless, and you know his mind has him running impossible errands, though his heart wants to be present with you. You also know that he probably slept on the plane just as you took an extra nap to be able to time-travel through unconsciousness to get closer to the time when you’d be reunited. You turn and lick his chest up to the tiny mole on his neck, which causes him to yell and try to squirm away, but you hold him with your interlaced fingers and harness his momentum to roll yourself on top of him. He takes advantage of your shift to reach up and pull your hips down on his groin, and you lean down to catch his lips with yours as his sudden strength takes your breath away. With just a few more sharp tugs on your hips, you can feel his cock pressing against you again as your wetness and his cum are running down over his hipbone and causing you to slide slightly forward and back each time his hands jerk your hips down firmly onto his flexing member. 

You gasp into his mouth and bite at his jaw as he moans and shudders against you. You reach down toward your heat to slide his cock into your empty core, and as he presses himself inside you to the point that his arms shake on your hips, you cry out with the painful pleasure and gasp as you try to withstand the intensity until he begins shifting you forward and back on it with his strong grip. You fall forward to continue riding him where you can still bite and suck on his engorged lips as he pants and swears in ecstasy. You whine and moan into his mouth and rock your hips as he reaches back to grip your ass with both hands.  

You whine pathetically with the surges of pleasure that spread from your core as he lifts his hips and thrusts into you while controlling your ass and hips with his hands. You try to follow his rhythm and begin to cry out as the pleasure radiates out from your g-spot, and your clit is effectively grinding against his hard pelvic bone, causing the electricity generated there to jangle your nerves and release even more wetness from your pussy. You are gasping now into his mouth as he fights to control your hips and his own arousal, and you plant yourself firmly on top of him, centered there as you whisper, “Jjoongie,” until you once again have his dark eyes focused completely on yours, which surprises you with another wave of delicious arousal to have to fight through. “Hold me tight, please, dear Captain?” You ask him as his eyes look straight into the depths of your soul. He releases your ass and reaches his arms around you to clasp his elbows over your back and hold you tightly to his chest. You raise your ass to hold this closeness and allow him to thrust up inside you from this position as you kiss his lips with the tenderest lingering strokes of your tongue and pressing your lips against his to enjoy the fullness there.  

He gasps and thrusts into you as you feel the increasingly slick wetness of your core and the excruciating hardness of his throbbing cock nearly sliding free from your entrance before pressing deep inside you. You flex your hips up and open yourself to him as he groans and continues to pound you as hard as he can from this angle. He suddenly reaches out and pats your thigh and knee on one side, and you instinctively straighten your leg so that he can roll over the top of you and press you onto your back. You bring your knees up, and he slides his throbbing cock straight into your slippery heat with a thrust so powerful that the collision of your pelvic bones sends fire straight up your nerves, and you can feel the electricity in the back of your throat.  

You are gasping and panting now as he fucks you senseless, and you try to kiss and nip at his jaw, but he ducks his head down to your collarbone and holds you tight in his arms until he is shuddering uncontrollably, and you feel his spasming cock empty inside you again. You feel the intensity of his release, and he looks up to kiss you as he moves slightly again before shifting his hip aside and circling his fingers around your clit. He brings his wet fingers up to twist your nipples, and you can smell the sweet scent of your wetness combined with the smell of his fluids. You arch your back and cry out against his lips as he kisses you. He responds to your cries by sliding his fingers back down inside you and stroking your g-spot as his palm applies friction and pressure to your clit, causing you to gasp and cum hard as your pussy clenches tightly around his hand.  

He leans over and kisses your forehead, which is now shimmering with perspiration and framed by the strands of hair that his passion has freed from its careful arrangement in your upswept style. He spits lightly, trying to get a lock of your hair out of his mouth, and reaches up to free it from where it has stuck to his flushed lips as he rolls back slightly on his elbow. You sigh and look up to kiss him on the chin and bite him playfully as you growl, “Don’t spit on me!” He chuckles sheepishly and lowers himself to kiss your nose and whisper, “Or else what?” while you stare up at him with shocked eyes and zero ideas of how you’d seek revenge if he continued to spit on you.  

He laughs again at your speechlessness before lifting your chin up with his hand and kissing you softly, sucking on your lips until you relax into his gentle kisses. Your lips are plump and rosy from arousal and the fervent bruising kisses of the desperate desire consuming the two of you. He slackens his full lips across yours and holds the connection there with gentle constancy as he moans with satisfaction at the prolonged contact. Hongjoong alternates between light strokes of his tongue across your lips and gently sucking on them until your lip slides in between his, so he can press more firm strokes of his tongue across your captured lip as he sucks on and caresses it. You wrap your arms around him and press your body against his as closely as possible, enjoying the sensation of his hot, sweaty skin against yours.  

The tenderness of his kiss simultaneously breaks and heals your heart as you rub your hands across his back, giving him goosebumps. You press, massage, and tickle his glistening skin to distract you as you try to keep your lips softened for him to continue exploring and enjoying them at his whim. When you are about to lose the fight to keep your tongue from seeking out his, he moans again and rolls back on top of you as his tongue probes deeper into your mouth, and his body aligns with yours to press every inch of your naked skin to his. You sigh happily and wrap your legs around his as he slides his arms beneath you to hold you tight. You can feel again the pressure of his cock against your mound, and you find yourself whimpering slightly at the thought of another pounding so soon. 

He pulls back from his ardent kisses to look at you through his bangs, and you sigh up at him happily and shimmy your hips as you look at him with big eyes. “I know you’ve missed me, but do you really want to break me so soon after you get me back? I don’t think I can take another round just now.” He pouts at you and kisses the tip of your nose before also pressing a quick peck to your lips. “Do you trust me, Naui Haneul?” 

At the sound of your pet name, you will your body to relax, and you look up at him without hesitation, “Yes, Captain. Of course, I trust you.” He licks across your lips again and shifts to one elbow to slide his hand from your thigh all the way up your torso, across your breast with gentle pressure, until his hand rises up your neck and stops just below your jaw for a moment with the tiniest increase of pressure to your throat before raising to cup the side of your cheek in the palm of his hand. He looks deep into your eyes and says calmly, “I love you, and I will take care of your body if you will let me.” You shiver with the intensity of his gaze and his sentiment, and you nod as you hold his strong eye contact.  

He gently rolls away toward the bedside table and retrieves a bottle of lube before you hear the lid snap shut and feel the rush of blood coursing through your clit in anticipation.  

You really are well-trained, aren’t you?  

He gently rolls his body back and reaches to press your legs open. You bend your knees up for him and watch him in fascination as he places his palm back over your mound, and you feel the cool lube slide down your slit as he rubs it there before sliding his hand lower. He gently separates your tender, swollen folds as he slides two fingers inside you, and you feel the slickness of the cool lube in combination with the impressive amount of his cum that still remains there. He takes a deep shuddering breath at the same time you do as he carefully slides his fingers in up to his knuckles. You suck air through your teeth slightly as his knuckles press against your sensitive entrance, threatening to pinch the tender layers there if he pushes too hard. He leans down and kisses you gently on your chin and lower jaw as he says, “Trust. I will not hurt you. I will not give you more than you can take.”   

You sigh with a shudder and force your pelvis to relax again as he gently swirls his fingers inside you, mingling the cum and the lube as his twisting fingers awaken pleasure in all of your core. His methods excite the places inside of you that are not typically massaged by his pounding cock or even by his fingers when he worships your g-spot. You shiver and begin to moan—deep and low—as this attention, in combination with the growing awareness of his hard cock pressing against your thigh, is now reawakening your desire for him which you thought was well-sated only moments ago.  

“Ah, you are so beautiful. Ssibal. God, I love making you cum,” he kisses up your jawline as he shakes, trying not to give in to his urge to rut his hard cock against your thigh with all his might. You moan and turn to kiss his mouth, licking and sucking at his tongue and lips as though he is water in the desert and you have been alone for so long. The two of you pant and moan into each other’s mouths as the intimacy of your shared emotions and physical connection reaches a celestial level.  

The intensity of his fingers within you is now spreading a deeper feeling of heat and pleasure throughout your body that radiates from your core out to all of your large muscles and feels like warm honey spreading slowly within you. Your moaning becomes lower and longer as you feel this golden wave of all-encompassing pleasure flooding all of your senses; the ecstasy and intensity of these feelings swell within you beyond anything you’ve ever experienced before. Hongjoong hears the shift in your vocalizations and pulls back from your lips to watch your face with rapt curiosity and pure affection. As he continues to stroke your inner walls steadily, he keeps his pace and simply waits for the glow of this arousal to build beyond your body’s ability to contain it.  

The orgasm that consumes you doesn’t come with an explosion; this feels as though the overwhelming pleasure that has filled your entire body simply rises up and swallows you. You feel euphoric as the crest of the orgasm is like being lowered into a pool of the same warm honey that fills every cell of your body with pleasure. You moan continuously as you crest wave after wave of this intense pleasure, and when you finally open your eyes again, you see that Hongjoong is still watching your face—his own face a mirror of wondrous ecstasy. You cry out to him in surprise and bewilderment, and he leans down to kiss you reassuringly as the aftershocks begin hitting you harder than some orgasms you’ve had in your life. You gasp and shudder, crying out to him and pressing your body close to him. He carefully withdraws his fingers from inside you and wraps his arms around you as he continues to lightly kiss your cheeks and your lips.  

“You cum so well for me, my good girl,” he whispers into your hair as you whimper and press yourself into him. Your only desire at this moment is to become part of him, to hide within him, and to hold on to this terrifying combination of absolute rapture and completely raw vulnerability. You sigh into his collarbone and shudder before you press your lips to his neck and moan with utter satisfaction. You shimmy your hips as the aftershocks finally begin to recede, and you giggle lightly with wonder at this new experience.  

He moans into your hair and pulls back to look at your face, smiling at the dazed, blissed-out look there. “How was that?” he asks, smoothing back some of the damp strands of hair from your temples and smiling gently as you try to regain the ability to speak coherently. You stare at him in wonder before managing to stammer, “That was amazing. You are amazing. I’ve never...” You trail off with a dramatic sigh as you can’t find the words, “Thank you,” you add breathlessly before reaching up to kiss him tenderly and passionately while your body works through a couple more aftershocks. “Oh my gods,” you gasp and chuckle, rolling back from him to try to calm your nerves and process the delicious, floaty sensation that has filled your body. You feel the slightest twinges from your clit, and you know instinctively that if anything were to touch it just now, you’d be on the ceiling hollering like a baptized cat due to the oversensitivity.  

He chuckles and lays beside you, allowing your bodies to enjoy the ambient air cooling your perspiration and sending shivers of goosebumps over you both. “Fuck. I missed you,” you laugh as you reach back up to weave your fingers through his. He rolls toward you and kisses your shoulder with a nod, “Mm-hmm. Me too.” You sigh happily as you find yourself lulled into contented sleep despite every intention of staying fully conscious with him.  

You feel him slide his arm from under you and gently roll you onto your side with a spare pillow to prop your arm and knee just the way you like it. You shiver lightly as he drapes the sheet over you and slides out of the bed. Once he is satisfied with the placement of the comforter over your body and has leaned over to kiss your neck and forehead one more time, he quietly shuffles some items from his suitcase and slips from the room.  

Chapter Text

You awaken to the feeling of the bed dipping down behind you, tilting your ass and hips backward as someone is gently sliding in to sit behind you. A surprising, savory smell greets your nose as someone is now leaning over your hip and chuckling as they look at your sleepy, confused face. You scrunch up your face and growl as you shift your hip under the weight of their body and arm across you. 

As your eyes begin to focus, you see it is Seonghwa. His silvery hair is lit from behind like a halo by the glow from the sunset coming in through the parted curtains on Hongjoong’s bedroom window. Seonghwa smiles down at you fondly, and as your bleary eyes finally begin to focus, you see he holds a bowl of 장조림 (Jangjorim), which is the braised beef in soy sauce that you left for them in the kitchen. He follows your eyes to his bowl, breaks into a dazzling grin, and gracefully slides a large piece of beef into his mouth with a flash of the silver chopsticks. You moan and press the heel of your hand to your eyes as you mutter, “What time is it?” Glancing around, you’re now regretting not leaving yourself some water in Hongjoong’s room as part of your dorm prep for the boys’ return, considering you knew if all went to plan, you’d be lying here completely fucked out, exactly as you now find yourself. 

“Dinner time?” he says with a coy smile and a shrug, as you both know that time of day will be delightfully irrelevant for the next week or so because the return from tour means at least a few days without schedules or expectations. He holds out a bite of the beef for you, which you take before shaking your head, “No, not just dinner time,” you say as you struggle to free your arms from the blankets where Seonghwa’s body and your tendency to burrito yourself into sheets and blankets has trapped you.  

When you finally free your arms, you hold them out to him and clap your fingers against your palms as you look up at him with big eyes, “It’s time for Hwa hugs and maybe kisses?” You stare up at him hopefully as he chuckles lightly and sets his bowl down on the bedside table before leaning back over you and allowing you to clasp your arms around his beautiful neck as he rolls his body over yours and slides his long, graceful arms around you, pressing you tightly against him. He moans lightly into your shoulder, sending shivers up your spine and causing you to giggle and shimmy your hips at the tickle of his breath and his deep voice. 

You squeeze him tightly and whisper into his hair, “I’ve missed you, Dear One. How are you?” He hums softly and pulls back to look over your face as he regards you with his deep, dark eyes. The burning sunset still sets his angelic hair alight, and the effect of this glowing crown makes his facial expression slightly difficult to see as your eyes are dazzled by the light behind him. “Better now,” he says with a heavy exhale before pressing his luscious lips against yours in a supple kiss. He moans lightly as the pressure of his kiss causes his full lips to engulf yours, and his warm breath on your cheek sends heat through your entire body as you continue to hold onto each other for dear life.  

He gently drags his lips downward, causing your lips to part as he slides his tongue out and caresses your bottom lip before pressing your mouth open with his. Seonghwa slips his tongue gently into your mouth, and you accept him eagerly, opening to allow his tongue to find yours. The passionate strokes of his powerful tongue dance across your own. You try to take it all in as you enjoy the pressure of his lips, the tender urgency of his kiss, and the increasing pressure of your body against his. He whines softly as you suck hard on his bottom lip before releasing it with a satisfied hum. He pulls back to look at you, his pupils dominating his eyes as yours finally adjust, and the light of the sun has sunk low enough on the horizon that it no longer illuminates the room with liquid fire. 

You smile up at him gratefully and can’t help but repeat yourself, “Gods, I've missed you, Hwa.” He shimmies happily against you and licks his lips, “Mm-hmm,” he murmurs. You release your grip on him to slide up to the head of the bed and attempt to fluff the pillows behind you. As much as you love the closeness with him, you certainly don’t want to give the impression that you could handle any more physical attention than this at the moment. Making love to Hongjoong has thoroughly satisfied you to the point where your body feels more panicky than aroused at the idea of any other contact just now. Hwa doesn’t seem surprised as he waits for you to get settled before scooting up beside you, retrieving his bowl of jangjorim, and returning to happily eating his dinner. You reach over and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear as you shift to get up and go find something to drink.  

Seonghwa gives an adorable squeak of protest and pouts at you, but you promise him you’ll be right back, which satisfies him. You pause to ask him if he will want more food as well, and his smile widens as he shrugs. You know darn well he will happily consume whatever you bring him, so you start to head down the hallway toward the kitchen before realizing you have Hongjoong’s cum sliding down your leg, and you probably ought to go at least put on underwear before wandering too far. You find yourself smiling slyly at the naughty feeling of this, and you decide to leave it as you saunter down the hall. Your thighs slip and slide against each other, and you swing your hips just a little more than usual as you approach the kitchen.

You hear several voices coming from the living room, and you slip into the kitchen to get a bottle of tea before going out to greet whoever is there on the couches. When you turn to the living room, Jongho, Yunho, San, and Mingi are chatting loudly or doing something on their phones until Jongho looks up to see you and calls out excitedly. You’re taken by surprise as Jongho stands and walks around the couch to come to wrap you in a big bear hug. You grin up at him as he holds you firmly, and he smiles down at you fondly before patting you on the head and returning to his seat on the arm of one of the sofas.  

San jumps up and steps right over the back of the couch, his exuberance causing you to jump back in surprise as he exclaims, “Kkulbeol!” and he picks you up in a strong hug. You’re suddenly glad you closed your bottle of tea after taking a sip because you would have just spilled it all over San and yourself when he lifted you in his crushing embrace. As he sets you down, grinning cheekily, you laugh and gasp for breath before patting him on his strong chest, lingering just a moment to squeeze his firm pecs. You smile up at him, “It’s good to see you too. Happy to be home?” He looks down at you lovingly, causing your breath to leave you once again, but by a completely different mechanism, as the affection you see in his eyes is so intense that it knocks the air from your lungs. “It is so good to be home,” he answers thoughtfully. His deep voice and quiet tone send shivers of surprise down your naked thighs beneath your loose skirt.  

You giggle and grin at San before pushing off of his pecs and turning to place your hands over Yunho’s shoulders. You gently rub and massage Yunho’s shoulders, relishing the guttural moan he releases as he tilts his head back, his eyes closed in ecstasy. You lean down to kiss his neck, breathing a long, hot exhale there before nibbling at his earlobe.  You can’t help laughing heartily when he scrunches his shoulders up and giggles nervously at this sudden, unprovoked attack on his sensitive ears.  

Yunho looks up at you as his shy grin melts into something more impetuous as he reaches up and tweaks your nipple through your light blouse. You glance down and realize that your breasts have far exceeded the capacity of your strapless bra and are now effectively perched on top of the cups rather than contained inside them. Add to that, the friction from all of the hugs you just received has brought your nipples to firm attention, and you laugh and pull away from Yunho to round your shoulders and hide your fully erect nipples from the shining, excited eyes of all of the members present there. You tut in annoyance and dash into the dining room to reach inside your blouse and force your large breasts back into the confines of this borderline-useless strapless bra.  

When you emerge, laughing at yourself, Mingi has stood up from the couch to come and give you a hug, and he brushes your blushing cheek with the back of his large hand before he gently wraps his arms around you. “Ttangkong,” he whispers into the top of your head before stepping back to smile down at you sweetly after he’s sufficiently embraced you. You reach up your small hand to poke his cheek, causing his smile to widen, and you happily hug him tightly again around his fit waist.  

Seeing that you’ve successfully greeted all of the members present, you turn back to the kitchen because the few sips of tea you’ve taken are now highlighting the emptiness of your stomach, and it is beginning to gurgle loudly in protest. You dish up a bowl of the jangjorim and some rice before grabbing an extra helping of the slices of the 야채전 (Yachaejeon), which is a vegetable pancake, that you left on the stove. You swish happily down the hallway back to Hongjoong’s room, your wide hips emphasizing the movement of your full skirt.  

Seonghwa beams at you when you return, and you quickly share some of the jangjorim and yachaejeon into his nearly empty bowl before settling back to eat your own dinner. He leans against you happily, and you eat in relative silence, with the exception of your joyful hums and the clink of metal against the ceramic bowls. When you’ve finished and set your bowls aside with synchronous satisfied sighs, you laugh a little and lean over to kiss Seonghwa’s cheek. He apparently had the same idea because you meet his lips instead of his cheek, causing you both to pull back laughing after allowing a doting kiss. You look at his stunning face and feel the tears begin to gather in your eyes, unbidden, at the deep tenderness you feel for your darling Hwa. You love him to the deepest level of your soul, and you really didn’t realize how incomplete you felt without him by your side until this very moment.  

You chuckle awkwardly and lean your head on his shoulder while you intertwine your arms and fingers with his as though tying the two of you together in a sort of living friendship knot. He chuckles and kisses the top of your head before saying in his quiet, deep voice, “My best friend.” You allow the tears to fall freely at this as you nod and say, “Always, my dear Hwa. You are my favorite and my best.” He chuckles and pretends to be oblivious to your happy tears as he sits there holding your hands and stroking your palm tenderly with his thumbs. 

You are startled from the comfort of Hwa’s embrace by several loud shouts in the hallway, and you look at him with alarm as you’re unable to understand any of the words flying down the hall at a volume typically reserved for championship football matches or brutal video game tournaments between the members. When you look at Seonghwa, however, he doesn’t appear concerned in the slightest; he is laughing and beginning to get up from the bed. He reaches out to pull you out of the bed and lead you down the hall, holding your hand reassuringly.  

You follow him out to the living room, where you see all of the rest of the members are gathered. Hongjoong has his leather jacket and driving cap on, so you know he’s just returned from somewhere. Wooyoung and Yeosang are also with him, looking as though they, too, have just come in. Hongjoong is excitedly passing out envelopes from a large bag that appears to hold something else, as you hear the light clinking of glass bottles inside it. He hands an envelope to every member, who accepts it with a shout and begins tearing into it right away. You look at him in confusion as he also hands you an envelope. You stare at it and see that it does, in fact, have your name written on it. 

Seonghwa has relinquished his hold on your hand to open his own envelope, so you cautiously open yours with absolutely no idea what is going on or what would be going on with all of the members that would also include you. When your shaking hands manage to get your envelope open, you see that it is a paystub for an electronic deposit to your KQ employee payroll account. You stare in confusion at the amount there, as it appears to be double your monthly salary amount.  

You look up at Hongjoong with a quizzical look as he grins at you. He says something to the rest of the group before handing the bag still containing glass bottles to Yeosang, who holds up one of the bottles to show the boys that there are several flavors of soju inside as well as a bottle of Ki One single malt whisky, which elicits a loud cheer from several of the group. Hongjoong weaves around the boys to where you stand behind the couch. He wraps you in a strong hug and kisses your forehead. You duck your head down onto his shoulder to enjoy the scent of his leather jacket mingling with his cologne and his sweat as you press your lips to his neck and suck lightly above the tiny mole there. He pulls back from you, laughing, and you stare up at him in wonder. “What are we celebrating? What is this?” you ask him, your confusion unable to shrink your huge smile as the positive energy in the room has overtaken you. 

“We received bonuses from the tour,” he says, smiling down at you proudly. “Oh! That’s wonderful! You all deserve that so much. You worked so hard!” you say, beaming up at him and squeezing him around the waist where the two of you are still firmly connected by his embrace. He nods and looks down at you fondly as he says, “You got one too. Did you see that?” You look at him questioningly as you say, “Yes, but I don’t understand. Why?” He kisses your mouth before explaining, “The CEO heard about what you did for us when you brought all of that food to us at the show and everything. He was so impressed that he wanted to make sure you were rewarded for the tour’s success as well.” You scoff lightly at this, and he looks intentionally into your eyes, “I know you would have done it anyway, and you didn’t expect anything from it. You were just being your beautiful, hardworking self.” You feel the heat rushing into your cheeks at this praise; you try to hold his gaze despite the powerful urge to look away or change the subject. “You don’t know it, but what you do is impressive. I guess several of the members and managers mentioned this to the CEO. But when he heard about all the food you made despite being invited to just be there to enjoy the show and having no obligation to do this, he decided to make sure you got a bonus, too. He said he believes that your work here, at home, and there, on the tour, has been part of our success, too.” You stare at him in disbelief, but you have to admit that it feels pretty amazing to have this level of recognition. 

“I did it because I love you all. I didn’t do it for ‘work’ or to do my job; I just love taking care of you,” you say earnestly. Hongjoong nods fondly and kisses the top of your head, “That is what makes you the best at what you do. We love you too.” He presses a tender kiss to your lips, which is interrupted when someone thumps his shoulder, and he pulls back, ready to admonish them when you both see that Wooyoung and Yeosang are offering you glasses of some form of amber liquid and San raises his glass and yells, “To another successful year! And, to the best caretaker, Kkulbeol! 건배 (geonbae)!” As they all raise their glasses and call out your name or their nicknames for you, you blush fiercely and drain your glass with them before realizing that it is the whisky. At least half of you are now coughing, and all are laughing as the fiery liquid streams down your throats. “Thank you, all of you. I love you all,” you manage to sputter with a wheeze as the whisky has suddenly dried out your throat. Mingi pats you heartily on the back, and Yunho reaches up to gently stroke your hand as you look around the room at all of these handsome, stunning faces staring back at you with affection that sets your heart ablaze like a supernova.  

Hongjoong laughs as he gasps at his stinging throat and turns to take your empty glass. You happily relinquish it before anyone can think of pouring you a refill. You suddenly wish you’d made more special plans for the boys as you had only thought as far as getting as close to Hongjoong as soon as possible and maintaining that until he told you otherwise. You look around the room and think how nice it would be to have a big dinner and some card games or something if they would all be willing and available at the same time. You lean over to Hongjoong to ask what he thinks of this idea, “Jjoongie, I will cook something delicious, and we can all play games or something?” You suddenly gasp as you recall the package you received a couple of days ago, and you shake your head fervently, startling him, “No, no, no. Can we plan a little, tiny something like Christmas with everyone here? After everyone gets to go wherever they’re going to go for the break, of course.” You suddenly feel deflated at the thought of your boys leaving you again, and you feel your face go pale as Hongjoong looks alarmed. Trying to follow along with your emotions, as well as your train of thought, must be exhausting. 

Poor guy.  

He cups your cheek in his palm and kisses your forehead as he pulls you in for a hug and says quietly, “We can do whatever you want. I will find out when, okay?” You beam up at him, and the stars in your eyes must be dazzling because he sucks in his breath at the sight of you. “It will be a special holiday, ATEEZ and me, and we’ll do things that everyone likes and maybe do some presents,” you look at him with big eyes and pouty lips, causing him to chuckle as you continue, “ATEEZ day. Like Christmas or something but different, okay? Traditions from my family and anyone else can have ideas too, okay?” He nods and just gazes at you, speechless, no doubt, at the randomness of this idea in combination with the fact that you’re both probably feeling a bit of the buzz from the whiskey. 

“Did you eat dinner, Jjoongie?” You look at him, squinting one eye skeptically at Hongjoong, daring him to lie. He laughs and relaxes, stepping back to hold your hand and swing it lightly in his, “No. What do you want me to eat?” You squeak, causing him and several others to jump in surprise, and you turn and dash into the kitchen to make him a bowl of food. You call out, unnecessarily, to everyone else that they should eat if they haven’t already. When no one comes rushing in, you assume they have already eaten or are planning to have a few more shots of whiskey and enjoy the feeling of being lightly tipsy before dampening it down with a hearty meal.  

You walk out to Hongjoong, hand him the bowl, and wait to see if he heads toward the dining room or stays in the living room where the members are still circled, chattering excitedly, no doubt, about how they plan to spend their vacation or their bonus money. When Hongjoong heads to one of the chairs around the periphery of the sofas, you follow him and quickly turn on the lamps around the room as darkness has fully set in with the sun completely set outside. When you’re satisfied with the illumination of the space, you go and slide down to sit on the floor and hug Hongjoong’s calf as he eats. You place your chin on his knee and gaze up at him in wide wonder as his beautiful face defies common sense. You sigh happily and trace invisible shapes on his thigh through his jeans, but you are completely lost in the deep sense of satisfaction this closeness provides. When Yunho notices you sitting on the floor, he jumps up and exclaims, startling you and Hongjoong, who apparently are both in your own little bubble of contentment. Hongjoong apologizes for jumping beneath you and leans down to tell you that Yunho is offering you his seat and insists that you take it. 

You stare between Yunho’s honest face and Hongjoong’s loss for words and feel the hot blush rising to your cheeks once again as you put up both of your hands and shake your head vigorously, “No, Jjoongie, please. I’m happy right here. Please don’t make me move.” He pats your shoulder and says something to Yunho in Hangul, and Yunho looks unconvinced but returns to his place on the couch. As a sort of compromise, you accept the throw pillow he is offering for you to sit on, and you will do anything to get his attention off of you so that you can just sit and enjoy the comfort of sitting at Hongjoong’s knee and resting against him while he eats the dinner you lovingly made for him.  

The boys' chatter fades into the background as you lean against Hongjoong and feel the comfort of the connection there. Suddenly, you feel a gentle palm resting between your shoulder blades, and you look up to see Seonghwa coming around to sit with you. He has a throw pillow cradled under his arm and a twinkle in his eye as he moves to seat himself next to Hongjoong’s other leg. You watch in fascination as he lowers his lean form down to kneel on the throw pillow before shifting sideways to lean against the chair but without embracing Hongjoong’s leg as you have been. Instead, he extends his arm to capture your hand and looks deep into your eyes before laying his head against Hongjoong’s other knee and closing his eyes.  

Seonghwa massages your hand, and you feel the tingling endorphins of all of these loving, tender emotions bubbling throughout your core. You feel completely encompassed in love and acceptance, and you silently beg the universe to allow you to keep just a fraction of this feeling to carry in your memory for the rest of your life. As Seonghwa has seated himself with his back to the rest of the members, he doesn’t have to decide whether or not to respond to Yunho’s questioning look toward Hongjoong or Yeosang’s inquisitive eyebrow flash in your direction. Hongjoong has finished his dinner and seems fully relaxed in his position as he watches the members and rests with you and Hwa at his feet.  

You suddenly worry that the excitement of the bonuses and the prospect of free time will lead to plans being made that exclude the ATEEZ Holiday you’re planning to invent; you raise yourself up onto your knees to lean toward Hongjoong and ask him to talk to the members about your idea. You hope to solidify a date and a general plan for the event before too much time passes and everyone becomes busy, or you lose your nerve to invent a whole-ass holiday on your own. Of course, you figure you can harness each member’s unique personal interests to help: Wooyoung for food preparation, Seonghwa for decor and structure, Jongho, Hongjoong, and Mingi for music and entertainment, Yunho for the agenda and maybe to act as MC if he is willing, Yeosang and San for muscle in arranging furniture and decor. 

You lean back to watch the reactions around the room as Hongjoong addresses the group so that you can see how your idea is received. You try to look cute and hopeful, as you know Hongjoong is selling this idea as something sweet that they can do to make you happy. There are no signs of reluctance or disinterest. Everyone looks around and nods, offering short sentiments about it, and you curse yourself for not having your phone to translate as you’ll have to ask Hongjoong and Seonghwa what everyone said later. The boys agree to a date ten days from now, as their vacations will be coming to an end and practices will have resumed, but heavy schedules will still be several weeks out. You can’t contain the huge grin on your face as you hear their enthusiasm for your idea, and you can begin to plan out the festivities. You chuckle a little as you realize you’ll need to come up with a good name for this little holiday you’re inventing, though something with ATEEZ in it seems like an obvious choice.  

You quickly tug at Hongjoong’s pant leg to ask him to please let the members know there will be gift-giving as part of the celebration, but the rule is that every single person, including the giver, has to get one of the same item. So, as you have your secret stash of Feejays, as well as your own set, each member has to purchase nine of whatever they’re getting so that everyone who lives on the second floor gets the same gift. You playfully glare at San before adding, “No money is allowed.” Hongjoong looks at you and chuckles lightly as you smile up at him hopefully. “Okay. Okay,” he tuts, laughing, before explaining this gift-giving “tradition” of the brand-new, imaginary holiday. Yunho rubs his palms together excitedly, clearly having no trouble thinking of one or several ideas for the gifting portion of the event. Mingi looks bewildered, drawing a laugh and a hearty back pat from Wooyoung. You lean back toward Hongjoong to ask if anyone has said what they’d like to help with—whether it’s planning games, decor, food, or whatever else comes to mind. Wooyoung winks at you and makes a tiny finger gun salute to you, and you nod enthusiastically. The others mutter a bit, and you figure you’ll follow up on this component later. 

At least they seem into the idea.  

After a brief lull, the conversation seems to shift to other topics of interest, and Hongjoong is now fidgeting in his chair. You shift your body away from his leg to ask if he wants to get up or if he needs something that you or Hwa can go get for him from the kitchen. He smiles down at you gratefully before standing and saying that he’d like to go get more of his things unpacked because he doesn’t want to have to fight everyone for the laundry, and you laugh because he knows darn well who is in charge of laundry around here and who, coincidentally, is also terribly, deeply, and unconditionally in love with him.  

He laughs as you shake your head at him and let him pass. You make eye contact with Wooyoung and gesture for him to text you in the app so the two of you can plan when you will start teaching him some cooking techniques and plan the menu for your special event. He nods vigorously and jumps up as you move toward the kitchen, so you stop, and he pulls you into a hearty hug and sways back and forth as he pats your back and holds you close. You start laughing as you’re still not used to him giving you the time of day, let alone being so affectionate with you. He grins sheepishly and releases you, so you head to the kitchen as a sudden pat on your ass makes you nearly run smack into the doorway of the kitchen.  

As you turn back to look, Wooyoung is laughing and grinning impishly. His face flushes, and his open palm retreats. You don’t know if it’s his devious mind or the whisky that makes his eyes so shiny. Still, you chuckle, in spite of yourself, and turn dramatically, causing your billowing skirt to swirl cinematically around you before turning straight into the kitchen to finish loading the dishwasher. You sneak your earbuds from your secret hiding place on the countertop and jam them in to hear ‘The Letter’ on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You sway gently back and forth, enjoying the freedom of your bare feet and the light but abundant fabric of your skirt as you move to the music.  

You nearly jump out of your skin when you suddenly feel a large but gentle pat on your shoulder blade. You turn to see that it is Jongho who has placed his strong hand so lightly across your upper back. You swiftly pull ‘Say My Name- Japanese Version’ out of your ears and look at him curiously, realizing that your phone is plugged in on your bedside table. This may be fine for the Bluetooth, but it is definitely not going to be helpful for the translation app, which you and Jongho definitely still need. You quickly dry your hands off on a nearby towel and gesture for him to wait a moment as you need to go get the phone since he doesn’t appear to have his. You can’t help but sense that he seems a little hesitant, and you wonder what in the world could make your fearless maknae nervous.  

When you get to your room, you dash in to retrieve your phone with every intention of returning to the kitchen to find out what Jongho needs through a quick conversation or over text with the aid of the translation app. To your surprise, he is right behind you, and as you unplug the phone and turn to head back to the kitchen, you see him there, closing your bedroom door behind himself and looking apologetically toward you where you stand by the bed. 

You gawk at him for a moment and then take a side step to sit on the edge of your bed as you open the translation app, lay it on the center of the bed, and gesture for Jongho to come sit on the edge of the bed near you. He stands stock-still, with his palms pressed flat against the door behind him and his back against his hands firmly. You imagine this posture would be more appropriate to someone who had just found themselves in a room full of lions and tigers, only to realize that they also just accidentally locked themselves in when they closed the door behind them.  

You smile at him warmly and pat the edge of the bed again, waiting for him to either speak or come and sit by you. He presses against the door with his palms and uses the momentum to push himself away from the door as he makes his way over to you, cautiously looking around your room as if searching for a change of subject when he hasn’t even begun to broach a subject yet. You watch him patiently, with a reassuring smile, as he notices your painting and pauses to admire it with an approving nod and small exclamation, “Oh! Wow!” He finally turns and sits on the edge of your bed, staring down at his hands, which he clasps across his lap.  

After several deep breaths, your affirming smile is beginning to seriously falter when he finally begins speaking in slightly halting phrases before gradually gathering confidence. You listen carefully as he speaks, as his cadence now sounds more like he is telling a story. When he doesn’t pause, you apologetically grimace and hold your hand up to stop him, at least for a moment, so that you can check the translation app and read what he has said so far.  

He tuts as if he is annoyed with himself for forgetting this part of the routine, though you have not ever had this length of conversation face-to-face with him, so you’re unsurprised he doesn’t automatically pause to allow you to read the translation every so often. You chuckle and pat him on the thigh as you turn your attention to the translated words before you: 

“I am unsure how to begin, and I am nervous about how you will perceive me after I say what I want to say. I hope that you will not be disappointed in me and that you will understand why I am making this request. I admire and respect you, and I trust that you will be honest with me about your opinions. Still, I have thought this through very often, and I believe that this is the best solution to my problem. 

“As you probably know, I was barely sixteen when I first started as a trainee. Even before that, I spent most of my spare time training, taking lessons, and preparing to become a trainee because I had shown promise with my vocal skills from an early age.” 

You glance up and nod encouragingly when you finish reading, hoping that he will remember what he had said before you interrupted him. He nods and continues, impressively, from memory: 

“I didn’t have a lot of time to experience life outside of being a trainee and then becoming an idol, and you know how this life doesn’t really resemble real life. Ever since you started talking about Su-bin, and especially once you introduced me to her, I’ve been thinking about my confidence in being able to please her if she wants to spend time with me.” 

He falters as he finishes this statement, and he seems to decide it is a good place to pause for you to read the translation. When you’ve finished, you nod again before resetting the recording and starting it again. You impulsively reach out to hold his hand in yours before he starts speaking again because his nervous fidgeting with the callouses on his hand from weight-lifting is stressing you out. He glances up at you hesitantly before turning to stare down at his hand in yours as he continues: 

“So, you know, because of the agreement, I haven’t been, um, inexperienced, but it isn’t the same, of course. I realized it has been a very long time since I have been with a woman, and I am not sure I was a good lover at such an immature age.” 

Jongho lets loose a nervous giggle at this, and you squeeze his hand before reading it and then laughing lightly yourself with a nod. You flip the translation and say confidently, “Very few of us are considerate at that age. It’s very thoughtful of you to want to be a good lover now. What can I do to help?” You watch him tenderly as he reads the translation of this and gives a small, shuddering sigh before flipping the translation to attempt to get to the heart of his request: 

“Well, that is the difficulty. I know that what we have here with the agreement is different from that of many people. You seem to have been very comfortable coming into it, and you seem to have special relationships with the different members. But you seem open-minded, so I am hoping you won’t be offended by my question and you will answer honestly.” 

He pauses again to look at you meaningfully to ensure that you will understand his request: 

“I know that you are friends with Su-bin, and while I do not know if I will even have the honor of getting to know her better, let alone to be romantic or physical with her. But I have thought about it a lot, and if I do get to spend time with her, I want to be sure that I know how to please her. I know that women are not all the same... God, why is this so difficult to say? I respect you and care for you, and I am hoping you would be willing to spend time with me, even knowing that part of the reason I am asking is so that I can make sure I’m not, um, out of practice, if things get serious with Su-bin. God, I sound like a fool. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to do any of this.” 

He is now looking down, avoiding your eyes, and he has pulled his hand back to his lap and is studying his hand again as his face flushes a deep crimson while you read. You tut lightly as you read his self-deprecating comments before pressing your palm gently across his forearm and asking him, “Jongho, I think what you’re asking is completely understandable. You are being honest with me, and I really appreciate that. I do have a few questions before I decide, but I’m wondering if we both may need another shot of whisky before we get into that. I worry for your blood pressure if I might embarrass you.” You chuckle lightly, and he looks at you with alarm before his expression melts into a silly grin, and he jumps up and dashes out your door and down the hall.  

You hear some brief arguing before he returns with his cheeky smile, a glass, and the bottle of Ki One. You laugh as he offers you the first shot and then takes two for himself. When he settles back onto the edge of your bed with an amused sigh, you reach back over and pat his thick thigh boldly as you marvel at the size of his legs. He looks at you nervously as you tut in appreciation of his strong build. He smiles shyly and reaches out to clasp his hand over the top of yours there on his thigh.  

You pick up the phone and reset the translation app before asking him, “Are you ready for my questions?” He nods, not needing the translation, as his understanding is much better than his expressive use of your language. You try to hold your voice steady as you ask him, “Jongho, have you had sexual intercourse with a woman?” You’d love to rely on euphemisms or colloquial terms for it, but due to the added complication of translation, you figure you’d better be as clear as possible because who knows what ‘making love’ or ‘having sex’ means in broader terms or through translation. 

He reads the translation and smiles weakly before reversing the translation and trying to confidently share his concerns: 

“Yes. I had a serious girlfriend before I left to become a trainee. She had decided that we should have sex before I left, which I kind of thought was a terrible idea, but I was sixteen, so I also thought it was a wonderful idea.”  

He chuckles sheepishly as you read this, and you smirk and pat his leg again reassuringly. He waits for you to flip the translation, and you realize that he did answer your question so it’s your turn again. You exclaim, “Oh, right!” and he giggles nervously as you fumble with your phone to flip the translation before asking your next question; you’re beginning to wish you were in a separate room, just texting back and forth so he wouldn’t see how you’re struggling to say the next question without turning beet red, “Have you performed oral sex on a woman? Cunnilingus?”  

Fucking translations. Jebus. So awkward.   

He sucks air through his teeth thoughtfully and looks at you apologetically before saying simply, “No.” You nod, acknowledging his response as you want to get the spotlight off of your reddening face as soon as possible. “If you want to spend time with me, as a sort of practice, um, of how to pleasure a woman, it would make sense to practice those things that you can only do with a woman, whether you use your mouth, your hands, or your penis. I would be happy to help you, Jongho. I was never sure if you had any interest in spending time with me, but I know I didn’t really ask you either. What would you want from me if we did spend time?” You squeeze his hand and wait for him to read the translation as you will your face to cool. He carefully pauses before flipping the translation to respond to your questions: 

“I wanted to spend time with you, but I am at the bottom of the order, so I did not ask you as you had not spent time with those above me yet.”  

When you read this, you look up at him in alarm; it hadn’t occurred to you to even ask him, as you are still used to being approached rather than being the one doing the asking. You groan in dismay, “Oh, Jongho, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize...” he waves this away with a smile and continues: 

“It’s okay. I don’t think I was ready anyway. But having thought about it more, I am ready. I would like to, um, practice those things I can only do with you, and I want you to tell me how to improve if you are comfortable doing that.” 

He looks up at you, his dark eyes full of hope, as you smile at him warmly and nod. “I would like to help, sweet Jongho. I have a feeling you’ll be a very good student.” You smirk at him deviously, and he grins somewhat shyly before saying, “Okay.” You quickly add, just in case clarification is necessary, “When would you like to spend time together? I might be able to in a few days. Do you have plans during your days off?”  

He reads the translation and appears to think it through. The two of you manage to decide on a date next week, which you’re relieved will offer you a little time to get wrecked by Seonghwa and Hongjoong again or possibly both, without worrying that you’d be raw for Jongho. He definitely deserves the chance to have a good experience, even if it is mainly for instructional purposes.  

You smile fondly at him before reaching out to gently cup his cheek and scoot over to sit with your thighs draped across his lap and your arm around his shoulders. He wraps his strong arm around your back and places his other hand on your thigh as you lean in to kiss his lips tenderly in a gentle, lingering kiss. He moans and shifts beneath you as his hand squeezes your thigh reflexively, and he pulls you closer with his arm holding you firmly from behind. He begins to part his lips, hard, against yours, and you feel his tongue pressing into your mouth as his hand releases your thigh and slides up around your waist to meet his other arm and pull you closer. He breathes heavily as you feel his thighs tense beneath you, and you whimper involuntarily as you know you had better extricate yourself from this embrace to avoid leaving him terribly uncomfortable, not to mention unsatisfied.  

You press back toward his kiss one last time to close it as you start to slide your lower half off of his lap, forcing him to let go of your waist. He licks his lips as you pull away and sighs as he places his palms on his thighs and looks up at you. His dark eyes are now devoured by his pupils, and his cheeks are rosy with desire and whisky. You reach down to caress the side of his face and smile softly at him as you tell him, “Next week. I’ll look forward to it.” He nods resolutely and stands to kiss you on the forehead before turning to make his way out.  

You gingerly pick up your robe and a couple of your bathroom items before leading Jongho to your door and making your exit to go see where your MATZ are because you sure as fuck didn’t wait for them to fly all this way back home only to be forced to sleep alone tonight.  

Chapter Text

You slip into Hongjoong’s open door and see him sitting against his headboard in his pajamas, his head lilting to the side, and his computer sitting open across his lap. You chuckle softly as he has clearly exceeded his own limits today, and you wonder what he is working on despite his fatigue. You pause for a moment as you are about to pick up the laptop and close it, but you realize he may have unsaved work there that you do not want to mess up by closing it without properly saving his files.  

When you see that the computer is still plugged in, you gently slide it from his lap and place it on the bedside table, with the screen facing away from the bed, so that it will not wake him if it illuminates during the night for some reason. You secretly hope that by shifting things around and disturbing him, he may wake up enough to deal with the computer and then, hopefully, kiss you goodnight and snuggle up to you, but you’re just happy to be near him, in any case. 

You hear a soft chuckle behind you and turn to see that Seonghwa has come in to see what the plans are for the evening. Seeing Jjoongie with his head drooping and his mouth lightly parted as he sits awkwardly against his headboard, Seonghwa chuckles and comes over to assist you in trying to move your dear captain to a more comfortable position on the bed. You glance at Hwa, and the two of you share a smile as he comes around to the opposite side of the bed to retrieve the pillows that have fallen or been cast over the side and prepares to place them under Hongjoong’s head once you two get him lowered onto a lying position on the bed. You shrug at Hwa as you’re not sure how to get Hongjoong lying down, but Hwa holds up a slender finger to indicate that you should wait and watch. Hwa moves to the end of the bed and slides himself up under the sheet and comforter to locate Hongjoong’s ankles, which he gently pulls on until Hongjoong slides down to lie flat in the bed. You’re silently grateful that there is a soft, padded headboard as Hongjoong slips down onto the waiting pillow beside where he was just sitting.     

Having successfully shifted your darling Captain into a more comfortable position for sleep, Seonghwa emerges from the blankets with a chuckle as he smooths back his shimmery silver hair and looks at you with sparkling eyes. You laugh musically at his flushed cheeks and silly smirk at the cleverness of this whole ‘pull by the ankles’ move. You wonder if he has had to use this technique before, but you can only imagine the shenanigans that could be covered in six years of ATEEZ. You tiptoe around the bed to go and hug Hwa around the waist, enjoying the strong embrace of his lean arms and the gentle sway of your bodies together as he hums lightly and turns you in a lazy, meandering circle. You stumble briefly over the long hem of your skirt, as you must have inadvertently pulled it down unevenly when you crawled across the bed to move the laptop. 

Hwa catches you with a deep chuckle as the two of you nearly topple to the floor, but he somehow manages to shift your balance enough to continue the spin until you’re upright again. He slows his momentum and sighs happily as he turns to look over at your exhausted captain. He looks at your current state of dress and raises a single eyebrow as he can see clearly that your rebellious breasts have escaped the strapless bra once again. You chuckle as you raise up on tiptoe and kiss his chin before saying, “Shower?” though you know Hwa will have showered already since they came home. He doesn’t seem ready to sleep yet, and you’d certainly like to clean yourself up before putting on fresh pajamas. You’d love the company if he wants to come with you. He nods silently and follows as you pick up your toiletries and clothes, then slip out of the room.  

The two of you mill about the bathroom, waiting for the water to reach the desired temperature. You tickle the skin above Hwa’s waistband on his workout pants and up around his white tank top over his shoulders and just along the neckline. He groans impatiently and slides the tank top off so that you can tickle and drag your fingernails gently over his entire back and giggle at him as he shimmies and becomes covered with waves of goosebumps. He shivers and laughs at the sensitive touch before turning around to pull your off-the-shoulder blouse off and tutting at your useless bra before gently spinning you around like a jewelry box ballerina and gingerly removing the strapless bra to free your full breasts. He gently slides his fingernails over your back, and you giggle as your skin now prickles with goosebumps, and your nipples harden at the tingles running up and down your spine. He slides his hands around to cup your breasts and rub your nipples, and you moan lightly as you feel his hard cock pressing against you through the inadequate fabric of his silky workout pants. He chuckles deeply and turns you around to face him before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close for a sensual kiss.  He whines into your mouth as you reach down to press your palm over his hardness and feel his erection flexing against you while he slips a hand up to tweak your nipples as he sucks hard on your lower lip. You are drawn closer to him magnetically, as a fire rekindles in your belly and spreads throughout your body in response to his desire for you. 

He releases your mouth and bends down to suck your full nipple into his mouth firmly; you gasp and rut your hips toward him involuntarily as he sucks hard and swirls his strong tongue around the nipple and areola. You stumble back slightly at the unexpected pressure of his mouth against you, and he places his palm out against the wall to catch you from falling against it. His other arm cradles your waist, and when he feels you regain your balance, he releases your nipple with a dazed grin and gingerly slides out of his pants and underwear, leaving you to gasp at his dusky cock, already straining for release. He reaches up to pull your skirt down, and you easily step out of it, leaving him to groan in surprise at your lack of underwear. He chuckles lightly and gives you a nod of approval, as he’s likely connected the dots between earlier this afternoon and now.  

When he has satisfied the urge to slide his hands over as much of your bare skin as he can grasp, and he feels you shiver in the cool air, he lightly squeezes your ass with both hands before turning to check the temperature of the water, then pulling you into its warmth with him quickly. He gently raises his arms to turn in place and rotate the two of you through the jets of warm water. He amuses himself by pouring a generous amount of shampoo in his hand and lathering it up in your hair before beginning to pile your hair up into big foamy sculptures on top of your head, causing you to giggle and tap him on the shoulder to bend down so you can reach to do the same. The two of you gasp for air as you try to laugh quietly at how ridiculous you both look.  

Seonghwa makes you continuously giggle as he scrubs you down with the soapy mitt and makes silly noises before he suddenly ducks out of the way, and you’re blasted by the full spray of the shower, causing you to squeal in surprise. He cackles at you, so you playfully rip the wash mitt away from him before scrubbing him and chiding him like a naughty child who’s been playing in the dirt after they were all cleaned up to go somewhere, and he whines as he plays along, before the two of you are tingling with clean, tender, well-exfoliated skin and plenty of laughter. He holds you close and hums into your hair as he spins you under the warm water again before finally deciding it’s better to get out before the hot water actually runs out, and he reaches down to shut it off despite your whines of protest.  

He wraps a towel around you and rubs you down vigorously, causing you to laugh and glare at him when your tits and ass shake uncontrollably under his strong hands, and he overemphasizes drying off these areas as his tongue sticks out of the side of his silly grin. You entertain each other by making silly faces while you brush your teeth, and you take advantage of his focus on this activity to slyly slip your finger under his towel and poke him just between his butt cheeks, stopping shy of anything nonconsensual but causing him to clench and squeal, gasping in surprise. He slowly turns away from the view of the mirror he has just spit toothpaste all over and stares at you as though he doesn’t even know who you are anymore while you practically pass out from lack of oxygen due to the soundless laughter that holds you doubled over in pain and an inability to do anything but wheeze and whine.  

He grumbles and tries to stand you up straight but finds that you are unable to do so because of the grip this uncontrollable laughter has on you. He makes a curious ‘hmm’ noise before gingerly poking his finger toward your ass and watching in hysterics as you straighten up like you’ve been shot out of a cannon. He laughs in delight at the reaction he’s elicited from you. Now, it is your turn to glare at him playfully while he struggles to compose himself before the two of you decide to skip attempting to dress in the bathroom and carry your things back to Hongjoong’s room, where there is more space.  

When you arrive there, you see that your darling captain is still fast asleep, so you stealthily slide into the bed to become his big spoon while Seonghwa slips in behind you to cradle you from behind. You hum happily as you reach to wrap your arms around Hongjoong, and Seonghwa’s long arms rest over top of yours. As his arms are able to embrace Hongjoong, too, Hwa effectively holds the two of you together.  

You moan and whimper slightly as you feel Hwa’s cock flexing between your ass cheeks, and you lightly press your ass back toward him despite the slightly burning reminder at your core telling you that you probably shouldn’t do anything adventurous tonight. This doesn’t stop your traitorous pussy from daydreaming, though, and the arousal that shoots up from your core contradicts the pain you know you’d be in if you let him slip it inside you. He leans forward to kiss your bare shoulder and moans against your skin, and you lean back to apologize that you definitely can’t take him tonight. You can hear his cheeks as he smiles, apparently knowingly, and kisses your shoulder again, “I know,” he says, raising more goosebumps as his breath tickles your neck. “I’m sorry, Hwa. I want to, but I think it would hurt too much.” He tuts again, “No. It’s okay. I don’t need that tonight. I just want to be close to you. I’m sorry ‘he’ is such a beast. He doesn’t listen,” he chuckles as he grabs your hand and brings it back toward his impressive erection. You chuckle slightly and roll back toward him enough to reach his face for a kiss that communicates all of your love and longing for him and has you running through the catalog of other activities you might be able to handle tonight in order to satisfy him without injuring yourself.  

You flatten out your hand as he ruts against your palm. He reaches around to cradle the side of your face and neck in his elegant hand. The ardent kisses between you escalate in intensity as the challenging position makes everything feel more desperate due to the difficulty keeping your lips connected as your tongues explore and caress each other. You are feeling quite turned on by the time you realize you had better roll over in order to fully experience his mouth on yours and express the intensity of the passion you are both feeling at being close again after so much time apart. He is whining and panting into your mouth as his hands explore your curves and squeeze your hips to press you close against his naked skin.  

You whimper as his long, delicate fingers glide under and around your breasts before cupping them as he tenderly rolls your nipples; he continues this until you moan and press your hips toward him, and he then pinches your nipples and groans with satisfaction at the noises you make in response. He doesn’t leave you gasping long as he licks his lips before slipping them around yours and sucking your upper lip gently as your tongue slips out to slide across his bottom lip. Seonghwa releases your breast from his hand and glides it back down to your fleshy hip, where he tugs you toward him and rolls onto his back, allowing you to control the amount and points of contact between your bodies as you comfortably position yourself on top of him.  

He groans lightly at the pressure of your body, pinning his excruciating erection beneath your heat as you leverage yourself to continue kissing him sensually. You can feel the heat and wetness from your core, and you are really struggling to remember why you thought you shouldn’t take him inside you tonight. The decision is made much more difficult by the amazing closeness you enjoy with Hwa when your bodies are connected to the fullest extent, and you climax together. The deep devotion and trust between you have created a bond that doesn’t require sexual intimacy but still grows every time you profess it with physical affection rather than words. 

You pull back to look at his stunning face, and he reaches up to hold your cheek and keep your hair from falling into your face and obscuring your eye contact. You kiss and nip at his lower lip before shimmying your hips and saying quietly, “I want to be close to you, Hwa. I want you to hold me tight, and I want you deep inside me.” You stare down at him with big eyes. Seeing his hesitation, you add, “I trust you, Hwa. I know you can be gentle with me. I need to feel connected to you. I’ve missed you so much.” He tuts lightly at this, and you see the glistening of tears in his eyes. You peck his lips as you say, “Please, please, please,” between playful kisses, practically begging him not to cry as you know it will make you emotional, too.  

He chuckles at your terrible negotiation skills as you are now trying to convince him to do something you only just told him earlier that you, yourself, didn’t want to do. You give him an exaggeratedly hopeful pout, and he taps your nose before saying quietly, “I want to be close to you, too. I think there is a good way to do this. But you have to promise to tell me if it’s too much, okay?” You nod emphatically, with your eyes still big, as he kisses your chin and tells you to roll back over to face Hongjoong's back, where you had been his ‘big spoon’ earlier. 

You follow his direction but glance back over your shoulder at him questioningly as you feel him shift out of the bed. He has moved to retrieve the lube from the bedside table, and you suppress a triumphant squeal as he slips his lithe body back into the bed and slides up behind you. As you hear the lube open and shut, you gingerly lift your leg and wrap your elbow underneath your thigh to give him plenty of space to slide his cock into your core from behind. You both sigh gratefully when he has found a position that provides leverage and access at this angle. You release your leg to let your knee rest on Hongjoong’s hip. As you gently reach your hand back to caress Seonghwa’s hair, he very slowly begins sliding himself in and out of you. 

You manage to steal a few more kisses from Seonghwa this way, as twisting back to kiss him doesn’t hinder his ability to thrust into you. But the position is difficult to sustain and prevents him from fully pressing inside you, so you roll back over to wrap your arms around Hongjoong’s waist and rest your forehead between his shoulder blades as you enjoy the ecstasy of being enveloped between your MATZ and the pleasure of Seonghwa’s exquisite cock completely sheathed inside you.  

Hwa wraps his arms around you and presses his head against your back as he puts an incredible amount of effort into controlling his speed and power to avoid hurting you in any way while the building friction surrounding his throbbing cock increases, and he slowly builds toward release. You are feeling less of the potential to climax, so much as relaxing in the all-encompassing sensation of safety, comfort, and love that surrounds you in this moment.  

The feeling of connection over-arousal is easy to sustain until you hear Seonghwa whimper and shudder slightly behind you and the rush of endorphins at his pending orgasm shoot through your body. You are arching your ass back toward him so that he can sink himself as deeply inside you as possible, and you reach back behind you to hold onto any part of him you can grip as you begin to whisper words of encouragement and praise to him. You feel dizzy at the overwhelming rush of anticipation at every gasp and twitch of his hips as he desperately tries to maintain the slow and steady pace, but his orgasm is on the brink.  

You let out an involuntary whimper, and you hear Hongjoong suddenly gasp and realize that you have accidentally woken him. Seonghwa freezes, and your heart cries out for him as you know he was on the verge of cumming. The two of you hold your breath as Hongjoong shifts his position and moans in confusion before sliding his hand back feel you curled up behind him and your close proximity to Seonghwa’s form.  

Hongjoong makes a noise of curious amusement before asking in a raspy voice, “What’s this? Having fun without me?” You feel yourself shrink at this, and you let out a small guilty giggle. Hongjoong rubs his eyes and rolls back toward you, causing the sheets to lift slightly and reveal the complete lack of clothing. Hongjoong tuts and seems to sense what else is going on, though he may have been able to divine that from the motion he may have felt before he was completely awake, or Seonghwa’s glassy eyes may be a giveaway.  

Hongjoong tuts and playfully continues, “What is going on?” as he reaches down to slide his hand over your waist and hip toward your ass before finding his hand unable to continue as Seonghwa is pressed tightly against you. Hongjoong tuts and gently slides his hand under your knee and back up your inner thigh slightly before raising it to get a full view of the activities taking place during his slumber. He smiles appreciatively as he remarks, “Ahh. Oh, that looks beautiful,” he clucks his tongue as he slips his hand down over your mound and back toward where Hwa’s cock is buried deep inside you. You hold your leg up for him, though it is starting to quiver slightly at the effort and unusual angle; you’re grateful when you feel Hwa’s hand reach up from behind you to assist as Hongjoong is still sliding his hand down past Hwa’s cock. 

You can’t see what he is up to, but given you don’t feel anything and you feel Hwa suddenly stiffen and gasp,  you imagine Hongjoong is now fondling Hwa’s balls as he is frozen there motionless. Hongjoong tuts again, “Aww, so close? Please, continue.” He looks deep into Seonghwa’s eyes as he says this, and you watch Hongjoong’s face in wonder as he smiles serenely as Hwa begins to thrust into you again. Hongjoong doesn’t remove his hand, and you still aren’t sure what he is doing, but Hwa is now whimpering and shuddering, and you are still trying to remember to breathe as you take in all of the physical and auditory sensations around you and try to guess what will happen next.  

Hwa continues to moan and shake, and your pussy is beginning to beg for a release of its own, which is probably a bad idea if you want to be able to walk tomorrow, but you never did know what was truly good for you. Hongjoong utters soft sounds of encouragement as he watches and touches Hwa, and you are overcome by the desperate urge to kiss him passionately, but you are effectively stuck right where you are until either of them moves to a different position. An involuntary whine passes your lips and temporarily draws Hongjoong’s attention as he smiles down at you lovingly, but he returns his focus to Hwa’s face swiftly and does something with his hand that elicits a cry from Seonghwa and startles you. You hold your breath in fear that he may have done something that hurt Hwa, but there doesn’t seem to be any tension between them.  

Hongjoong finally makes a movement as if he is preparing to withdraw his hand from between your legs, and he looks deep into Hwa’s eyes before asking him, “Are you ready to cum for me?” Hwa cries out again, and you recognize, “Yes, thank you” in Korean before Hongjoong holds his gaze and says, “Cum for me, my good boy,” at the same time, he withdraws his hand and rests it on the side of your hip while he watches Hwa’s face as he pants and gasps, his cock spasming into you and sending jolts of pleasure up through your core. He whines and moans before finally chuckling lightly and withdrawing his cock from you, and gently lowering your upper leg to comfortably rest on your lower leg. You can feel that his softening member is still resting between your legs, nestled just outside of your heat, and you reach your hand back to caress the back of Seonghwa’s hair as he kisses you on the shoulder and hums. Hongjoong looks between the two of you fondly and leans down to move your hair out of your face before tilting your chin up and kissing you sensually. The passion of his kiss and his breathy moans on your face cause you to moan and reach out to grasp him and pull him closer to you.  

Hongjoong pulls back after a moment and laughs as he’s wearing quite a bit more clothing than either of you. You chuckle as you recall the last time the three of you were naked together in this bed; you sigh happily at the further realization that no one will be coming to the door—knocking or bursting in—tomorrow morning. Hongjoong looks down at you fondly as he slides out of the bed and swiftly removes his clothes as he asks you in an amused tone, “I thought you were all done?” You duck your face down partially below the sheet and stare at him with big eyes before saying with a giggle, “I thought I was, too.” Without looking toward Seonghwa or addressing him, Hongjoong asks you, “But you were careful? You didn’t hurt?” And you keep your eyes big and shake your head vigorously as you tell him, “Hwa was very, very gentle. It felt really good.” You can’t conceal a wanton moan at the thought, and Hongjoong chuckles at you. “Good girl. I worry, though, what we would do if you didn’t have others to play with. I think you might really wear me out!” He slides back into the bed, and you lick your lips as you see his cock has begun to show his enthusiasm for your appetite and the visual appeal of waking up to catch you two in the act. You reach your hand straight out for it as he lays his body down close to you and kisses you deeply as you begin to stroke him. His perfect cock jumps in your hand, and his raspy moans interrupt his kisses and betray the intensity of his desire.  

You hear Hwa whimper behind you as he’s raised himself up on his elbow to get a better view of the two of you. He reaches under your arm to grope and massage your breast as he presses his pelvis against your ass once again. You turn your mouth from Hongjoong’s increasingly desperate kisses and moan against his cheek as Hwa squeezes your breast and flexes his bicep to pull his body in and close the gap between you. Hongjoong is shuddering as his thighs quiver and his cock flexes with your strokes. He alternates between rubbing and gripping your fleshy hip as his head begins to tilt back at the pleasure. 

Hongjoong suddenly pushes your hand away and curls his lower body back from you to prevent any additional stimulation until he is able to control his arousal. He chuckles and smiles at you and Hwa as he reaches up to smooth his hair back from his face. He looks you over and hums, and you stick out your lips in a pout, hoping he will at least come back to place a deep, satisfying kiss there. He pretends to be undecided about this, and you push your lower lip out even further as you whimper slightly until he sighs heavily in mock annoyance and leans down to passionately kiss you with an intensity that makes electricity shoot through your entire body and steals the breath from your lungs until he suddenly pulls back and a pitiful moan escapes you involuntarily. He chuckles and pecks you on the lips as he raises his eyebrows in a ‘Be careful what you wish for’ look. Hwa snickers until he is silenced by a look from Hongjoong, and Hongjoong slides his body back and out of the bed.  

You and Seonghwa watch his lean, naked form slink back as he catches Hwa’s eye and gestures for him to come to the side of the bed. Before you’ve barely registered the nonverbal instruction, Hwa is up on his hands and knees and making his way to the edge of the bed where Hongjoong has indicated. Hongjoong says a short phrase in Korean, and you watch curiously as Seonghwa lowers himself down and rolls over at the edge of the bed with Hongjoong’s full erection positioned directly over his face. As Hwa scoots to lower his head just slightly over the side of the bed, Hongjoong looks at you and directs you to come sit between Hwa’s legs.  

You kneel between Seonghwa’s legs as he lays across the bed, staring up at Hongjoong’s fabulous cock. You desperately struggle to fight your imagination from sending you a fantasy of Hongjoong placing his balls on Hwa’s forehead because you know that a deranged giggle fit will immediately follow if you let this intrusive thought materialize in your brain. Instead, you watch eagerly for your next instruction and are extremely grateful when Hongjoong tells you to use your mouth to pleasure Hwa. He pauses for a moment before adding that you are also allowed to touch him however you want, but you are not to use your pussy. You nod eagerly before saying, “Yes, Captain,“ as you lean forward to slick his twitching cock with your saliva before working more of him into your mouth and down your throat.  

You occasionally hazard a glance and have to force yourself not to stop and watch in awe as you look down to see Hongjoong fucking Seonghwa’s throat. You can just see Hwa’s chin and elegant throat as he takes Hongjoong’s thrusts with impressive skill. You are spurred to work harder on his cock as you reach up to tweak his nipples and attempt to match the rhythm of Hongjoong’s thrusts to your mouth reaching the base of Hwa’s hard cock. Hwa’s hands flex uselessly against the sheets until Hongjoong says something to him, and he reaches up for Hongjoong to grasp his hands and use the connection for leverage. Hongjoong’s head falls back in ecstasy as he continues to drive his cock down Hwa’s throat. 

You work hard on your task as your saliva slicks Seonghwa’s beautiful dick and slides over your fingers where you cradle and fondle his balls. His thighs now shudder lightly, and you are startled from your single-minded pursuit of Hwa’s release by Hongjoong’s voice calling your name. You pause, looking up at him with Hwa’s cock still halfway down your throat and tears streaming down your cheeks, and Hongjoong gazes down at you fondly before instructing you to turn around.  

You feel a little self-conscious at this change of position, but you are nothing if not obedient, so you raise up to all fours and turn around, keeping Hwa’s dick in your mouth. You amuse yourself as you hold him there, letting your mouth twist around his shaft like a lollipop. He shivers at this unexpected sensation, and Hongjoong pats you on the ass to direct you to continue sucking Seonghwa off. You refocus your efforts and are finding a rhythm again when you are surprised to feel slick fingers sliding into your pussy, causing you to gasp at the sudden intrusion. 

The adrenaline of the surprise mingles with the pleasure of it, as you were already plenty turned on by all of the current activities. You moan pathetically at the penetration and begin to buck your hips slightly with the rhythm you have been trying to follow that seems to be consistent with Hongjoong’s thrusts into Hwa’s mouth. While you have lost the view you were occasionally enjoying, it is much more intense to experience actively feeling, rather than just watching, Hongjoong’s thrusting as his fingers are now banging you at the same pace. You fight to control your gasping moans around Hwa’s cock as every nerve in your core lights up with pleasure; you realize, too late, that your divided attention has prevented you from recognizing the signs that Seonghwa is about to cum until you are being drowned in a load you were unprepared to take.  

The surprise of his cum in your mouth and throat causes you to gag, and you struggle to breathe and swallow as Hongjoong continues to finger you and fuck Hwa’s mouth. Tears stream down your face, and you’re drooling cum and saliva as you moan pathetically and try to catch the last precious drops from his spasming cock. Hongjoong swears and begins thrusting faster, and you, too, are caught in the fervor as his sounds and the struggle of Hwa beneath you to accept Hongjoong’s load combine with the hot arousal caused by the sensations of both of them cumming around you, cause you to climax, too. You buck your hips back toward Hongjoong’s hand as you pant and gasp at the sensitive rush. When the orgasm subsides, you giggle in surprise at everything you just experienced before you remember to wipe your messy mouth and turn to look back at your captain with a satisfied grin.  

He brushes his sweaty hair back from his face and smiles at you before smacking your ass to direct you to move, so he can lean down and praise Hwa. He walks around the corner of the bed while Hwa slides back to where his head is on the bed instead of over the edge. Hongjoong gets up onto the bed and lays over Hwa to whisper something as he looks over his beautiful face before he leans down and kisses Hwa deeply. You shiver with pleasure as Seonghwa reaches his long, elegant arms up around Jjoongie to hold him as they lay there with their bodies pressed firmly together. Perspiration glistens on their skin, and you struggle with the desire to lick or touch them both in some way.  

Hongjoong withdraws from the kiss gently, with more words of praise, before pulling back to sit on Hwa’s chiseled stomach and playfully tweaking both of his perfect, oval, chestnut nipples. Hwa laughs, and Hongjoong rolls off to move toward where you now sit against the head of the bed, where he reaches out and pulls you down to lay on his chest and kisses you passionately. He smacks his lips at the taste of Hwa’s cum on your tongue, and you smile proudly as you lick first Jjoongie's bottom lip and then around his top lip, smacking yours with satisfaction as there is now a combination of his own cum and Hwa’s saliva there, too. As Hongjoong steals another deep, probing kiss, he reaches out his hand to invite Seonghwa up to lay beside the two of you, but Hwa is getting up and says something to Jjoongie that you don’t understand.  

The two of you complete your kiss and look up at Hwa and at your questioning look, Hwa smiles and says, “I want to go get some tea. Do you want some grapes?” You smile up at him gratefully, as he always knows just what you need. You nod, and he goes to retrieve these along with some warm washcloths to clean everyone up with before you all fall into a completely fulfilled slumber, knowing that there will be no alarms set in the morning.  

Chapter Text

The boys have agreed to hold the party in ten days, and you practically fly out of bed when you realize how little time this is for planning, shopping, and creating the exact mood you’re hoping to generate. You shuffle out to the kitchen to get something to drink and survey the wreckage from last night. Surprisingly, the members appear to have been fairly conscientious about the amount of mess they left before heading to bed. You can also imagine that several of them were looking forward to some of their favorite group activities because hotels aren’t conducive to privacy when it comes to the level of physicality they engage in when two or more of them are involved. For all you know, they may have all gone to bed shortly after you and Hwa crawled in with Jjoongie last night.  

Whatever the reason, you make short work of collecting the empty soju bottles, a couple of glasses and a lone plate. You smile at the realization that there appears to be no food left to waste, and you happily head back to your room to get dressed for the day. You haven’t thought too hard about what to make for breakfast, but the unusual amount of alcohol consumed—particularly by the members who don’t typically drink—makes you now think that a big batch of bugeoguk would be a thoughtful gesture.  

You throw your earbuds in and start working on a quick broth to add some depth of flavor and nutrition to the soup. ‘Pirate King’ starts up as you turn the broth down to simmer, and you quickly pull out your phone to start up a prep list to maximize the number of tasks you can efficiently complete over the next few days. You tally the amount of time you want to dedicate to online shopping for decor and add a few basic items to your KQ shopping list for when you start working with Wooyoung on his cooking skills. Turning back to the current task of breakfast prep, you start slicing up the daikon. You tear the pollack into strips and check your broth on the stove to ensure that the flavor is transferring nicely from the seaweed and spare fish bones you had saved, frozen, with just such an application in mind.   

You decide to give it just a few more minutes of simmering as ‘Blue Summer’ comes on, and you turn to get your tofu and green onions out of the fridge to slice when you suddenly feel someone wrap their big, bare arms around you and press their strong body up against your back. You reach behind you to feel the tight abs and firm, round ass attached to him before he pulls your earbud out and asks coyly, “Are you listening to our song, kkulbeol?” before he breathes out heavily and sucks your earlobe into his mouth as his hand gropes your large breast. His hot breath in your ear, along with the sensory overload of being completely enveloped by his huge, muscular embrace, has you reflexively arching your ass back toward his cock as you now feel him pressing it hard against you. You close your eyes and reach up to hold his thick arms as he chuckles seductively into your ear. “You like it when I take you by surprise, don’t you, kkulbeol?” You let out a small pathetic moan as he gently sways you side to side, dragging his cock across your ass playfully.  

“I like it when I don’t have to miss breakfast because of your big, hungry 좆나게 (jotnagae),” a deep voice growls behind you, causing San to retreat with a princely bow as he backs out of the kitchen past the judgmental gaze of Yeosang. Yeosang feints a backhanded swat at San’s crotch but allows San to exit without injury to his aforementioned erection. You can’t help but cluck your tongue in appreciation of the spectacular view of San’s receding dimples and tented gray sweatpants as he disappears from sight.  

Yeosang smiles fondly at you and wraps his arm around your shoulder before kissing your temple and saying, “Good morning.” He watches with delight how his deep voice sends shivers throughout your body, and you pretend to be embarrassed before leaning very close to his ear to say, “Green,” in a breathy whisper. You quickly pull back to watch his pupils dilate, and his biceps flex as he has to fight against the urge to pin you against the counter in a passionate kiss.  

You watch his struggle with only the faintest glimmer of triumph in your glib but affectionate smile. He shakes his head at you as if it is your fault somehow that he has forgotten not to underestimate you. You tut at him and say, “Good morning, Yeosang,” before squeezing his palm and turning back to your veggies. You hear him chuckling and muttering to himself as he makes his way back down the hallway. You silently cross your fingers that he meets up with San in the shower, though you can’t imagine that both of them didn’t get theirs well enough last night in some way or another. Still, it would be a shame to let such a perfect hard-on go to waste. You remind yourself to ask Hwa if there is some sort of backstory there or how Yeosang has so much influence over San when San could quite easily do whatever he wants, and there’s precious little Yeosang could do to stop him. 

You find your other earbud on the counter, next to your beautiful Shun chef’s knife, and you are suddenly thankful that Wooyoung hurt your feelings so bad because it gave you the excuse to buy this fucking amazing knife. When you pop your earbud back in and restart your music, ‘Say My Name-Japanese Version’ comes on, matching the energy and optimism of the day. The rice maker didn’t get cleaned last night after dinner, and when you discover this, you swear under your breath and work quickly to wash it in order to get the rice cooked at the same time the soup is finished. The sudden exertion of scrubbing the pot under the hot water tap has you lightly perspiring around your temples.  

When you turn from getting the machine started, Seonghwa is now sneaking up on you for a morning greeting. He doesn’t startle you like the others, but when he steals a kiss on your forehead, he pulls back in surprise at the moisture he finds there. You laugh and look up at him apologetically, but he pretends to spit in disgust and then licks his lips with interest as though he has suddenly discovered that he actually enjoys the taste of you after all. You laugh and put your hands on his abs to push him away so that he will rush back to hug you out of spite.  

When you are relaxing and giggling together in a prolonged hug as he shuffles you around in a wonky circle, like a middle school slow dance, you sigh happily and wonder how you could have survived thirty-one years without joy like this in your life. Seonghwa hears your sigh and leans down to kiss the top of your head as you listen to his perfect heartbeat in his chest. He begins to hum softly as the two of you are still teetering back and forth in this gentle dance that you wish could last all day. Your little moment of bliss is assaulted by the sound of the rice maker bell, and you reluctantly release Hwa to get back to finishing the soup before too many more of your beloved boys wake up and come looking for their breakfast. 

You look over your prep list and send Hwa a quick text message because he must have headed back down to the shower or something. You’re hopeful he’ll have some time in the next few days to sit with you and order some decor for the party. Your new work laptop was delivered to the front desk while the boys were away on tour, so you no longer have to borrow Hwa’s computer, but it would be much more fun to work with him to curate the vibe for your party. You’ve started a list of recipes to try for the party, including  (Dakgangjeong), which is crispy and crunchy Korean fried chicken (“KFC”) with a sticky, spicy, sweet sauce. You figure some potatoes would go nicely with the fried chicken, so 감자채 볶음 (Gamjachae Bokkeum). Since you want to incorporate some of your favorite family traditions, you decide to throw in a couple of your own favorite holiday recipes, but you don’t need to spend as much time planning those out as you can probably make them in your sleep at this point in your life.  

Dessert has always posed a challenge as the sweets you grew up with might hospitalize your dear ATEEZ given the absurd proportions of refined sugars and fats to actual nutritious ingredients, so you’ll have to ask Yeosang and Yunho for some ideas and send out whichever members seem to be slacking on the preparations to run errands and go buy some local treats. About the time your mind starts to fantasize about that damn chocolate bread, a message from Seonghwa comes in: 

Dear One / Big Star🩶🌠🩶:    

Yes! I am free to do some planning and shopping online today.   

We also need to talk with Hongjoong about plans for vacation break.   

He told me he wants to discuss it with us together.  

_________________________________________________  

You send him back an outline of your plan to get some things ordered to decorate for the party before lunch, as you know the rest of the day will probably be full of the boys coming and going, and now that breakfast is ready, you have some time on your hands until you need to start dinner. You’re so glad you had a chance to prep your banchan and some dishes for them to reheat for lunches or make into dosirak, so you can make sure you stay on top of keeping the place tidy and having everything they need readily available so that they can enjoy being back at home.  

It’s odd that Hongjoong didn’t mention anything about the vacation break or needing to talk about it, but you’ve spent a fantastically low proportion of your time together actually in conversation since he got back. He really does need to schedule time for that because you need to feel him close to you much more than anything else, at least for a few days, until the painful memory of his recent absence feels more distant. You’d much rather spend the time just being beside him or talking and dreaming of things you would want to do together if you had more time and freedom.  

Hell, if it can be communicated via text message, it can wait.   

You head down to freshen up and change into clean clothes since you showered with Hwa last night. After you’ve started the first few loads of laundry, checked the supply of towels in the bathrooms, and made sure you submitted your weekly order even though you’ve checked three times to verify this because you feel so out of practice. You sprawl across your bed and bounce your dangling feet as ‘Outlaw’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist while you wait for Hwa to do whatever he needs to do before you spend your entire bonus on party decor.  

And I’m not even gonna feel a little bad about it.  

You close your eyes and enjoy the cool softness of your bed with the gentle, muted rays of daylight filtering in through your window. Your view from your previous room was much better, but having a shitty view of the sun reflecting off the light gray building behind the dorms is preferable over being bisected by some skyscraper’s psycho tree with a thirst for bloodshed. You feel the lightest tickle along your forearm and start itching it as though you are under siege by small insects or a sadistic feather duster. You open your eyes and look around your room wildly but don’t see anyone, save for the light rustling of some papers you had left on your bedside table when you unpacked your carry-on bag. You hold your breath and pull your earbud out, trying not to be seriously irritated that it is during ‘Not Okay’ as you were just getting to the best parts at the end of the song. You freeze in place, other than bouncing your feet again, to maintain the illusion of being unaware as you wait for your assailant to show himself.  

Sure enough, Jjoongie pops up wearing a felted brown hat with an intricately woven hatband above the brim, and his sparkling dark eyes radiate mischief because he realizes he is caught. He smothers his boyish grin and quickly dashes his hand behind his back but isn’t quick enough to hide the feather he holds there. When he sees you staring directly at him in smug anticipation, he barks out a surprised laugh before crawling up to you sheepishly with the feather carefully clutched in his fist. He holds it out to you and pouts, “I broke my feather,” as his twinkling eyes are wide with theatrical dismay. “Can you fix it, Naui Haneul? You can fix it for me?” He worms his way closer to you and starts kissing your chin playfully, with his lips still fixed in a full pout as you burst into laughter at this unexpected request. “Hmmm,” you say, regarding the feather closely before looking from his face to his hat and back to his face. “Where is it supposed to go? Here?” You ask before quickly flicking the tip of the feather behind his earlobe and then darting it as far away as you can with your arm outstretched as he growls and tries to steal it back from you. “No!” he huffs and begins nibbling at the tender flesh of the underside of your upper arm as you squeal and try to squirm away from him without relinquishing your grasp on this delightful new toy. 

When chewing on your arm fails to work, he begins to nibble harder and works his way down toward your ear and neck as you still fight to keep your arm outstretched. Hongjoong begins to work his fingertips in between your ribs on the other side, and the involuntary spasms at the ticklish feelings attacking both sides of your body are too much for your brain to override. Your elbows shoot down to attempt to protect your ribs and neck, and he simply swipes the feather with a sly, smoldering look that would make Flynn Rider’s knees buckle. 

You laugh and push his hat back off his head before pulling him down by his jacket to feel his entire weight press down on you as he powerfully returns your kiss. You moan and gasp into his mouth as he presses his groin against your hip; his knees straddle your left knee, allowing him to rest one hip on the bed as you reach down to explore your fervent hope that you may be able to slide your small hand down into the waistband of his jeans to caress the sensitive trail of skin leading down to his eager erection. You tease and slip your fingers down but bring them back up and across without touching his member; he moans into your mouth and nearly crushes your hand as he roughly thrusts against your hip in retaliation. You cry out in surprise at the flash of pain, and your cry soon gives way to laughter.  

You suck his lower lip into your mouth so that you can bite on it, just hard enough to make him think twice before trying to pull it free. He counters this tactic by pressing his kisses in harder, forcing you to release his lip to make room in your mouth for his searching tongue. You moan desperately and rut up against him, forgetting momentarily that your hand is still trapped in the waistband of his jeans. He probes your mouth aggressively and licks just up toward the roof of your mouth and back out again before biting your lip in retaliation. You‘re whining and panting now as you begin trying in earnest to try to get your hand anywhere near his cock in hopes that you will get to play with your favorite toy.  

There is a light knock at your door followed by an annoyed scoff, and you and Jjoongie freeze in your locked embrace. The two of you turn only your heads to see whose irritated face is there in the doorway. Seonghwa looks slightly annoyed and completely unsurprised to see the rosy cheeks of the two of you as you laugh and lay your head back down on the bed. “I can come back later,” Seonghwa offers as he begins to back out of the room. “No, I can’t stay, actually. I really need to go take care of some things at KQ. I will come back later this afternoon. I, uh, just got carried away,” Hongjoong says with a look that betrays little to no regret.  

You giggle and say from where you’re now resting your head against the bed and can see both of their faces, “Hwa and I are going to shop for party decorations online!” with a tiny squeal of delight. Hongjoong presses his excruciating erection against your hip one more time, which shifts your squeal into a gasping moan. “That sounds fun. We do need to talk later about vacation. When I get back?” Hongjoong asks as he gently slides back off of the bed and adjusts his hard cock up under the waistband of his jeans. “Okay! Be good. Be safe. I love you.” He leans over and plants a tender kiss on your lips before grinning devilishly at Hwa and sauntering from the room. Hwa suddenly yelps, and you look just in time to see that Hongjoong took the opportunity to grope Hwa’s ass on his way out.  

Seonghwa makes his way to your bed, rolling his eyes but laughing good-naturedly. He slips in the covers and sits up against the headboard as you roll noisily over and fumble your way up next to him in a deliriously aroused daze. He looks at your glowing face and messed-up hair and smiles fondly before turning back to the computer screen. You snuggle against his warm shoulder, gradually coming down from the high of arousal as you press your cheek against his soft, slightly fuzzy shirt. He smells lightly of coffee, vanilla, and indistinct flowers. You sigh happily against him and force yourself to focus on the task at hand.  

The two of you spend the better part of the morning and early afternoon ordering lighted snowflakes, tinsel garlands, a traditional Christmas tree like the one you had to help your mom drag up from the basement every year, and a whole assortment of different types of silver and gold baubles. Hwa gets super excited about the Christmas Lego sets, so you throw a couple of them in the online shopping cart and make him promise to let you help him assemble them in time for the party. You also find a way to incorporate some festively generic wintery decor so that you can leave it up for a while after the party, and no one will question why the dorm is full of Christmas decorations at an off-time of year. 

When Hongjoong returns a couple of hours before dinner, he and Seonghwa pull you from your dinner prep to go have a private conversation in his room. You slip and slide down the hallway in your skeleton socks as you follow, holding Jjoongie’s hand, while Hwa holds your other hand and brings up the rear of your little choo-choo train. You can barely contain the bubbles of silliness that burst from under your ribs at the intense joy you feel from once again having regular access to your two favorite people. When you get to Hongjoong’s room, he squeezes your hand before releasing it and pausing to allow you and Hwa to fully enter the room before he closes the door behind the three of you. 

Your goofy smile vanishes at the sudden change in his expression once the door has closed. You aren’t quite sure what the serious look means, and sometimes it’s hard to tell his “deep-in-thought" face from his upset or melancholy face. You turn to look to Hwa for guidance and see that he appears calm but similarly somber, and you squeeze his hand nervously as you feel all of your unbridled joy deflate like a sad, leftover birthday balloon. You join him in sitting on the end of the bed as Hwa pats your hand and gives you a tiny reassuring smile that barely serves to prevent you from becoming intensely anxious; you dig your fingernails into your other palm to try to keep your face lovingly neutral until you figure out what is going on.  

I thought we were going to talk about vacation. Vacation is supposed to be good, right?  

Hongjoong coughs a little and takes off his coat, tossing it onto an overburdened desk chair in the corner before coming to sit next to you on the corner of the bed. As soon as he sits, he reaches for your other hand, and you look up into his dark eyes nervously. He stutters a little, and you’re unable to hold onto your calm facade and turn to check Hwa’s face in rising panic. Hongjoong brings your attention back by saying, “It’s okay, Naui Haneul. I’m sorry. I have...” he pauses and searches for the words before placing his other hand on top of yours and patting it, effectively encasing your hand between his. “It has been a long day already. Some good things, and some, well, difficult.” You stare at him and can only imagine how large your pupils are as you try and fail to guess where he’s going with any of this. “Okay,” you stammer, stroking his palm tenderly with your fingers as you wait for him to continue.  

“I want to talk to you both about vacation because there has been a big change to the schedule." He glances at Hwa and returns his attention to you. “We have a big opportunity that has just come up, and I will be taking a shorter vacation now in order to prepare.” You watch him and nod encouragingly; if he expected you to get upset about this, he doesn’t know you that well. You are in it for the greater good, and you support whatever they need to do to kick ass and take names. You look at him confidently before saying, “Okay, what does this mean?” to encourage him to give you more information. 

He smiles at you, almost gratefully, as he proceeds to get through the details, “Well, we have five vacation days to visit with family and then start back to schedules. Then we planned our ATEEZ party for five days after that. Some of the members have booked time to go back home and spend time with family or friends.” You feel Hwa gently nod behind you and softly murmur his agreement. “Well, all of that is fine, but the company wants us to do more intense schedules to prepare when we get back from the five days of vacation because we have been invited back to Cartier for a promotional appearance,” he exhales heavily as though he had only one breath available to express all of these thoughts. You beam at him and ask, “You mean in Paris? Like the one who made your team rings?! That’s so exciting!” When he nods and smiles somewhat nervously, you release their hands and fling your arms around his neck, dragging him closer for a proud hug. When he pulls away, he laughs a little and pats your thigh. 

“So, this means we will be very busy again soon. But there is some good news, too,” he looks at you, his dark eyes now slightly illuminated as his lips hint at the twitch of a grin. You stare at him naively, “How is going to Cartier as a special promotion, not good news?” You practically squeal at him and reach out to grab his hand. He laughs nervously, “It is. I mean, of course. Yeah. It’s just that I was hoping to have you come and visit my family when I go there, and I guess I thought I’d have more time with you there. Because we suddenly have more plans to make for the Cartier show, I can only spend two days with my family. I will have to come back to Seoul and work with upper management to plan the trip to Paris. I was just looking forward to spending more time with you and my family.” You are now speechless at this interesting expression of his priorities. 

“I wanted to show you my hometown and introduce you to my father. It is still okay, even if it’s shorter,” he looks up at you with soft eyes and a tired smile before asking, “Would you like to go to Anyang with me?” You squeeze his hand again and say in a near whisper, “I want to go wherever you are.”  

What the hell is up with my sudden lip quiver?  

Seonghwa sighs sweetly at this and presses gently against your upper back to nudge you to give Jjoongie a kiss. You gratefully accept his suggestion and kiss Hongjoong more tenderly than you ever have before; the honor of being invited to his family’s home has filled you with the deepest sense of humility and feeling of acceptance. It never occurred to you, in the swirling passion and need of him, that he cherished you to this degree. When you pull back from the kiss, your lower lip is still trembling. You must look a bit bewildered as Hongjoong tuts lightly and pulls you close to hug your shoulders and kiss your forehead. You lean into his embrace and hum happily. You may be overwhelmed, but it’s sure nice to be overwhelmed by good shit for a change.  

You suddenly sit back and turn to Hwa in a panic. “What about you? Are you going home? Is it near Anyang?” you stare at him with exaggeratedly large, hopeful eyes. Your sudden shift startles Seonghwa out of his calm, supportive demeanor, and he laughs as he pats your head gently, “Yes, I am going home to see my family, but it’s not near Anyang.” Seeing your hopeful expression fall, he adds, “I would love to bring you, though.” He suddenly looks to Hongjoong with a question in his eyes. “Would you like to come down to meet my family after you visit Hongjoong’s parents? He will be so busy, and no one else will be back in the dorms yet. I worry you would get lonely,” you see Hwa glance again to check in with Hongjoong before he continues, “I would be honored if you would like to come visit. I will arrange a plane ticket for you, and we can plan it so that Hongjoong can drop you at the airport on your return to Seoul. What do you think?” You turn and throw your arms around Hwa’s neck and kiss him on his velvety cheek. You grin and say, “Okay, Hwa. Thank you! I would like that very much.” He smiles again and says something to Hongjoong in Korean, which is unusual because the two of them almost always speak your language when they are with you. You glance between their faces before sitting and staring vaguely ahead, as you’re a little confused by this whole conversation and the general mood of things.  

Hongjoong sees you spacing out and grasps your hand again and bounces it against your thigh as he says, “So, also, the trip to Paris,” he pauses, waiting for you to look at him, which you do on the word ‘Paris’ exactly as he expected. He looks at your eyes and smiles as he tenderly smooths your eyebrow and cheek with his thumb, “I have asked for you to join us on the trip to Paris as our personal chef.”  

Oh, my fuck.  

Now, your jaw hangs open stupidly in shock, as you had not seen anything like that coming in his subdued demeanor when he wanted to talk about vacation. You are trembling in your whole abdomen now, and you fight to remember to breathe as you wait for him to say something more because you sure as hell can’t say anything at the moment. He smiles lovingly at your astonished reaction, “Is that okay? I thought it sounded like a great idea, and you might enjoy it since we’re going anyway. Should I have asked you first?” His smile is faltering, and he seems to be second-guessing himself, as you have yet to respond. You’ve only barely managed to reel in the stupid look on your face to a look of more sophisticated shock. He is starting to worry now, “You don’t have to go, Naui Haneul. It’s okay if you don’t want to go.”  

His worried tone and use of your nickname have snapped you out of your frozen state. You quickly smile at him and try to laugh at yourself, “I want to go, Jjoongie. I was just very surprised. I would love to go. Wow. That’s so very kind of you to ask for me to go with you. I’m so glad I don’t have to be away from you, either.” You lean against his shoulder and stroke his hand with your fingertips. He chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head, “Oh, good. Okay. I was scared that you were unhappy about it. I don’t want to be apart from you, too.”  

Seonghwa gently rubs your thigh with his palm and hums.  You now have questions, since your brain seems to have come back online, “When is the trip to Paris?” You sit up and look between Hwa and Jjoongie. You startle for a moment as Hwa seems to almost shrug, but you’re already looking back at Hongjoong for an answer before this odd gesture registers in the back of your mind. “We are going in three weeks,” he says with a bigger smile than he’s had this whole time. You stare at him again and mutter under your breath, “Three weeks? Holy shit balls.” He chuckles and kisses your lips sweetly as you sit there, trying to figure out everything that needs to happen in the next three weeks’ time. 

“Okay, what do I need to do to get ready?” You are now in prepping mode, and you need to start getting a to-do list going so that you can attempt to visualize this crazy new plan. “Well, you just need a few days’ clothing for our trip. We will leave tomorrow afternoon to go to my parents’ home. You don’t need anything special for that.” You gasp and look at Hwa in a panicked ‘I’m going to need your advice later’ look. He nods imperceptibly, and you relax a tiny bit. Hongjoong continues, oblivious to this exchange, “For Paris, I will work with you to create some plans for menus. We don’t have to have you cook every time. But there will be times when a member might want something they usually like at home, so we will plan to bring some ingredients and stuff. You will be packing a special crate with your tools, some of your ingredients, and whatever you need. They said they can get you a special room set up with a kitchen to use. We are still working out those details with Cartier.” You nod and begin mentally tallying all of the things you’ll need to bring. 

Hongjoong sees your faraway look and recognizes that you are completely consumed by your brain shifting into creative planning mode. It’s a look he’s more familiar with from the inside, but he knows what it means. He stands up and pulls you by your hands to join him. When you’re up, you snap back to the present moment and smile up at his beautiful face. He tuts and tilts your chin up to kiss you deeply, taking your breath away and setting fire to your core. You moan and gasp at the sudden closeness you feel, both in proximity and in this new, profound feeling of being deeply cherished by him. You sigh happily and slowly open your eyes to take in his face before you plan to dash to your computer to start making lists.  

Hongjoong feels your weight shift and snickers as he knows all too well what you’re about to do next. He was aware of it before it crystallized into your conscious thoughts. You stop and look to see what is so funny and suddenly notice how tired he looks. You kiss his chin again and quickly turn him around to push him back down onto his bed. Seonghwa sees the exchange and hops up to assist as you crawl over top of the bewildered Jjoongie as he scoots back up to the head of the bed. Hwa removes Hongjoong’s house slippers and socks as you make short work of getting his jeans off. Hongjoong makes some half-hearted noises of protest, but he can feel himself being worked over by two people who match his stubbornness and love, and he is not going to get out without at least getting some form of rest. 

You glance up at Hwa and ask him to be Hongjoong’s big spoon while you go get your computer. He nods and moves to slide in behind Hongjoong. As you turn to go to your room, Hongjoong grabs your wrist beside the bed and pulls you back for another deep, soul-melting kiss. You whine and shimmy your hips at the jolts of arousal coursing through your body, and he chuckles before snuggling back under the covers and back against Hwa, who now envelopes him in his long, lean embrace. You smile gratefully at Hwa and say, “I’ll go get my computer and come back in here to sit with him. Make sure he goes to sleep!” Hwa nods, and you dash to retrieve your computer so you can at least sit cuddled up next to them while you offload some of the many thoughts and ideas swirling in your brain into digital form. 

Chapter Text

Given that you only have about eighteen hours to get ready to go to Jjoongie’s home, you focus your attention on packing and preparing for that trip, as well as the immediate turnaround to go to Seonghwa’s family home afterward. You are feeling a bit terrified at all of the customs and manners you are probably horribly unaware of, and you sincerely hope their parents will be gracious and understanding. You start preparing a list of questions for Seonghwa, as you have a hunch that he will have more time to tell you whatever you need to know. You are just grateful for the quiet sighing of Hongjoong’s sleeping breath beside you because this 바보 (pabo) dearly needed some sleep.  

You figure you can easily pack enough clothing for several days with MATZ’s parents; the more formal items can be worn once at each parent’s house without it being awkward. You will definitely make a point to select your most clean-cut, comfortable, respectful clothing and jewelry, as you don’t see any reason to try to set any new fashion trends while you are meeting the people whose terrifically lucky combination of genes led to the creation of two of the most wonderful, beautiful, and talented humans. You are somewhat nervous about the prospect of having to attempt to make small talk and observe all of the appropriate customs. You can only hope that the boys will rescue you before you make it awkward. You make a mental note to text and thank Bestie for making you get your crochet project because it may make all of this just a tiny bit less terrifying. 

Looking past the immediate need to pack, you know that you’re about to be busier than usual with practically no warm-up. 

Fuck me. Where’s the foreplay?  

Speaking of foreplay, the day after you get back with Seonghwa is your date with Jongho. You aren’t terribly concerned about the timing of that, as you know it will be a matter of becoming comfortable approaching each other in an intimate way—something that has yet to occur between the two of you—but you feel at ease with the idea that there will be a lot of conversation and feedback involved. Hopefully, things will unfold at a pace that is comfortable for you both. 

You’re actually feeling more nervous about instructing Wooyoung in cooking skills; as you know, he has had some relatively minor instruction from professionals through some of their video content experiences. It’s going to be an interesting learning curve to find out what he is proficient at and what, if any, cultural differences in professional cooking may cause some “philosophical” disagreements between the two of you. You’ve had plenty of aggravating experiences training men in basic cooking skills in the professional kitchen when their self-confidence well surpassed their current skillset. You admire someone who believes in their abilities, but when there is a serious mismatch between what they think they know and what little they actually know, well, it’s just not a fun experience for anyone involved. 

You also hope that since he’s in an industry that places a high emphasis on perfecting physical skills acquired through repetition and brutally honest feedback, he’ll be humble and receptive to instruction that accurately assesses and improves his skill levels. Cooking, especially in the professional sense, is not without risk when one considers the high likelihood that you will be cut by a knife, burned by a flame or hot liquid, or experience other injuries such as slipping or falling. You would be horrified to fail to provide complete and honest instruction to Wooyoung and have that failure result in any type of injury. You pride yourself in your ability to be clear and fair in your appraisal of your trainees’ progress. You just never imagined you’d be training someone highly skilled in an unrelated field, nor someone who seems to be at least as bullheaded as you are.  

At this point, best to hope you just don’t kill each other. Anything above that is a bonus.  

Since you’ve trained cooks from completely inexperienced dishwashers just promoted out of the dish pit to retraining those know-it-alls who seemed to apparently have slept through culinary school and only retained the memory of having acquired a degree that they loved to boast about. Seeing as you’re not actually worried about teaching him the skills that he would need to be a successful line cook in a restaurant like your dad’s, you figure you can have him show you what he knows how to do and then work backward to identify what skills he’d like to learn or improve on. You’re happy to teach him everything you typically would, but maybe since this isn’t the usual situation, you can avoid any unnecessary arguments by having his interests guide your teaching methods. 

You have placed a slightly larger order for raw vegetables from KQ for the week of the party. The onions, carrots, daikon, celery, potatoes, cabbage, and herbs you typically order will be perfect to use for the food you plan to make, as well as practice for Wooyoung learning specific knife skills such as julienne (matchsticks), dicing, mincing, and chiffonade cuts. You also ordered a couple of larger cuts of meat for him to learn how to break down into the proper butcher’s cuts if he doesn’t already know how. Either way, you’ll have him demonstrate if he feels confident in those skills to judge for yourself if he is proficient. If he does a poor job at it, you can always make some delicious sausage out of any botched attempts and use the sausage to stuff dumplings or cabbage rolls with. That’s always the best part of teaching knife skills: even failures are still edible. As a bonus, you always get a lot of generic chopped veggies to work with while your proteges are toiling away at improving their accuracy. So, you know you’ll be planning to spend any time Wooyoung can spare from his schedules that week in the kitchen whipping his ass into shape. 

Metaphorically speaking, of course.  

Seonghwa slips from the bed with a wink and a quick kiss on your cheek as he’s clearly accomplished his directive to get Hongjoong to settle down and surrender to sleep. You nod your thanks and carefully close the gap in the blankets against Hongjoong’s back to prevent the cool air from creeping in and waking him.  

You will work with Hwa to plan when he can spare time to put up the decorations and build the Lego sets you’re now only slightly regretting allowing him to talk you into buying. Things are really starting to feel very rushed with the prospect of being gone for half the days that are left before the party. You also hope that some of the stuff will arrive after you get back, so that the front desk guy downstairs doesn’t hold a grudge against you for the pileup that will likely occur if all of the boxes show up in the next couple of days with no one around to bring them upstairs. Still, you get giddy flutters in your stomach when you think about how cozy and warm everything will look with the shining Christmas tree in combination with the glowing warmth of all of the lights. Having Hwa’s Legos as centerpieces on the dining table or in living room areas will fully bring all aspects of this strange little chosen family together in it. You make a mental note to add hot drinks like spiked hot chocolate to the menu so that you can sit around the fireplace backdrop you and Hwa cleverly purchased to disguise the lack of an actual hearth in the dorm. You’re hoping to get a photo of the whole group with you in front of it, all dressed up and looking dapper in your Feejays. You will probably have to discuss a dress code for the party so that no one is tempted to overdress, since you’ll be ordering them all to go change as soon as they open the Feejays.  

Now that your list is fairly complete, you’re starting to feel the itch to start working on the items you’ll need to get in order to check things off of that list, like getting your laundry going. But Hongjoong’s gentle breath beside you reminds you that you’d also love to stay right where you are, so you close your computer and scoot down into the covers beside him to steal his warmth like a cuddly bandit. You stifle a groan as you realize you’ve left your phone in your pocket, and it’s just flipped to jab you in the ribs.  

As you remove your vindictive device from your pocket, you are reminded of your need to chat with Hwa about how on earth you’re supposed to successfully “meet the parents” or whatever. You send a quick text to him to ask when he might have time in the next 24 hours to tell you whatever you need to know. Once you’re convinced that you’ve transferred a good summary of your thoughts, ideas, and plans from your glitchy brain onto a more reliable hard drive, you snuggle close to your darling Jjoongie and wrap your arms tightly around him. His breathing shudders only slightly as you jostle him, but it quickly returns to a restful rhythm as you lay your forehead between his shoulder blades and relax into the comforting satisfaction of knowing he is finally getting some decent sleep.  

You aren’t sure when you dozed off, but Seonghwa is gently shaking your shoulder, and Hongjoong’s room is dark. You slowly open your eyes to see that it is clearly later than you intended; you carefully slide out from the bed and tiptoe out of the room before even attempting to find out what time it is. When Hwa tells you it is after seven, you can feel the blood drain from your face. He quickly adds that it is okay because he and Wooyoung finished cooking dinner for everyone since you left everything prepped. They were easily able to identify your plan for the meal and put it all together in time for when everyone came home hungry. 

You sigh and thank Hwa, still feeling guilty that he had to do your job for you as you’d not planned to pass out in Jjoongie’s bed and leave them to cover for you. He shakes his head and reassures you, “No. Everyone was happy to hear that Hongjoong was actually getting some sleep.” Hwa pats you on the shoulder in appreciation of your apparent knack for getting Hongjoong to engage in basic, life-sustaining activities. “You’re a hero,” Hwa adds with a silly grin. You shake your head but can’t suppress a grateful laugh. “Thank you, Hwa,” you say before asking, “Do you know where Wooyoung is so I can thank him?” He pauses to think for a moment before saying, “I think he might still be in the kitchen, actually.” You reach around Seonghwa’s dainty waist to hug him tightly before heading down to find and thank Wooyoung, as well as make plans for party prep and culinary training when you all get back from vacation.  

You hear the faint sound of the dishwasher running and another rhythmic tapping as you near the kitchen doorway. San and Jongho appear to be watching a K-drama in the living room, and you smile at them before heading into the kitchen to chat with Wooyoung. Wooyoung looks up as you walk in, having apparently seen the movement out of the corner of his eye. He smiles somewhat sheepishly through his bangs, and you see his beautiful dimples as he glances down at the daikon radish on the cutting board in front of him. You clear your throat in approval of his efforts as you approach to get a closer look. You slide your phone onto the counter to translate for the two of you as you say, “Thank you for getting dinner done with Hwa. I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”  

Wooyoung sets his Shun on the counter and wipes his hands on a towel you notice he has tucked into the waistband of his pants. He shakes his head and smiles sweetly at you, “It was fun. I’m glad you got Hyung to sleep. You might be magic.” He laughs as you quickly read the translation and reach out to hug him. He returns your hug easily, and you fail to avoid the jolt of adrenaline and arousal at the new feeling of his taut, lean muscles and fluid movements as he embraces you. His body seems untethered to gravity and typical stop-and-start actions most humans rely on to get from place to place. You notice that it feels like he is almost in a state of constant motion, like mercury; he doesn’t appear to hold his weight heavily on either foot for long. All of his lithe muscles seem ready to move at a moment’s notice, like a jungle cat.  

He gives you a little parting squeeze for emphasis before pulling back and looking at your rounded hips in appreciation. A hot blush flies up your cheeks as you realize he was investigating your body at the same time as you were taking note of his. He winks without the slightest hint of apology; he seems to carry the opinion that your body has plenty to be proud of and that his observation should not cause you any shame. You grimace slightly but turn to reset your phone as you know you have things to discuss before any further distractions occur.  

You quickly discuss your upcoming absence for the next five days and explain that you’d like to work on cooking skills with him whenever he is free after that. He notes that there will be a few days of heavier schedules, but he finds a couple of afternoons he is confident that he will be available. You also offer to work with him after dinner in the evenings, as you know you can still use anything that the two of you make in your breakfast or lunch prep for the following day. In fact, this would be ideal since it frees up some of your time to work on other things, like decorations during the day.  

Wooyoung grins happily at this plan, and you give him a couple of honest compliments on his diced daikon before offering to finish cleaning up the kitchen. Wooyoung refuses generously, and you impulsively kiss him on the cheek in thanks. He pulls back, wide-eyed, with his lips pursed but his dimples betraying the smile that fights to break free of his shocked lips. He laughs as though he has just learned something devilish about you, and you smirk as you turn and head out of the kitchen.  

You have no idea, hon.   

You decide to slip back into Hongjoong’s room to retrieve your computer; you’re kicking yourself for not bringing it out when you got up. Hopefully, this little intrusion won’t wake him if he’s still sleeping soundly. You try to ignore the little pang in your stomach at the thought that he didn’t eat dinner tonight, and you’re not sure if he had lunch either.  You open the door as silently as possible and tiptoe toward the far end of the bed where you laid your laptop when you decided to cuddle Hongjoong instead of going straight out to finish dinner prep.  

As you approach the bed in the near darkness of his room, you shuffle your feet to avoid potentially stepping on or tripping over anything that may lay in the shadows between you and your target. You hear a shift in his breathing and pause, holding your breath to see if he is waking up or just stirring. When you don’t hear anything else, you slowly continue making your way toward the bed. A sudden “Mmmm. Hi. Hi.” from the bed makes you practically jump out of your skin. You had no idea his eyes were open or that he had rolled over since you left and would now be facing toward you.  

You shriek a little as the adrenaline of the startle reflex causes you to stand up straight as an arrow, and you giggle nervously as you try to force yourself back into a more natural posture as you change course to crawl onto the bed to go steal a kiss from Jjoongie. He moans softly as he kisses you gently and holds you tight, wrapping his body around yours and sighing happily. “What time is it?” he mumbles into your hair. “It’s after seven! We slept through dinner. I bet Wooyoung has leftovers, though,” you now feel your own stomach beginning to grumble louder. “Wooyoungie made dinner? That was nice,” he murmurs, still breathing into your hair just below your ear without relinquishing his hold around you. You nod before realizing the pointlessness of this gesture, considering the darkness, “Yeah. Wooyoung and Seonghwa finished what I had started out there before we came in here to talk.” He tuts lightly and holds you tighter as he shifts his hips to get into a more comfortable position, wrapped around you like a koala. You groan and start to try to press free from him, “Oh no you don’t. We can’t go back to sleep, Jjoongie. You need to eat. I have to do laundry, or I’ll be naked at your parents’ house.” He clucks his tongue, “That sounds good. Naked is good.” You whine, “No! No. Jjoongie, naked at your parents’ house is NOT good!” You catch yourself attempting to pout your way out of it, realizing again that the darkness is not your ally in this tactic. “And I’m hungry, Jjoongie. Hear my stomach talking to you?” you plead playfully. 

He suddenly releases his hold on you and slides down in the bed to place his ear on your stomach. Hongjoong is moving much more quickly than you would have predicted based on his sleepy voice; he must be more awake than you previously thought. He swiftly pulls your shirt up and places his head against your abdomen, causing you to shriek and giggle. “What? Shhhh. I can’t hear what your stomach is saying when you are making so much noise,” he admonishes as he rests his chin on your belly, causing you to laugh even more at the ticklish pressure of his sharp chin. He wiggles it a bit to elicit a few more shrieks out of you before tilting his face to kiss your belly and sigh happily against the warmth of your welcoming skin.  

“Maybe we should have dinner in here? Right here?” He must be grinning now because you can hear it in his voice. He pulls the blanket over his head and begins to slide down toward your heat as you squeal and try to clamp your legs shut. “No! Jjoongie! I have to do laundry, remember?” He groans and flops over onto his back in defeat, leaving the blankets over himself like he is deceased. “Awwww,” he whines as he relaxes into corpse pose. You tut at him and lift the blanket to slide down next to him and kiss him on the cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally, lips. When you reach his lips, he wraps his arms and legs around you again in a strong sneak attack and kisses you passionately. He uses the subtle weight shift caused by your surprise at his embrace and rolls himself over top of you. 

When he finally withdraws from the kiss, he declares proudly, “Well, that would be true if you were the boss around here. Are you the boss around here?” he asks, his lower lip sticking out in an aegyo thinking face. You groan in annoyance, and he growls while grinding his hip into your pelvic bone, causing you to squeak and laugh, “No! I’m not the boss. You’re the boss. You’re the boss!” He laughs and then deftly flips you over onto your stomach and slaps your ass hard, “I’m the boss, what?” You suck air through your teeth before you whimper, “You’re the boss, Captain.” He moans and slides his palm over your ass, massaging it before sliding it further down between your cheeks and pressing your legs apart to palm your heat firmly. You moan and press back toward his hand. He lets out a deliciously filthy sound of longing and conflicted agony at the present temptations versus the greater good of getting ready for this trip to see his family, which he apparently really wants you to join him on.  

“Okay. Well, since I’m the boss, go get your laundry started and then bring me some dinner,” he chuckles and smacks your other ass cheek playfully. You whine a little before a tiny growl from him has you agreeing and slipping out of the covers from the bottom of the bed, where they are still untucked from Hwa’s sneaky ankle-grab move. “Yes, Captain!” you exclaim as you slip out of the room and dash to throw your dirty clothes into the wash before scoping out the dinner options for the two of you. 

When you return to Jjoongie’s room, he has turned on the bedside lamps and has his computer open, as he looks up at you with a smile. You grin at him, carrying a tray with two portions of the 치즈불닭 (cheese buldak), which is spicy, cheesy chicken, and the 짜장면 (Jjajangmyeon), which are noodles with black bean sauce. You’ve also brought in a couple of bottles of barley tea and one of the coveted zero-sugar sodas you’ve managed to find palatable since you moved here. You figure that with all the extra sleep you and Jjoongie got today, you’re likely to stay up late and work on getting ready to head to his parent’s home tomorrow, so a little caffeine boost is a good idea. 

He looks up over his computer screen and sniffs happily, “What is it? That smells so good!” You show him, and he sighs with contentment as he looks over the tray, “Oh. That is good. Good idea. You are so good to me.” He tilts his chin up to peck your lips as you settle down next to him with the tray on your lap. When he moves to close his laptop, you clear your throat at him and put your hand on his forearm to stop him. He looks at you, amused, as you pick up a twirl of noodles and blow on them before gently raising the chopsticks toward his mouth with your other hand directly below, carefully preventing anything from dripping on him or his computer. He grins, “Ahhh, really?” You smile demurely and say, “네 (nae).” He beams at you and chews before looking for another bite, “Oh, 치즈불닭! Yum!” he looks a little shy as he quickly asks, “Not too spicy, okay?” You nod, “I only used half of the 고춧가루 칠리 (gochugaru chili powder) that the recipe called for. Not too spicy.” You watch him carefully as he takes a bite. When he smacks it around to evaluate the heat of the sauce, he smiles gratefully. “That is perfect. Thank you, Naui Haneul.” You stare at his fucking gorgeous face and can only stammer, “I love you so much.” He pauses and, as he hears the emotion in your voice, reaches out to pat your arm and clears his throat. “You are so good to me. I love you so much, too.”  

You sit back happily against the headboard and open a bottle of tea to pass to him, and you quickly take a few bites while he sips and types. When he looks up again, you’re ready with a hearty bite of chicken with cheese practically falling from it, and he accepts it with a twinkle in his eye before returning to whatever he is working on. You watch him in wonder, as it really was a brilliant move for KQ to hire you as a non-Korean speaker for confidentiality reasons; you could stare all day at whatever he is typing, and you have absolutely no idea what he is up to. You sigh happily as he occasionally looks up and opens his mouth for you to feed him another bite. 

He smiles and says, “Thank you. That’s enough. I’m full.” When you look down at the tray to judge for yourself and feel that he has, in fact, eaten well, you slide the tray over onto the bedside table and lean back over to him to give him a grateful kiss. He moans lightly against your mouth and smacks his lips before looking at you adorably and asking, “Dessert?” You can’t stifle a laugh as he generally would be the last person to be looking for dessert, especially after such a satisfying meal.  

You pull back and regard his face as you try to gauge whether he is teasing or not, and he laughs as he looks down at your confused expression. You scoff and lick your lips before saying, “I know what I want for dessert,” as you slide down under the covers and down between his legs. You thank your lucky stars that he was not energetic enough to get up and put on pants while you were gone because it will take very little effort to slide his boxer briefs out of your way. He groans lightly as you begin tugging on the boxers, and you hear the light thump of him leaning his head back to rest on the headboard. You feel him setting the laptop off to the side. You can see through the little bit of light that filters through the sheets that he is twitching in apprehension of your next move; you rub your palms across his shaft as you maneuver to get into a good position and move the sheets and clothing out of your way.  

You decide to surprise him and start by caressing his balls with your tongue as you gently stroke his cock with your hand. He groans at the unexpected but pleasant surprise as you lavish attention on them, sucking them fully into your mouth to swirl your tongue over them with light pressure before slipping them back out and beginning to slick his cock with your saliva from the base up to the tip and back.  

His thighs twitch as you work to sufficiently moisten his shaft before sucking the head into your mouth and swirling your tongue over it. You press your tongue firmly to stretch the slit and flick it with the tip of your tongue before sliding the entire head back into your mouth and preparing your hand around the base to begin to take more of him into your mouth. His fists come down beside his flexing thighs as you begin, slowly at first, to slide him in and out of your mouth. You use your free hand to pull one of his hands away from the sheets he is clenching and place it gently on the back of your head. He sucks air through his teeth and swears, as he knows the amount of trust you place in him to suggest he can give into his desire to wrap his fingers through your hair as you bring him closer to his release.  

You work the increasing pace and enjoy his moaning and swearing above you as he lightly tugs at your hair. You can feel his abs flexing now along with his muscular thighs as you alternate taking him all the way into your throat and pulling back to lick and suck over the head before sliding him rapidly back down your throat. The changes in intensity have him moaning and clenching his teeth as he is approaching his climax. You gently cup his balls in the palm of your hand and press them up toward the base of his cock, sliding the excess saliva there around them with the tips of your fingers as you work consistently now, up and down, with your mouth. He lets out several short gasping exclamations, and you know he is very close, so you moan against him and try to work just a little faster to let him know you’re ready for him.  

He grips your hair more forcefully now, and you fight against a small whimper at the occasional sting of hairs being pulled as you work fervently to bring him to the point of no return. As you moan and work his perfect cock, he suddenly gasps and pants heavily as you feel his cock beginning to pulse and get him deep down your throat just in time to feel him cumming hard. You moan gratefully as you swallow quickly and feel his thighs twitch with ecstasy under your breasts. 

“Mmmm. Thank you,” he moans sweetly before he gently pulls you to come up from the blankets to wear he can hold you tight. You rest your head on his chest and sigh happily as he hugs you close. You listen to the slightly quickened beat of his heart, knowing he has yet to come down from the euphoric orgasm, but once he does, he will likely be ready to go back to sleep considering the fact that he actually consumed a full meal as well. You whisper, “I love you,” as you happily take in the warmth of his embrace and the deep satisfaction of knowing you have taken care of all of his needs tonight. He sits comfortably stroking your back with the tips of his fingers as your breath synchronizes and slows with his. 

You feel him jerk suddenly beneath you and realize that he is probably falling back asleep, so you carefully sit up to regard his face. He appears to be asleep, so you gently wrap your arms around his waist and pull him back to lay on the pillow instead of up against the headboard. He mumbles something adorably incoherent, and you tuck him in tightly before slipping back out of the room to transfer your laundry to the dryer. You hope you won’t be interrupted too many times tomorrow because you desperately need to pack and talk to Seonghwa about how to properly greet their parents. 

Holy shit. There is never enough time in the day.   

You don’t bother worrying much about Hongjoong’s clothing. He’s only going for a couple of days, and they’re his parents, after all. Plus, the man has plenty of clothing options to choose from. You feel a bit limited as you haven’t had much luck shopping in Seoul, and you honestly haven’t had much call for new clothing as you spend most of your time on the second floor. Since your clothing collection is a bit scant in comparison to your darling captain’s wardrobe, you have to ensure that everything is clean and ready to go, just in case.  

Chapter Text

You carefully pack your suitcase with your clothes rolled up into individual outfits to hopefully reduce the wrinkles and allow you to smoosh in just a few more items than is probably prudent, but having them will make you feel better just by increasing your number of options. Because most, if not all, of the dorm’s residents are fast asleep, you put your earbuds in and start up your ATEEZ Complete Playlist to hear the ‘WIN-June One Remix.’ You smile blissfully as you bustle around your room, trying to prepare for a trip that you have not had enough time or sufficient information to be able to properly envision—let alone know how to pack for. Still, at least you have already met Hongjoong’s mother, who was kind, gracious, and surprisingly funny, especially as she observed and indirectly managed the interactions between her adult sons.   

Seonghwa’s family will be the ultimate wildcard, as you know relatively little about them and aren’t even sure how you’ll be introduced to them. You feel your heart rate increase with the anxious thoughts creeping in; you have no idea if it’s going to be inappropriate or objectionable for Seonghwa’s parents that their son has a close female friend who is neither Korean nor a declared romantic interest. You sincerely hope they are open-minded or at least unconcerned about it. You will try to remember to tack this onto the list of questions you hope Hwa can answer for you before you leave tomorrow afternoon.   

You rub your eyes as they are starting to burn, and you’re not sure if it’s due to the intense focus of trying to simultaneously pack effectively and create a hypothetical to-do list in your brain or if you’ve just forgotten to blink in your nervous state. The weather is supposed to be chilly but not inclement, so you pack your dark brown, wide-wale corduroy flares with a loose white button-up collared shirt and a brown knit cropped tank top, as well as other layering options, including several of your favorite cardigans, a water-resistant jacket, and your platformed chrome silver converse. You are sure to include your cargo sweats and sports bras with a matching hoodie for sleepwear. You’ve never been great at recognizing the value of pajamas when so many of your favorite articles of clothing are plenty comfortable for sleep, and sleepwear isn’t versatile enough to be worn in public. You decided sometime in high school that you’d rather invest in clothing that can be worn comfortably for sleeping and just skip the whole awkward, scratchy polyester mess of mass-market pajamas. Now, as an adult about to embark on overnight visits with your MATZ’s parents, you’re a little horrified not to own a single, decent pair of adult pajamas.  

Oh well. They may as well know you as you are or not at all, right?  

You shrug it off and figure if they’re offended by it, maybe that will be the major gripe, and your other “charms” can be eclipsed by this relatively silly quirk of yours. Still, you may have to order some at some point, if only to avoid this anxiety in the future. You won’t likely find them off the rack in Hongdae, as you’ve already discovered the inherent impossibility of finding decent, full-figured clothing sizes in Seoul. You happily roll your comfortable sweats and skeleton socks into your suitcase as ‘Precious’ ends and ‘The Leaders’ begins on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You let your face move with the attitude of the song and confront imaginary haters as you pile up your clean undergarments and jewelry to find safe places to tuck them into your bag in hopes of avoiding the fucktangle that traveling in the suitcase typically causes.  

Since Jjoongie will be driving the two of you to Anyang tomorrow, you nearly forgot to grab your passport and carry-on bag for your computer, crochet project, and sketchbooks. You quickly throw together the carry-on items you’ll want to have at Hwa’s house. A jolt of adrenaline seizes you as you realize you have no idea what Seonghwa’s family does for fun. Up till now, you’ve been fantasizing about sitting around with Hongjoong’s mother and crocheting while she knits and chats with him, though you don’t know if he has other ideas for this visit to their hometown. You’d also love the chance to cook with Jjoongie’s mom if she is willing to show you any of his favorite recipes. Honestly, you’re just over the moon at the very idea of getting to know his family a little better and soaking up the essence of these wonderful people whose loving home has helped to shape your darling Hongjoong into the man he is today. 

When you’re relatively satisfied that you have tucked as much of your most respectful clothing and the basic toiletries you’ll need for five days of trying to be the best possible version of yourself when Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s parents are watching, and you partially zip the suitcase closed and lazily slide it onto the floor before flopping over and throwing your phone and earbuds on the charger and passing out. It’s so late you don’t even want to look at the clock because then you’ll do the math and be horrified at how little time for sleep is left. 

You awake to a light bouncing on the edge of your bed before you feel someone spreading their body over top of you and whispering breathily in your ear, “Naui Haneul, it’s time to wake up.” A fluttering of tiny kisses from your earlobe down your neck and back up to your lips has you groaning in irritation as you are still exhausted. Jjoongie makes an adorable noise of confusion at your reaction, which makes you chuckle as you grumble and try to pull the covers back over your head. You fail, of course, because his full body weight is on top of those blankets now, and you have no means of protection from his agitated kisses and threats of what may happen if you refuse to get up on this beautiful day.  

Sir. You went to bed at, like, five o’clock last night. Shush.  

You peek one eye open at him and see that his face is practically glowing as he tries to fathom your lack of excitement at being woken from a dead sleep. Never mind the fact that you’ll be sleeping in an unfamiliar place and likely missing your own bed, on top of still having forgotten to acquire a new pillow since the storm. Sprinkle a good helping of nervousness over top, and it will be a wonder if you sleep at all in the next five days. This precious squirrel has no idea the havoc his little voyage to the homestead is about to wreak on your insides.  

You sigh heavily and smile up at his hopeful, sparkling eyes as he presses his lips together in his determined ‘Jjoongrami’ smirk. You squint up at him in an exasperated glare, causing him to pull back in confused concern as you forcibly twist your body beneath the blankets in an effort to roll over from your side onto your back and stare up at him, daring him to tell you it isn’t too early to be awake. He retains the look of implacable excitement, and you whine helplessly as you’re so not ready to face the day yet. He pouts in sympathy before peppering your face with kisses and begging you to get up so that the two of you can get ready for your little road trip this afternoon.  

It suddenly occurs to you, even though you should have thought this through sooner: you are about to have Kim Hongjoong all to yourself for over forty-eight hours. Sure, you’ll be sharing him with his family, but it’s about him.  

So, it’s a completely different ballgame, isn’t it?  

You will get to take this little road trip with him almost like normal lovers do. As the novelty of this concept sets off fireworks of excitement in your brain, you are suddenly able to match his energy. You shimmy your pinned hips beneath him and whine, “Okay! Okay! Let me up! I have to go to the bathroom!” You stick your chin out indignantly, trying to hold onto the pretense of irritation but still showing him the gleam in your eye. He tuts and rolls off of you, pulling the covers back to set you free from your down-filled trap. 

You scoot out of the bed and slide to put your feet on the floor before leaning over as though to kiss him sweetly before thinking better of it, pecking him on the tip of his adorable nose, and dashing out of the room toward the bathroom while he protests loudly. When you emerge, you see that he is lying across your bed with one leg dangling to the floor and the other bent up casually to the side. His head rests on his elbow as he examines something, and he holds it over his face curiously. As you get closer, he jumps slightly, and you ask him, “Hey, what is that?” as he looks like he is considering hiding it before he holds it out for your inspection with a guilty smirk. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jjoongie. No. Why?” you groan as you grab your KQ badge from him and shove it deep into the pocket of your cargo sweats. “What the hell?” you ask in a tone that betrays more irritation than you meant to show, even though it’s on par with how much irritation you are feeling at the moment. 

“Sorry. It was, um, I was not sure if it was you or not,” he says, looking sheepish as you scoff and try desperately to change the subject. “It was barely me. It was not even my first day. I just got off the plane, and no one told me or anything. I hate it, but it doesn’t really matter,” you say with a glance at him before busying yourself, circling the room for anything you can throw into your suitcase to avoid having to make eye contact with him again right away. “I’m sorry. You can ask them to take a new one if you want,” he offers hesitantly. “No. It’s fine. I don’t really care. No one really ever sees it,” you say before casting a glance in his general direction and adding, “Usually.” He sits up at the edge of the bed and reaches for your hand before pulling you in toward him as he straddles your legs and uses his strong hands on your waist to bring you closer to him. You’re suddenly glad you took a minute to brush your teeth as he looks up at you tenderly and reaches for your chin with one hand. You playfully scowl at him and push him back onto his back, causing him to grunt in surprise as you crawl up past him toward your pillow and flip onto your back before holding your arms out for him to come and lay on top of you again. “Kiss me,” you demand with a pout, “Since you won’t let me sleep. And you looked at my ugly picture.” You pretend to sniffle and give your best over-the-top lower lip quiver to drive the point home as he grunts and rolls over to return to his previous position of pinning you to the bed with his body.  

He wastes no time on witty banter but envelopes your lips in his in a passionate, fervent kiss and moan, which takes your breath away. You suck on his lips and caress his tongue as he works his arms beneath you. Your hips press against his as the explosion of arousal spreads through your groin like wildfire. You can feel his hardness beginning to agree with your body’s assessment of the situation; you are going to need to take care of this right now before you’re on the highway toward Anyang. 

Hongjoong moans into your mouth as he shifts to one elbow to pull his arm free of his shirt before thinking better of it and getting up to close and lock your bedroom door. You start to whimper until you see his intention, and you quickly squirm out of your pants and underwear before he hardly has a chance to turn back toward the bed. He smiles at you in impressed surprise as you look up at him, pupils dilated and cheeks rosy; now it’s your turn to grin sheepishly. But if there’s one thing you never want to have to apologize for, it’s your boundless lust for him. 

He quickly tosses his shirt aside with a devilish grin and moves to slip out of his pants while you free yourself from your hoodie and sports bra. Hongjoong is naked at almost exactly the same time you are, and he is back on top of you in full force as he returns his swollen lips to yours and kisses you as though you are his most cherished desire. You moan and whine desperately as you feel his hard cock flexing against your thighs; you spread your legs wide and see sparks behind your eyelids as he presses up against your clit with his unyielding erection. You reach down and grip his cock as he feels your movement and lifts his pelvis up to give you access. Your thumb slides over the velvety head and spreads the precum from the tip as you tenderly stroke the slit before pulling him down toward your wanton pussy. You pant as you tilt your hips up, and he follows your lead to press himself inside of you. 

You both gasp and pant as you feel the head of his impressive erection pop past your entrance. You’ve barely had time to be ready for him, and the slight burn of the friction against your unlubricated flesh makes you whine and squeeze your core around him in an effort to desensitize it. He moans into your shoulder before pausing there to kiss you deeply again and allow you time to adjust to the stretch of him; the passionate kiss is exactly what you need to remind your body of what you need to give him in order for this experience to be pleasant for the both of you. You pulse your muscles around him and feel him flexing back in response; you giggle slightly, and he smiles down at you fondly. He kisses you again tenderly as he very slowly begins sliding himself all the way out before pressing himself completely inside of you at an agonizingly, deliciously, tantalizingly slow pace. 

You shudder and gasp at the pleasure of this unexpected, measured approach and the thrills it sends up from your center as he continues to kiss you lovingly. Your entire body is twitching, and you are panting into his open mouth as he continues to powerfully stroke your inner walls with his thrusts despite the languid speed. You can feel his abs and biceps flexing with the effort required to maintain this level of superhuman restraint; you lick across his lips and bite at his jaw desperately as you whine to him, “Oh, fuck. Jjoongie, we don’t have all day. Oh, I need you. Fuck. You’re a god. I can’t. Oh. Jjoongie. Give it to me, please. Fuck.”  

He smiles down at you serenely, and it suddenly occurs to you that you really need to learn some dirty talk in Korean because none of this seems to be affecting his resolve. You can see the perspiration glistening across his forehead and beginning to moisten his hair as he tenderly kisses your chin and cheeks, while continuing his agonizingly slow demonstration of the difference between your willpower and his. You grit your teeth and whine helplessly as the ecstasy builds so slowly that it feels like it would disappear with the faintest breeze despite the intensity of the pleasure you know your orgasm will unleash when he finally lets you have it. You kiss him passionately again and squirm your hips to meet him, trying to get more stimulation and greatly enjoying the pleasure of the increased blood flow this effort raises in your muscles down there.  

He tuts at you and shakes his head, slowing to a stop as he looks down at you as though you are a terribly simple creature in need of his firm hand. “Hey,” he says, to ensure you look deep into his endless, soulful, dark eyes, “You can wait. Slow. I need this, okay?” He looks at you meaningfully, and you are suddenly under his spell. You would do anything for him now. “Yes. I will do whatever you need, Jjoongie. I’m sorry,” you say with a guilty look, but he kisses you on the nose and says, “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I promise you will get there. Okay?” You stare up at him, transfixed, and nod. He kisses you again deeply, and when his cock begins its agonizingly slow slide into you, you suddenly feel an incredible amount of wetness. His directing you and his belief in you, in combination with your desperate desire to please him, has caused you to release all of the wetness in your core. You can feel it sliding onto the sheet below you. Hongjoong feels it, too, because he groans through clenched teeth as he slowly drags his cock back almost all of the way out of you. You can only imagine how much more control this effort requires as you’ve created an absolutely sloppy, snug channel for him. The only thing holding him back is his own stubbornness.  

Now he is panting into your mouth, and you meet his desperate kisses with a whine as he finally, mercifully, begins to thrust ever so slightly quicker and harder. The electricity that shoots up from your core causes you to cry out at the intense pleasure, and before you realize it, your pussy is spasming hard around him as you gasp and practically scream at the waves of ecstasy radiating out from your heat.  

He holds you tight in his arms and presses his lips to yours, though not enough to stifle your cries, and he begins thrusting faster with your orgasm until he is pulsing hard into you and groaning against your mouth as his whole body shudders and then relaxes with a moan. You blink hard, trying to process, and smack your lips as you are now suddenly extremely thirsty. He chuckles as you look up at him in a stupor until you see the bead of sweat dripping down his beautiful jaw and quickly kiss it onto your lips in hopes that any moisture added to your tongue would be better than none. When the salty perspiration makes you feel even more thirsty, you whine and squeeze your pussy around him, causing him to cry out at the sensitivity of his softening cock. 

“Thirsty, Jjoongie,” you whine up at him, and he kisses your chin fondly. “I know. Me too,” he says sweetly, as he looks around for something to catch his cum when he withdraws, but seeing nothing, he looks helpless. “Wait. Here,” you hand him your sweats as you weren’t planning to take the pair you wore last night anyway. He gingerly presses them down between your legs and wraps them around his cock as he slides out of you, causing you to shiver and close your legs tightly on the fabric now pressed against your dripping slit. He smiles with satisfaction as you lay there, allowing the cool air to resurrect your nipples and tickle your glistening skin.  

He reaches down for his pants and boxers before turning back to you, “Do you want me to bring you some water?” he offers, and looks confused when you growl at him, “Soda,” before you add in a more grateful tone, “Please. Somebody woke me up too early, remember? I need caffeine.” He tuts without the slightest hint of regret or remorse and slips his shirt over his head before smoothing his sweaty hair back from his temples. “Anything for you,” he says, making your whole body shiver with his sudden, intense eye contact before he slips from the room and down the hall to the kitchen.  

You roll over with a grunt and try to reboot your addled brain. While you’d never complain about being woken up in this manner, you still have to get a plan in place for how you’re going to face this day. You suddenly wonder what time it actually is and what Hwa is up to because you need him to tell you what the typical expectations are for a sort of ‘meet the parents’ gig like this. In the past, meeting your significant other’s family was awkward enough without the language and cultural barriers. Maybe this could be better; maybe some of the weirdness of trying to be on your best behavior while also trying to set some realistic expectations for these people who you seriously hope will not sabotage your time with their son in the future.    

You grab your phone off the bedside table and quickly pull out the charger to throw it into your crochet/carry-on bag, as well as the charger for your earbuds. You see that it’s only seven thirty, and you sigh and rub your eyes as Hongjoong reenters with your soda. You grab your medication and swallow it down while he watches with big eyes; you realize that he’s never actually seen this part of your morning ritual. You chuckle self-consciously and turn back to your phone before catching yourself and saying a quick “Thank you, love,” to him as you see that Seonghwa has texted back about his plans for the day. 

His flight leaves at two o’clock, so you will hopefully have time to chat with him before breakfast. You wonder if he is up yet, so you turn to Hongjoong, who is now lying across the bottom of your bed, staring thoughtfully at your painting. You roll over toward him and stretch your knee across his ass and your arm across his waist as you look at it with him. He hums softly, “You have really good taste. It really is a very beautiful painting.” You nod and lean to kiss him tenderly on his temple, “Yes, it is. Thank you. And the note on the back is even more so.” He exhales and looks shy all of a sudden, so you quickly change the subject, “Do you know if Hwa is up yet?” He turns and kisses you on the nose and says, “Yep! I saw him in the kitchen. I think he’s making eggs with Wooyoung.” You laugh in amazement; suddenly, Wooyoung is cooking all the time. You could get used to this. Unless, of course, it means that someone will decide they don’t need you anymore. But you can’t even do the mental gymnastics required to try to trick yourself into believing that.  

“Are you hungry?” you ask Jjoongie, waiting for him to return from his internal world. He hums and shrugs; you know that he probably isn’t sure, so you simply ask, “Yogurt smoothie?” and when he smiles and nods, you roll back to find something suitable to wear to make a smoothie before you hit the shower and pack up all of your toiletries after you make yourself presentable for the day.  

You bring Hongjoong his smoothie and remind him that he, too, should probably pack a bag, and then you dash to the shower so that you can chat with Seonghwa when he’s done with breakfast. You’re desperate for some intel, and it’s hard to even think of what questions you need answered to feel reasonably prepared for all of what is to come. You would at least like to know what his parents will expect from you and how he is presenting your relationship to them. You also wonder how conservative either set of parents will be when it comes to arrangements, as you’re pretty nervous about being in unfamiliar places and sleeping alone. You hope that the traditional boundaries are more flexible than they appear in the K-dramas you’ve watched.  

After you’ve finished your shower, Hwa comes down to your room and starts to flop on your bed before pausing slightly and glancing nervously at the center of the covers. You chuckle sheepishly and ask if he’d rather go into his room, as you know what your bedroom probably smells like, and you certainly can’t guarantee that his instincts aren’t accurate about a potential wet spot on your bed. He nods graciously and turns on his heel.  You follow him and pinch at his butt as he walks ahead of you, causing him to squeak and jump to try to get away while you cackle like a lascivious old man as he swats your hands away. 

When you get into his room, he pauses to close the door behind you before pressing you up against it and kissing you passionately. You moan in surprise as his tongue pushes between your lips, and his hands slide up to squeeze and grope your breasts firmly. He ruts up against your thigh as his tongue probes your mouth desperately, and you whine at this unexpected fervor from him. “What,” you stammer, “Where is all this coming from?” You press back from him to pant quietly as he slides his hands up inside your shirt and works to disconnect the hook and eye closures on your bra.  

When he succeeds, you moan as you feel your slightly engorged breasts drop down out of the confines of the underwire as he massages and squeezes them in his strong hands. He hasn’t answered your question, and when you gaze at his eyes, his pupils have taken over; his black eyes are hooded with desire, and a slight shimmer of perspiration is already visible on his forehead. He slides your shirt up and leans down to take your nipple in his mouth. You cry out as he sucks on it hard and pulls back to where you can see he holds it lightly between his teeth as he swirls his tongue side to side across it. His other hand squeezes and massages the other breast and nipple as you feel your knees give way ever so slightly. Seonghwa senses this shudder and wraps his free hand around your back to turn you toward the bed, but he refuses to relinquish your other breast from his mouth.  

He walks you backward with his legs guiding yours, and when you feel the back of his bed hit your knees, you allow him to lay you down there. As soon as he has you on your back, he switches to hold your other breast in his teeth as his free hand reaches down to press and rub on your clit through your pants. You shudder and whine at the rough but pleasurable sensation, and as he pulls back to stretch your nipple before releasing it from his teeth, you whimper in confusion as you are still not sure what has gotten into him this morning. He ruts hard against your leg, and the unyielding hardness of his erection is painfully splitting the muscle over your femur. When you cry out in pain, Seonghwa suddenly seems to return to himself, and he pulls back with a guilty look as he attempts to figure out how he may have hurt you. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him before asking, “What’s gotten you all hot and bothered?” as you reach up to press a strand of silver hair behind his ear. He looks away as though ashamed. “Hwa? It’s okay. I’m okay. Come here,” you pull him down by his neck to return his kiss and attempt to press your love and acceptance into him through this connection. As you lick playfully across his full lips and hum, you smile up at him, “So, were you thinking sexy thoughts or what?” You kiss his lower lip and wait for him to help you understand if he can. “I just,” he stammers, “I was going to come see you this morning to talk about the visit, and I heard you and Hongjoong through the door. I didn’t mean to, but it made me want to be with you so badly. I don’t know why, really. Then, when I came into your room, it was the smell of the two of you. It made me like an animal; I didn’t want to talk or think,” he looks down, and you arch your back beneath him and groan, “That sounds amazing, Hwa.” He looks at you in surprise, so you continue, “You should do that,” you whisper before biting his lower lip a little harder than you ever have before and pulling it back slightly as you moan, “Take me apart.” You glance directly into his eyes as you see his pupils are eclipsing his irises, and he lets out a feral groan as he begins tearing at your clothes so you pull his shirt off and allow him to remove yours before sliding your ass over to the edge of the bed as he removes your pants.   

He looks down with his black eyes at your slit, still lightly swollen from making love to Hongjoong an hour ago, and he growls as he pumps his cock in his fist a few times before stepping up to your parted legs and slamming himself inside you so hard that it causes you to slide back on the bed. He holds himself buried deep in your core and kisses you hard. You swear you’ve bitten your lip or his, as you can lightly taste blood as he moans and licks at your mouth. He stands back up and grabs your hips to pull you back to the edge of the bed before holding your legs straight up with your ankles at his shoulders and driving his cock home while holding you firmly in place with his elbow wrapping around your knees. You see stars as he pummels into you, and every thrust sends air from your lungs in a whimper of pleasure. His face is contorted into a determined, lustful look, and his eyes appear almost vacant as they scan you, only half open. He groans and pounds into you repeatedly, and this ferocity is something brand new from him. He doesn’t appear to be close to reaching his climax; in fact, his determination seems counter to that. He is seeking some sort of reaction from you as you whimper and try to pull your ass away from him to slightly lessen the intensity of his blows. 

He senses you trying to get away, and rather than allowing you to retreat or checking in to make sure you are okay, he leans forward to drop your legs over his shoulders. Your knees are now next to his ears as he curls you back into yourself. You hiss air through your teeth as this has the opposite effect of the relief you were seeking, and you are now whining and gasping as he pounds you as hard as he can. You are crying out with each thrust, and your entire core is on fire with the intensity. Since you didn’t have any lube, the only moisture present was whatever your body could produce on short notice and Hongjoong’s cum still inside you. 

Seonghwa has been pounding you now for so long that it is becoming sticky; the friction is irritating and arousing all at the same time. You wonder what it feels like for him as he shows no sign of cumming or giving up. You feel a single tear trickle down your face as he rocks you so hard, and the slapping of your skin is only slightly louder than the protests of the bed frame and the involuntary cries issuing from you as each thrust empties the air from your lungs. Your legs are beginning to shudder violently at the overstimulation and the intensity, as they have been up in the air for longer than is typically comfortable, even when you’re not being destroyed by a desperate cock.  

He suddenly reaches his hand down and grips your nipple with his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger before squeezing it hard and looking deep into your eyes with a look that would make the demon line run crying in fear as he grits his teeth and somehow kicks into a higher gear. The explosion that rocks you has you screaming and crying, despite knowing you should at least try to be quiet, but you feel like you are coming apart at the seams. You feel him shuddering and hear him yell out fiercely as your whole body locks up and burning ecstasy rips through every cell. You are gasping and panting desperately as he slowly lowers your legs to the bed, pressing them back toward you rather than letting you lower them to the floor. You gratefully relax into this pose as he leans gently over you and kisses your mouth tenderly.  

You whine into his kisses, confused, sore, and utterly wrecked, and when you look up at him, you see tears streaming down his cheeks. You frown at him as you don’t understand why he looks so conflicted; you gave him permission to do as he pleased, but you suspect a deeper need has somehow gone unmet. He gently wipes the tears from your eyes, and you realize you cried more than you thought. You chuckle awkwardly at this, and he avoids your gaze, looking around for something to clean you both up with before he withdraws his flaccid cock from inside you.  

You grab his wrist, “Hwa? What’s wrong, dear one?” He stops moving but does not look at you, and your voice begins to waver as you are beginning to panic, “Please look at me, Hwa. What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong? Was that not what you wanted?” He shudders and finally looks at you, though it appears to cause him pain, and he shakes his head. You wait him out because you’ve posed the questions you need answered. He finally takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before looking into your eyes again a little less reluctantly, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what that was,” his voice is tremulous, and his eyes are veiled in tears. “What did you do wrong? I don’t understand,” you ask; your eyes, too, are now blurry with emotion. He shakes and says, “I hurt you. I am so sorry. I should not have done that. I’m so ashamed.” You grab his chin as he attempts to look away again, “Hwa?” you ask, waiting for him to fully connect with you before you continue, “Were you angry with me? Did you hurt me because you were mad?” He stares back at you, unmoving, and your heart nearly stops with fear before he finally says quietly, “I don’t know. I wasn’t mad at you. Not really. But I,” he hesitates so you hold your eyes on him, “I was just angry. Not with thoughts, like it was in my blood.” You bite your lip a little and try to focus because what he’s saying makes total sense. 

It’s also hot as hell.  

“Hwa?” he shakes and can’t look at you now, “You were feeling mad but not at me? You felt it in your body but not with words?” He nods at this and looks down at your navel. “Dear one, that was hot as fuck.” He looks up at you in complete surprise. “You were amazing; yes, it hurt a bit, but it doesn’t hurt now. Sometimes that happens, and it’s okay. It’s great even, once in a while. I think we all need that. Holy shit,” you chuckle and rub the sweat off of your own forehead, realizing you probably need another shower. He stares at you now, genuinely confused at how wrong his perception was. “I’m okay, dear one. I loved it. That was fucking amazing.” You hold his gaze and dare him to look away as he searches your face for any sign of untruth.  

He shudders, and you slide back up onto his pillows and hold your arms open for him, patting your chest to indicate that you want to hold him as he lays his head on your bosom. “Squishmallow,” you say with a soft smile to break his hesitation and relax his conflicted mind. You grab his hand and press it to your supple stomach. He smiles tenderly now and repeats, “Squishmallow,” as he lays down and wraps his arms around you before resting his darling head on your large breasts. 

You stroke his hair back from his ears and massage the back of his scalp as you hum softly to yourself, and his breath catches as you suddenly feel moisture beneath his face. He is softly crying against your chest, which is the opposite of your intention and has you quite confused now. You lean back to try to look at his face, and he tilts his chin to look up at you when he feels your shift. He has tears streaming down his face, and his look shatters your heart. “Hwa? What is it?” you ask in a tiny voice as you look at him in concern. He sighs heavily before propping himself up on his elbow, and suddenly, his face is well above yours due to the length of his arms. 

He gazes down at you and smiles with a look of regret. He doesn’t move to wipe his tears, but it doesn’t look as though any more are coming from his large, round eyes. He sighs, “I am just worried, you know?” You stare at him, somewhat dumbfounded, as the number of worries in your life have mercifully dwindled and now involve stupid shit like what to wear for pajamas at your lover’s parents’ house. You hold his gaze and shake your head a little to indicate that you’re not sure what he means. He shifts and looks away awkwardly, “I miss you already, and now I’m worried you will really leave me alone because you are so in love with him.” He shivers, and you suck in a breath.  

“Hwa, you are my dearest best friend, and I love you more than words can say. You are like water to me, and he is like air. I don’t know that I would ever want to live without either of you. But why do you think I would leave you alone?” You look into his eyes and hope that he can feel your sincerity. You don’t want to make any additional promises until you know where this is coming from. He sighs and pushes his snowy hair back from his face, “I just know how it is with him. I know how he comes and goes. I love you, and I don’t want to be alone again because I will miss you even more than I missed him.” He pauses nervously before continuing, “It would break me.” A fresh run of crystalline tears streams down his pristine cheeks, and you cry out in protest as though you can will them away from his beautiful boba eyes by protesting their trespass there. 

“Oh, Dear One, I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to be without you, ever. You complete me. I don’t think I ever want to let him take me from you. I thought what works best is that you and I have each other when he is, well, when he is being him.” You chuckle lightly at this, and he smiles knowingly through his tears. “You are my favorite and my best. I can’t promise what the future holds, but I can tell you that if he were to tell me to choose between you or him, I think he would be very surprised at my decision. I will not leave you alone, Hwa. Unless you tell me to,” you say with a nervous look. He clucks his tongue at you and presses a wisp of hair off your forehead before kissing it. You decide to fully show him your whole heart. 

“Hwa, do you remember how we talked about chemistry and logic?” he nods at you, unsure where you are going with this. “You know he is my chemistry match, and I also know that those types of matches have never worked out well for me in the past, so I’m always afraid. You remember how I said that I know my logic matches are a better choice?” he nods, watching you closely. “You are my logic match, Hwa. I love you so much, and I know how much you love me. You take care of me like no one else does, and we always have so much fun together. I know that you would never hurt me or be embarrassed by me. I want you to always be happy and fulfilled, and I will never hurt you on purpose. I can’t ask you to be there for me always, but I’ve decided that I will be here for you and with you for as long as you want to be around me.” You are sniffling now, and he tuts softly and looks at you with sweet, compassionate tears.  

“You would want me around, even if you already have the chemistry match?” He says, and you whimper at the tremble in his velvety, deep voice. “Yes, Dear One. I’ve decided that I’m not just me. I’m a package deal. You and me. If he wants me, he will have to understand that you are part of me. It’s very simple, really.” You stick out your chin in faux confidence, hoping that your sheer audacity would win the day if you ever were forced to say this aloud to Hongjoong.  

He’d have every right to laugh right in your damn face.  

But you’re selfishly hoping you’ll never have to lay those cards out on the table because the way things have been has been perfectly lovely, and you never want it to change. You realize that maybe that is your perspective, and Hwa has been more than generous in supporting you and Hongjoong as you navigate your own emotional weirdness. You realize with a twinge of shame that you may have given Seonghwa the impression that everything was all about you and Hongjoong. He may have felt that his value was in his ability to help you translate your shared emotional idiosyncrasies, and he didn’t know you love and value him just for being himself.  

You pull him back to you for a tender kiss and hold him tightly in your arms as you feel his body relax into the deep sense of belonging you want so desperately to convey to him. You decide it is probably best to approach the conversation with everything you need to know about meeting the parents from his parents and work your way back toward Hongjoong’s in order to try to equalize the focus and prevent him from feeling so jealous in the future. You will definitely have to try to be more intentional about that moving forward.  

“Hwa?” you ask softly as you gently skim the surface of his skin with your fingertips, leaving a trail of goosebumps in your wake. “Hmm?” he looks up at you without fully lifting his head. “What are your parents like? How will I please them?” He tuts and leans back up on his elbow to look at your face. When he looks unsure of where to start, you add, “How are you introducing me to them? What will they think of me?” At this, he licks his lips thoughtfully before saying, “I am not sure. I have said that you are a friend, a woman, and you work for KQ as our caretaker. I did not give them a lot of details, as I kind of wanted them to make their own conclusions. Honestly, I think they will be very excited that I have a close woman friend, and maybe they will think you are my girlfriend, but I will not say that specifically because they don’t know about the agreement.” You nod slightly, though you suppose it doesn’t necessarily matter if you are considered a girlfriend or not. “Hwa? Where will I sleep? Are your parents terribly conservative? I’m just nervous.” He chuckles lightly at this and gently kisses your cheek, “I have asked that they put us in my old bedroom. I will have a mat on the floor, and you will have my bed. I think, still, that they will be so happy I am bringing a girl home that they won’t be so restrictive as they would be when I was younger.” You sigh with relief as you will be able to stay close to Hwa, which was what you were concerned about—even more so after his jealousy this morning. 

“What do I need to do to be respectful? How will I make them like me?” you ask, your eyes large and vulnerable. He tuts at you and smiles gently, “They will love you because I do. But I think we can think of a few nice things for you to do. My mom may want to cook with you when she finds out you love to cook Korean food. It would probably be nice to bring her some pretty fruits and maybe some wine. We can stop on the way from the airport when I pick you up so that you don’t have to bring anything on the plane.” You smile and kiss his cheek, “Okay, that would be nice. I like that. Do I need to know any other things, like, um,” you nervously bite at the edge of your fingernail, “Like, is there a special bow or anything I need to know? I haven’t really ever asked anyone if I’m doing any of that correctly, though no one has said anything to me about it.” He chuckles, “Most people would tell you eventually, but it is not necessary to be too formal with my mother. My father will appreciate it if you give a decent bow.” When you look at him nervously, he laughs and says, “Watch me, and then show me.” He stands up and demonstrates a simple, clean thirty-degree bow, and you cover your mouth to hide your giggle at the fact that he is very, very naked.  

He hears your snicker and looks down sheepishly before rolling his eyes and pulling you up by your hand, “Show me. You try.” You do your best and smother your giggles again at your own nakedness. He gently places a hand on the small of your back and guides you, “Again.” With his hands placing gentle pressure and telling you when to stop bending, you are able to master it in just a few tries. You playfully lean against him and rub your hand over his cock before he turns you back toward the bed and steers you away from getting him riled up again in any sense.  

“Okay, so we will get them some delicious presents, and then I will bow and try to be very, very good. Is there anything else?” You ask, with your eyes huge and your cheeks puffed out as he smiles down lovingly at you. “I think they will be happy.” He concludes and taps your nose with the tip of his finger. You deflate your cheeks and curl your lips into a silly smile, “Anything different for Hongjoong’s parents? Or is it the same?” You try to keep your anxiety on the inside at the mention of Jjoongie, just in case, but Hwa seems placated for now. He appears to consider the question thoughtfully, “I think it will be the same for his parents. Ask him what gift to get for them, and you’ll have to stop on the way anyway since there isn’t enough time.” He suddenly thinks of something and adds, “I think both of our mother and father will be very happy that we are presenting a woman to them. Because of the rumors, you know?” He scoffs lightly, though it’s no secret that you are the first woman for either of them since debut, so the rumors aren’t exactly unfounded.  

You smile and squeeze yourself into the crook of his arm, and he reflexively wraps you snugly in his long, delicate embrace. You moan happily against his collarbone and decide to steal just a few more minutes of comfort with your dear Hwa before it is time for him to get to the airport and you to load the car with Jjoongie. A whirl of excitement spins your stomach, and you hold onto Hwa for dear life as you wait out the clock. 

Chapter Text

After you and Seonghwa have had some time to just hold each other and enjoy the reassuring contact of your naked skin, he shifts slightly to reach for his phone on the bedside table. You lift yourself up off of his chest to make it easier for him and sit back to watch as he looks up at you with a smile of resolute acceptance. He starts to shift toward the edge of the bed. “Is it time for you to go, Hwa?” you ask nervously, as you don’t love the idea of being away from him for forty-eight hours after he showed so much intense jealousy. On top of that, you’ll be alone with Hongjoong, so that can’t be helpful to his envious mind. You give Hwa your best reassuring pout and wait for him to respond. 

He focuses on the floor as he tries to locate the clothing he stripped off in a fit of lust, and you want to make sure he heard you, as he suddenly seems so far away, “Hwa? Is it time to go?” He stops and looks up as though he forgot you’d be sitting there with nothing to do but watch him, “Oh. Yeah. The car will be here in ten minutes. I just got the message.” You shiver at the news as much as from the cool air on your bare skin in the absence of the protection of Hwa’s warm embrace. You slip silently off of the bed and tiptoe over to where he is putting his clothes back on with a palpable lack of enthusiasm.  

You gently reach out and place your hand on his forearm as he is about to put his shirt back over his head. He pauses to look at you as you push his shirt away and slip yourself into his arms, pressing your face against his taut chest and clinging to his waist like he is a life preserver. He tuts, and you sigh happily before shimmying against him and looking up into the vast, starry sky that he holds in his eyes. “I love you so much, Dear One,” you whisper before squeezing him again to add, “I will never, ever let you go. Never. Ever.” His amused laugh is a welcome sound because it means that he is feeling confident about his value in your life; he kisses the top of your head and wraps his long arms around you to squeeze you back before saying, “You have to let me go for a little bit. Then I will have you all to myself. I am very excited to show you my home. I have a surprise that I think you will really love.” He looks down at you tenderly, and when you look up to meet his eye, he leans down and leaves your lips tingling with the softest, gentlest kiss from his perfect, full lips. 

You hum happily and squirm before pulling back from him and squeaking out, “I guess you’d better get going then! I’m so looking forward to our time together, Hwa.” He glances at you as he’s already resumed dressing and gathering last-minute items to pack. You wait until he appears mostly put back together and add, “Dear One? If you need to, you can always message me. Any time. Day or night. Okay? I want you to if you need me. Remember what our captain said: you are supposed to communicate, so I’m sure that means with me, too, okay?” You look at him with adoring, if not slightly pleading, eyes because you don’t want to mention Hongjoong again, but you also know the elephant in the room would be if Hwa messages you in the middle of the night when you are with Jjoongie and whether or not Hongjoong might have some things to say about it. Again, you’re probably overestimating your power, but it’s a bluff worth making if it reassures your big star.  

He tuts and kisses your forehead as he works his way toward the door before pausing to look you up and down and chuckle, “Are you going like that?” You suddenly realize you’re still stark-ass naked because you’ve been so focused on Hwa’s needs that you forgot to get your own clothing back on. You cover your mouth and giggle wildly as you look around for your clothes. He sets his case down by the door and tuts again, with fond annoyance, as he starts to help you find your clothing. Hwa gently helps you put your bra back on and caresses your breasts as he reaches around to fasten the hook and eye closures with surprisingly deft fingers. He slips your shirt over your head and kisses you deeply when your face emerges. You whimper and whine into his mouth as your body comes alive again with his kiss and the sensation of your shirt barely touching your skin as he drops it over your belly. He smiles knowingly and glides away from you to locate your socks and panties. He slips your panties up over your round ass and hips and only lingers there a moment to allow his fingers to glide under the elastic that rests at the top of your thighs under your voluptuous ass.  

Hwa gently holds your hips and guides you to sit on the edge of his bed as he carefully puts your socks back on. You watch with fascination as no one has put socks on you since you were very little; as you began to outgrow the need for such assistance, you always felt like a princess because it felt like the royal treatment to be assisted with something you no longer needed help with. You fondly run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and massage lightly across his hairline. He kisses both of your knees before slipping your pants up your legs and holding his hands out for you to allow him to raise you to stand beside his bed as he pulls them up the rest of the way.

You kiss him gratefully before shooing him away to fasten your pants yourself and save him the awkward experience of what it’s like to attempt to button snug pants. He’s probably never had the discomfort of trying to wrangle a doughy, muffin-top belly into a tight waistband. He nods and looks around his room once more for any other items—yours or his—to gather up before opening his door. Hwa glances at your hair and grimaces slightly before reaching out to try to put some of it back into place. You slide under his arm and hug him, “It’s okay, Hwa. I’ll fix it in the bathroom.” He tuts and says ruefully, “Sorry,” before he appears to think of more than just your hair and feels the need to really apologize.  

He pulls back to look deep into your eyes and kisses between your eyebrows before he says, “I am so sorry, little star. Thank you for loving me anyway.” He wraps you in a meaningful embrace as you sigh happily, “Always Hwa. I love you so much. Thank you for loving me, too.” He grunts as though considering countering your assertion that you may also be difficult to love at times. Still, he realizes it’s not an argument worth having in the three or so minutes remaining until he is whisked away from you for the next forty-eight hours. 

You hold onto him until there is an increase in noise coming down the hallway, and Hwa pulls back to kiss you one more time, slipping his tongue into your mouth long enough to leave you with fireworks in your belly and stars behind your eyes before the inevitable knock at his door, and Yeosang’s voice calls out something in Hangul as Seonghwa whips the door open and startles him. You giggle at Yeosang’s surprised face, and he tuts at you with wide eyes and pursed lips, causing you to giggle even more until Yeosang points to your hair with a nod to tell you you’d better go do something about that. You laugh as your cheeks redden, and you pinch Hwa’s butt as he heads out the door. “Message me when you get there safely, okay? Or whenever you want, too. Be safe! Have fun!” He turns and blows you a kiss before disappearing down the hall. Yeosang tuts at you again, and you roll your eyes as you turn to dash toward the bathroom and survey the wreckage of your hair before anyone else registers an opinion on your just-been-fucked look.  

You pretty much have to disassemble and recreate your style as it has been thoroughly destroyed by Hwa rolling you up into a ball against his mattress and pounding you. When you’ve reapplied sufficient hairspray to fight your hair into submission, you glance around to make sure you have all of your basic toiletries and head back to your room to triple-check your suitcase. You throw your earbuds in to avoid any unnecessary thinking as ‘Outro: Liberty’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. You’re sliding around your room and trying not to throw in every odd and end that you think you might want if you become bored, and you suddenly feel two strong hands on your sides, which stops you in your tracks. You pull ‘Dreamy Day’ out of your ears and raise your arms, which slims your waistline and allows you to spin around to face whoever is holding you. 

You’re face-to-face with a beaming Hongjoong who kisses your nose as soon as you complete your pirouette, and you kiss his chin in response. “Are you ready to go?” He asks as he glances over your shoulder to see your open suitcase on the bed. “I think so?” you say with an obvious lack of confidence. “Do I need anything special? Just regular clothes and stuff, right?” He takes a step to look more closely at the items in your bag, “Yeah. That looks good. Do you have your bucket hat?” Your loud groan of disgust is interrupted by his sudden burst of impish laughter, “I’m joking. Okay? Naui Haneul, it’s a joke.” He grabs you around your waist and sways your hips with his as he smiles at your relieved face. “But it would probably be good for you to have a hat that you like for sometimes going out. Yeah?” You nod, wondering when and where you’d ever find a hat you’d be willing to use as they all squash your signature hairstyle mercilessly.  

He tuts and turns to help you close your suitcase as you gather up your carry-on bag and jacket. “We will stop on the way to get some fresh fruit for my mom and dad. They love that. We have more at the markets here than they do.” He hefts your suitcase and nods, impressed at the weight. “Really? Isn’t Anyang a big city?” you ask, surprised that there would be any noticeable difference in produce availability between Seoul and Anyang. He shakes his head and explains, “No. I mean, it is, but they aren’t in the city anymore. I grew up in the city, but there were fewer people then. When I debuted, the city was more crowded, and when I went home to visit, it caused problems with my parents’ privacy. After a few bad security concerns, I asked them to move to a safer area by buying a house for them in the country.” You stare at him, surprised and in awe of this wonderful, thoughtful man. He continues, “My parents did not like the idea of me buying them a house, so they made me promise to accept rent payments and to keep the house in my ownership so that it would be mine always.” He looks down shyly and laughs, “They also made me promise to move back there if I have a family or if I ever need to.”  

You unconsciously suck in a sharp breath, causing him to look up and clarify, “No. I know. Don’t worry about that. It was just something they said. It’s what parents do say, right?” He searches your face for signs of the universal experience of parental harassment. “Yeah,” you say quietly, “They do say things like that a lot. My mom stopped after my surgery, though.” He looks at you, pained, as he gently asks, “Are you okay with that? Or did you think you wanted to have kids?” You shrug so swiftly it causes him to jump as you say honestly, “I don’t know. I didn’t really have it planned one way or the other. I mean, I love babies, but I barely have my own life together, so I don’t think I’d have any business doing that any time soon.” He kisses your forehead and chuckles, “Well, it’s not something I am thinking about either for a long time, obviously, so then let’s not worry. Okay?” Your brow furrows as you look at him in confusion; you were certainly not the one thinking about it, and you didn’t want to talk about it, either. 

“Okay, so your parents live outside of the city, and we’re going to get some fruit on the way. How long is the drive?” you say, inching toward the door and anxious to get on the road. He steps back to let you lead the way as he follows with your suitcase, “It takes about an hour to drive if the traffic is bad. That is typical. And the market is on the way, so we will have to find parking. It will take another hour, probably.” You nod and turn to smile broadly at him as your excitement is finally eclipsing your nervousness the closer you get to being on your way. He beams at you, surprised and delighted by your sudden enthusiasm. You squeak and begin to walk more quickly.  

When the two of you reach the elevator, you pat yourself down for verification that you have your passport, KQ ID badge, phone, earbuds, and any other relevant things that could ruin your life if you forget them. You suddenly rip your suitcase out of Hongjoong’s surprised hands to make sure your meds are in there; when you see them there in the side pocket, you sigh in relief and push the handle back into his hand apologetically. You suddenly realize that he doesn’t have anything with him at all. He sees your confusion and laughs, “I already put my bags in the car. I’m ready!” He says proudly, causing you to laugh and grab him in a huge hug. You press a dozen pecks to his lips, and each one lingers a little longer until he wraps his surprised arms around you and holds you close. He moans against your lips and presses his tongue into your mouth as you see flashes behind your eyelids and meet his passionate kisses with equal measure.  

He finally pulls back with a regretful moan, “We need to go, or traffic will be really bad. I think there will be time for kissing later, though.” You look at him with a confused pout, “You think so? There better be time for kisses later! I’m not going to have you for two days with no kisses!” You cross your arms in defiance as he enjoys your performance, “Oh? You won’t go? I think you will, Naui Haneul.” He makes to tickle your ribs, and you uncross your arms to press your palms against his pecs to get some distance between your sensitive ribcage and his relentless fingertips.  

“Okay! I will go. But no kisses will make me sad,” you pout and press your fat lower lip toward his mouth, where he sucks it in between his lips obligingly, “Okay. I will maybe kiss you. I will try,” he adds, laughing as you whine and turn away from him to take out your aggression on the elevator button. The two of you head down to the garage level in relative silence, only looking at each other with the moony faces of new lovers heading off on their first adventure together. Your heart is full-to-bursting, and your mind can’t even run the “worst-case scenario” routine because he is looking at you with that damned gorgeous face of his.  

When your bags are safely stowed in the back of his car, he opens your door and waits for you to slide into the passenger seat before shutting your door and making his way to the driver’s side. You inhale deeply at the contrast between the unfamiliar scent of the leather seats and the familiar lingering scent of him there in his car. He gets in and shuts his door, tosses his phone onto the charger base, and presses the ignition switch to start the engine.  

Hongjoong quickly turns down the volume on the stereo before asking if there’s anything you want to listen to. You shake your head vigorously and simply say, “I want to listen to whatever inspires you lately. I don’t even know what’s good anymore. Show me.” He tuts as if he doesn’t fully believe you, but he can’t resist a chance to yap about the songs he’s been listening to that he likes. He appears to put an address in his GPS, if you can guess by the map on his dashboard. He turns the stereo back up, and a completely unfamiliar song starts playing as he pulls out of the parking garage. 

He navigates toward the freeway and merges while you watch in wonder at the lights of the city gliding by as Seoul begins the transition from day to evening. Once he has successfully merged and set his speed, he reaches out across the console to hold your hand. He gives you a quick, satisfied smile as you place your hand in his. Jjoongie sighs happily as he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. You are suddenly less mesmerized by the scenery than by his perfect profile, the slight blush in his cheeks, and the twinkle in his eyes. He casually but diligently scans the road as the two of you make your way toward Anyang.  

Hongjoong merges onto a freeway that is perpendicular to the one you’d previously been traveling. As you make your way toward his parents’ home, you see the little icon on the rearview mirror appears to note “South.” The scenery alongside transitions from busy cityscapes to natural hills and trees, with fewer signs of human habitation, though you’re not completely sure, as the streetlights that line the freeway blind you to what lies beyond in the darkness, as the sun has now nearly set.  

When he begins to take an exit from the freeway, Hongjoong explains that there is a nice grocery store before you reach the little farming community neighborhood where his parents reside. There are small market grocery stores there, as he explains, but you will have better options in the larger store. You nod and squeeze his hand before suddenly worrying about being in a grocery store in public with him. He seems to sense your trepidation or perhaps the excessive amount of perspiration now present on your shaking palm. He asks you to open the glove box as he pulls into a parking spot at a large supermarket. You comply and find several masks and a floppy hat, which he starts to hold out to you before laughing sadistically and putting it on himself while you fight the urge to punch him in the arm. Once sufficiently masked, the two of you make your way into the store to locate some appropriate gifts for his parents.  

You carefully watch the other people around you in the store and note that couples, if that is what they are, appear to walk without excessive physical contact with one another, so you simply walk beside Hongjoong and allow the occasional bump of your shoulders together to satisfy your need for physical connection in combination with your need for reassurance and safety that you will not be spotted or photographed. He explained that most Koreans and professionals would recognize that you are not a national or a celebrity, so it would be inappropriate to print or publicize photographs of you, even with him. But it doesn’t feel completely safe considering there are plenty of non-professional unstable folx with access to the internet, so you’re not about to push your luck.  

You exclaim in excitement when you see multiple varieties of grapes available, causing him to laugh softly. You quickly scoop up some of each into your bags before looking around for other options. When you note the strawberries and Korean pears, you select several pears and a carton of strawberries. Hongjoong nods approvingly before you scrunch up your face curiously and ask, “Dessert?” He laughs again and says, “No wonder my mom likes you so much.” You stare at him, frozen in your tracks, “Really?” He stops and turns back, not having predicted that his offhand comment would be such a revelation to you. “Yeah! Of course,” he adds, looking at you curiously. You are grateful for the mask covering your dumbfounded expression as you close your mouth and mutter, “Oh. Okay. Well, that’s good.”  

You wander a bit before selecting some nice-looking croissant pastries and some ice cream that reminds you of Neopolitan flavor, with strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla. The last thing you get is a high-cacao content chocolate bar that you plan to shred over the croissants once you’ve toasted them lightly and then top them with sliced fruit and a small amount of ice cream, like a gourmet ice cream sandwich. You take all of the items up to the clerk, and Hongjoong appears to be preparing to pay, so you stop him and say, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one getting the gifts?” He starts to protest, but the clerk clears her throat as she sees you getting out your wallet, and he shrugs begrudgingly and puts his back into his coat. You pay, and the clerk smiles at you with a wink as you collect your offerings.  

Hongjoong navigates back onto the freeway, and you are practically pressing your nose to the glass like a puppy as you stare out the windows, trying to guess how much farther you have to go. He chuckles at you as you gasp excitedly when he finally turns off the freeway again. He heads through a much more relaxed suburban area with a few shops and buildings interspersed with large greenhouses and what you assume are agricultural fields if you can guess accurately by the gaps in the darkness.  

You head over a tiny concrete bridge toward more areas dotted with what appear to be houses and fields, as well as a couple of larger, multi-story buildings. You growl impetuously at the large, ugly buildings, and Hongjoong laughs at you. You can’t help yourself, “What? They’re ruining it!” you exclaim. He tuts and agrees, “I know, but everywhere is getting bigger. The first house we looked into buying, which I really liked, ended up having a museum of animation built right next door! Can you imagine!?” “That’s not fair,” you say disgusted. You head around some lovely curving roads; one side is lined by houses, and the other side is a tall hill with trees and piles of last summer’s leaves carpeting the ground beneath them. He pulls to the side with the trees and parks behind a couple of cars just before a three-way intersection, if you can judge from what you can see in the light from the streetlight. 

He jumps out and pops the hatch while jogging around to open your door and helps you get out onto the uneven, grassy sidewalk in the dark. You pretend to stumble, and he catches you instinctively before realizing he fell for your ruse; he shuts your door and presses you onto the car with the arm he swept behind you to stop your pretend fall. Now, he thrusts his pelvis against your heat and kisses you passionately. You moan wantonly and grind back against him before the chill of the car’s metal door starts to seep through your pants, and you’re reminded of where you are. You whine and laugh, pulling back with some difficulty as he’s got you pressed flat against his car.  

Hongjoong laughs and wipes his mouth with his thumb as you admonish him, “You’re causing the ice cream to melt!” He reaches for your hand and pulls you toward the tailgate, where you can both grab some of your luggage. He swiftly closes it and tells you he’ll come back for the rest after getting you inside. You stare around at the relatively dark neighborhood and toward a nearby house, with light filtering through the sparkling beveled glass in the front door that he appears to be leading you toward. He presses a code into a small node on the gate of what appeared to be only a decorative fence, and you now realize there are probably more dedicated security features cleverly built into the property.  

He leads you up a short walkway toward the front door and barely knocks before you see movement through the pretty glass accent in the center of the door, and it swings open out of his reach. You see his mother there, beaming at the two of you and exclaiming something back over her shoulder into the warmly lit, delicious-smelling house beyond. A few clunking noises, the scrape, perhaps, of a chair leg across the wood floor, and a shuffle of papers precedes his father coming around the corner to greet his son and whatever the hell they’re calling you. 

Hongjoong expertly slides the bags to the side of the door and embraces his mother before unnecessarily turning and introducing you. She squeals as you suddenly aren’t sure how to greet her with your arms loaded with a couple of grocery bags, the faint idea that you should probably bow but aren’t sure how when you have things in your hands, and the fact that she appears to be looking to hug you somehow. The only thing saving you from evaporating into a cloud of nervous energy is her joyful expression and incessant chatter that is only interrupted by laughter between herself and Hongjoong, who is also beaming at you. 

Neither of them seems concerned at your hesitation or deer-in-the-headlights look, as you smile and nod awkwardly before leaning into her arms as she attempts to hug you but ends up patting the sides of your arms instead, and it causes her to look down to see how full your hands are. She exclaims at Hongjoong and swats at him without connecting before reaching out to ask you to hand her your bags so that she may assist. You cast a nervous look at Hongjoong, who says something to her in Korean, and she tuts and clears her throat before taking the bags. She smiles widely as she turns to take them into the kitchen. 

Hongjoong leans over to whisper that his mom says, “You did not have to bring her anything,” but that she is clearly very pleased, so you did well. His father is waiting patiently for his wife’s exuberance to recede to a level where he can come and greet the two of you properly. You easily bow, as Seonghwa showed you, when you hear Hongjoong say "아버지 (abeoji)” which you know means “father.” You see out of the corner of your eye that Hongjoong has made a nearly identically timed gesture, and his father raises an eyebrow, impressed, before coming to clasp your hands between his in a welcoming handshake and then turning to hug his son heartily. Hongjoong laughs as the air wheezes out of his lungs; he is clearly taken by surprise as his father hugs him tightly. You will have to remember to ask him if he thinks that his parents are as excited as Seonghwa figured his would be at the prospect of a female “lady friend” coming home with their sons.  

His father turns to escort you both toward the brightly lit and welcoming kitchen, where his mother fusses with multiple bowls of banchan and something she has simmering on the stovetop while she appears to be searching for a place in the freezer to put the ice cream. Hongjoong’s father discusses beverage options with Hongjoong, and Hongjoong turns to bring some glasses and soju over to the counter to serve his father and you. You turn to him and offer to pour his glass, which he accepts nonchalantly. You wonder if he knows just how difficult it has been for you to learn all of these subtle yet important rules that govern every aspect of Korean social interactions. You wait for his father to drink, then Jjoongie, and then you drain as much of your glass as you think is socially acceptable in hopes it will calm your nerves before dinner. You jump up when his mother turns, and you grab the soju bottle to offer to pour her a drink as well, which she graciously accepts before turning back to the stove and yapping incessantly over her shoulder with Hongjoong while his father shuffles back to a nearby chair. Hongjoong’s dad clearly has “his” spot, as it has a nearby table with a pair of reading glasses perched on a haphazardly folded paper periodical, and there is a lamp illuminating the space with gentle, warm light at the perfect height for reading.  

His father winks and smiles at you before unfolding his paper and returning to whatever he was reading before the two of you burst on the scene. Hongjoong is laughing and chattering with his mother, and you sigh happily as you just watch between them; their excitement and enthusiasm for whatever each of them is saying radiate their love for one another. You consider getting your crochet so that you can be as unobtrusive as possible, but you realize it is still out in the back of the car. Instead, you just look around the thoughtfully decorated home curiously. You notice the closest wall to the dining table displays a patchwork of framed family photos and yellowing pages of children’s artwork, also lovingly framed.  

The interior of the kitchen is painted in a rich, buttery yellow, the color of a stick of handmade creamery butter if viewed in shadow. The utensils and countertop are relatively sparse, though it appears his mother tends to use all of her utensils every time she cooks, judging by the spread of implements across the counter and waiting to be washed in the sink. You quietly lean toward Jjoongie and whisper to ask him whether you should offer to assist her or do the dishes, and he quickly shakes his head. You can’t help wondering if he’s just enjoying his conversation too much to let your desire to be helpful interrupt. But he waits for a lull and leans back to tell you that she’s nearly finished and the two of you will offer to do dishes after dinner; he told her that you will make dessert if she doesn’t already have something planned. 

You sit back quietly and continue to enjoy listening to mother and son catch up while you take in the ambiance of the family home. His mother has decorated the theme of the kitchen in sunflowers, but not in the traditional sense, as you notice a lot of ceramic pieces of art or crockery appear to be abstract versions of sunflowers: large circular center shapes in variegated shades of brown, copper, and gold, and flares of petals that range from iridescent, to brightly geometric and imposing, to resembling translucent fairy wings more than petals. The only way to recognize the sunflower reference is through the co-occurrence of these circular swooshes and dashes in the colors and positioning belonging solely to these big, sun-worshipping flowers that famously decorate kitchen motifs around the world. You’ve never seen a collection so diverse and yet interconnected in a level of sophistication that tickles your brain and makes you extremely curious to see the rest of their home.  

You have a sneaking suspicion that there will be delightfully quirky little surprises everywhere. You also wonder if his mother sees them for the unique and fantastic weirdness that they are, when compared to other people’s modular, standardized, sanitized approach to decor. If you had to guess, you’d bet she’s never really stopped to consider whether other people have such unique taste; you assume she’d be surprised to know that most people don’t live surrounded by little things they dearly love for one reason or another, and that decor is more of a formality than a joyous pursuit. 

You come back to the present when there is a brief lull in the conversation, and Hongjoong appears to shift as though preparing to move from his seat at the counter. You glance at him for instruction, and he places his hand on top of yours, saying, “Stay. I will help set the table.” You start to protest, but he silences you with a gentle smile. You realize you haven’t had your phone out for the translation app, as you rarely need it when Hongjoong is around, but you don’t want to be rude or clueless here because you have the tendency to let your mind wander. When Hongjoong returns from setting out some of the bowls and plates full of banchan, you whisper, “Phone? Translation app?” with a nod to the table, hoping he can infer that you’re asking whether you’ll need it for dinnertime. He shakes his head, “It’s okay. I can translate for you.” You frown slightly, unconsciously, as you suddenly wish you’d actually gotten to hear about what he and his mom discussed, just out of supportive curiosity, but now they’ve talked for so long, it would just be awkward to ask him for a recap later. 

You bite back your disappointment and sit patiently, waiting for instructions. His mom smiles kindly at you as she calls out something to his father. Then, she turns to Hongjoong and instructs him. Whatever she says surprises Hongjoong because he takes an actual step back before nodding obediently and leaving the room.  

Oh, why the fuck did I bother to ask him if I could use my phone? I should have just done it.  

Now, you’re dying to know what his mother said. Luckily, you don’t have to wait long, as you hear footsteps on stairs as though someone is running up a wooden staircase, and you see Bumjoong emerge with a polite smile on his face and Hongjoong on his heels. You smile, slightly confused, and bow toward him graciously when he trots by to pull out a chair for his father at the table.  

You now see that the table is set for five, not four people, but you hadn’t even considered anyone else being present during this visit. You’d really like that translation app, but perhaps it’s for the best so you can continue to be on your absolute best behavior. Hongjoong comes and grabs your hand to direct you to the table and indicate which chair you should use. You wait until his father has joined you all there to be seated, and his father again raises an eyebrow toward you before smiling slightly and seating himself, followed by Hongjoong’s mother, then Bumjoong, while you and Hongjoong sit down at relatively the same time.  

You are suddenly worried that you haven’t had enough formal meals to be able to know if you are doing things correctly. You figure you’ll just have to do your best to follow whatever Hongjoong does, as you are close in age, and you certainly hope no one has really discussed your actual age as it’s easier for you to blend in with the assumption that you are his age, not older. You aren’t sure if any of the age-related customs for mealtimes have gender variations, but you’ll just have to hope for the best. You are greatly relieved when Hongjoong dotingly instructs you what to do and when, and you just follow his directions to the letter, which saves you the trouble of trying to guess what to do next. You will have to remember to show him just how grateful you are for his attention later if there is a time and place where you can adequately do so. 

You eat well, clean your plate, and compliment his mother on the food. You’re super proud of yourself for noticing when his father’s glass was low, and you were able to offer him a refill of his soju. After dinner, you practically leap at the opportunity to help with the dishes, if anything, to be able to do something well and not just sit awkwardly when life goes on around you. You’re trying to remain curious and calm despite having missed out on so much of the conversation that you don’t feel like you’re really getting to know his family at all. You keep reminding yourself that it’s not all about you, and he wanted you here to be with him, not because you’re on some mission to be the guest of honor. You’re probably more a part of the family this way than if everyone was making a big fuss over you. Still, you sincerely hope you’re not giving the impression that you’re not interested in them or the conversation.  

You have got to stop overthinking this and do what Jjoongie wants you to do.  

You summon the courage to ask Hongjoong to bring in your crochet from the car, and he exclaims in annoyance at himself for forgetting to bring the rest of the bags in. You offer to help him in hopes of snagging a few more kisses in the moonlight, but he waves you away, so you twiddle your thumbs and meander about the kitchen, looking for spots of leftover dishwater to wipe up. He returns quickly with his cheeks flushed from the cold and the rest of the bags from the car, prompting his mother to get up from her cozy knitting chair next to his father’s reading chair and direct the two of you upstairs. She chats with Hongjoong as she leads you both up to the guest quarters. You look fondly at the additional rows of various framed photos and aging school portraits hung along the staircase.  

His mother turns to switch on a light at the top of the landing while Hongjoong turns to explain to you that she has prepared the guest rooms, which share a bathroom upstairs. She and his father have the master suite on the main floor and Bumjoong is using the guestroom downstairs that is part of the entertainment room. You smile and bow gratefully at the efforts she has put into making the two of you comfortable. Hongjoong brings your bags into the larger of the two guest rooms and nods at you to arrange your things while he puts his bags into the room he is given. You try to ignore your shaking breath and remind yourself that he is going to literally be across the hall, just like he is at home, so it’s not like he’s far away. You also realize that, like at home, there’s nothing preventing him from coming into your room after everyone goes to bed unless, of course, that is considered a huge disrespect to his parents. You sincerely hope that the relatively accepting and laidback atmosphere extends to this realm of the cultural and familial rulebook, but you’ll just have to wait and see.  

You’re still super curious about why Hongjoong didn’t seem to expect Bumjoong to be visiting, but you haven’t had a moment to ask him about that, either. When you see the space where you will be sleeping and deposit all of your belongings, Hongjoong walks you back downstairs to offer to make and serve a dessert when his parents are ready for it. His mother tuts and argues that she couldn’t possibly have a dessert just yet, but please do explain again what it will be, so that she will know when her stomach is ready for it. You stifle a laugh when Hongjoong translates this expression of hers. After hearing your plan for the ice cream and croissants, she smacks her lips and says maybe in an hour or so, she will feel ready. 

You enjoy getting a little bit of time to work on your crochet while Hongjoong and his father surf the sports channels, and you figure they’re probably discussing the local football results. Hongjoong’s mother is knitting and occasionally smiles at you or at her son before staring off into the distance and knitting rapidly. She’s clearly an accomplished knitter, as she doesn’t need to rely on looking at her work the whole time, but she also does not appear to be a sports fan, as she does not bother to watch the television either. It’s an amusing juxtaposition. You suddenly wonder what Bumjoong is up to, as though this might somehow connect the dots, but you highly doubt it.  

 After about forty minutes, you gently nudge Hongjoong to ask him if it would be okay if you started making dessert so that it would be done by the time an hour has elapsed since his mother said she’d feel ready. He nods and says something to his father before passing him the television remote and getting up to join you in the kitchen. You protest weakly, for appearances’ sake, but you’re glad he’s coming with you as you certainly don’t feel comfortable rummaging around in his mother’s kitchen cupboards. Such things are sacred where you are from, but you’re not aware of how she might feel about it.  

You get the strawberries out of the fridge and quickly cut them into thin slices. You heat up a large, cast-iron pan with some butter while you slice the croissants in half. You scrape some slivers off of the chocolate bar while the croissant halves toast in the butter. When they are nice and golden brown on the cut sides, you carefully remove them from the pan and place them on plates before sprinkling them with the shredded chocolate to allow it to melt into the cracks in the puff pastry. You layer the cut strawberries on the croissants before piling two conservative scoops of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream on top and placing the top of the croissant onto it like a sandwich.  

 You and Hongjoong carefully carry the desserts out to his father and mother, who exclaim happily and profusely thank you both. Hongjoong’s father asks for some coffee, and he returns to the kitchen to make it when his mother says something about Bumjoong, which causes Hongjoong to look at you with a slightly rueful look. He looks at the last plate of dessert and asks you to please take it down to Bumjoong while he makes the coffee for his father. You’re just glad he didn’t ask you to make the coffee, as you’d have no idea how to go about it in an unfamiliar kitchen. 

You carefully carry the dessert down the stairs where you saw Bumjoong emerge just before dinner. When you reach the dimly lit basement, you see an unmade bed extending across the floor from a sofa, and a flickering light to your right tells you that Bumjoong is working on something on the computer. He appears to be editing video, and he takes off his headphones quickly as he sees you approaching. When you say simply, “Dessert?” he thanks you and accepts the proffered plate before cocking his head slightly and saying, “You do know what you’re getting into, right?” You stare at him, unsure what to say and surprised by his skills in your language. He clucks his tongue and shakes his head when you don’t respond, and rather than wait around for any other weird surprises, you turn on your heel and practically bolt back up the stairs.   

Chapter Text

Hongjoong raises a questioning eyebrow at you as you rush up the stairs as though you’ve seen a ghost. You giggle nervously at his strange look before scooting up beside him, where he stands, waiting for the coffee to brew for his dad. He wraps his arm around your back and quietly kisses you on the forehead. You lean against him until he pats your back and steps around you to pour the coffee and carry it to his father.  

You nervously hang back in the kitchen until Hongjoong returns to get his plate and gestures for you to follow him out to where his parents are sitting and join him on the sofa. You suddenly don’t feel hungry for dessert, though it is hard to determine whether Bumjoong’s comment has made you lose your appetite or whether you overcommitted to your portion sizes during dinner and didn’t want to leave any food on your plate to unintentionally insult Hongjoong’s mother.   

You quietly push the melting ice cream puddles around your plate while you nod and smile at the compliments from Hongjoong’s mom and dad as they fairly devour their desserts. You glance over at Hongjoong and see that he, too, is decorating with his rather than eating it, and you chuckle to yourself at this unusual moment of symmetry. He looks over at you and smiles sleepily. It seems that his early wake-up call is finally catching up with him. You stand and hold out your hand to take his plate from him, which he relinquishes without protest before following you to the kitchen to clean up the dessert dishes as quickly as possible in hopes that you can call it an early night tonight. It would be ironic, though, if it came across like the two of you were eager to sneak off for some fooling around when you’ll probably both fall asleep as soon as your heads hit the pillow.   

As you rinse and stack the clean dishes, you start to wonder what, if anything, you should tell Hongjoong about what his brother said. It seems like such an unnecessarily harsh and mysterious thing to say; you can’t imagine what would warrant such a question, considering the lack of serious relationships Hongjoong has been able to have since his debut. You decide maybe you’d better ask Hongjoong either way because it seems like a secret that’s not worth keeping.   

You’re still calculating the pros and cons of ratting out his brother when Hongjoong yawns audibly as his mom enters the kitchen with her plate and his father’s plate. She pats your shoulder and simply says, “Delicious!” before noticing Hongjoong’s gaping yawn and jokingly holding up her finger as though she intends to poke it into his open mouth. He laughs suddenly, ruining his yawn, before grumbling at her in Korean, and she tuts before chiding him and gesturing toward the stairs. You’re fairly confident that he is whining about how tired he is, and she is telling him to go to bed then. He shakes it off and helps you finish the final dishes before grabbing you by the hand to haul you upstairs to bed.   

The two of you say goodnight to his parents and turn to make your way upstairs to brush your teeth and prepare for bed. You decide to take pity on him and not attempt any serious conversation this night, as both of you are plenty ready for and in need of a decent night’s sleep. He leaves you to change into your sleeping clothes before returning, dressed in his black satin pajamas and making to tuck you into your bed. He’s begun mumbling incoherently in what is probably a tragic mutation of your language and Korean, and you follow his hand gestures to climb into bed. You smile as he pulls the blankets up over you until you realize that he is on the wrong side of them. You pout as he kisses you goodnight, but he shakes his head and shushes you, pointing straight down at the floor, indicating downstairs where his parents will be sleeping. you try not to roll your eyes as he turns off your light and quietly closes your door behind him.  

You stare at the ceiling in the dark for a short time before you find yourself unable to stay awake, and you roll over to fall into a confusing palette of dreams that turn ordinary activities into intense competitions with secret rules and impossible goals. When you’ve failed to serve a four-course meal wearing scuba gear after you forget to carve a custom wooden spoon for each guest, you groan and wake up with a start. There is light beginning to filter in through the curtains, and your mouth is terribly dry. You tiptoe out to get a drink of water in the bathroom and see that Hongjoong’s door is open a crack, so you peek in after you’ve had a nice full glass of cold water.  

There is a Jjoongie-sized lump in the bed and a light wheezing snore coming from said lump, so you sneak in quietly to attempt to better close the gaps in the curtains and keep daylight at bay for a little longer than the curtains in your own room served to do. You tiptoe around to his back and carefully crawl up to lay beside him, staying on top of the blankets in case he wants to be upset about you breaking any house rules. You just can’t resist cuddling up to him when he’s sleeping so soundly. Knowing that he has eaten well and slept well are two of the most comforting feelings you’ve experienced in your life.  

You prop your head on your bicep and wrap your other arm over his hip as you sigh happily into his hair and greedily breathe in the scent of him before relaxing your breath to match his rhythm. You easily doze off back to sleep until you feel a sudden jerking sensation and find your arm dropping forward as his body is no longer propping you up there. You gasp lightly as you were probably dreaming that you were falling, and you hear a scoff from across the room.  

You groggily look up to see him standing in front of his open door looking irritated as he glances quickly out the door and toward the stairs. When he looks back at you, he shakes his head and turns to go into the bathroom. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and if feels like your lungs are frozen in fear as every attempt to breathe is met by sharp, icy pains. You can only hear your thundering heartbeat, and you feel as if you can’t blink or tear your eyes from the doorway as you wait for him to return.   

You swear you hear the toilet flush and the bathroom door open before he comes back in, looking only a little bit less tense. You notice the hair around his temples is dripping as though he recently splashed water on his face. You are glued to the spot, staring up at him as you feel the blood has left your face in fear. He sighs before looking up at you, and he looks like he is trying a little too hard to suddenly shift his mood.   

Hongjoong gives you a small, forced smile as he walks toward where you have sat up on the edge of his bed. He sits beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders before kissing you on the forehead. He rubs your shoulder and says quietly, “Sorry. You surprised me. I didn’t mean to be grouchy. It is just that I do not want to disrespect my parents by sharing a bed with you when they have provided us with two beds. I don’t know what the traditions are in your family, but I want to make my parents proud. I am sorry if I frightened you.”  

A slight shiver runs up your spine at this, as you hadn’t quite put a word to the feelings, but you definitely were frightened. You had hoped never to be in the path of his anger, but even more so, you feel you’ve disappointed him, and that feeling is much harder to bear. Your breath shakes as you look up at him and say, “I’m sorry, Jjoongie. I didn’t mean to break the rules. I was trying so hard to be good.” He tuts at you and reaches to caress your cheek with his palm as he plants a tender kiss on your lips, which almost—but not quite—stalls the quivering there. He pulls back and smiles at you fondly, kisses you on the forehead again, and pats his thighs to stand up.  

“We are both learning. It’s okay, Naui Haneul. Let’s go see if we can help with breakfast.” He holds out a hand to pull you up, and you stand obediently before risking a stupid question, “Will I have time for a shower after breakfast?” He looks thoughtful for a moment, “Yeah. There should be time. We are going to go to the city and walk in the Anyang Art Park before going to dinner at my parents’ favorite restaurant. It is small, so we don’t have to worry about privacy.” You smile at him gratefully as his explanation includes the information he knows you need to feel safe and reassured. “Okay, Jjoongie. Let’s go help with breakfast.” You lightly tug his hand back for another quick kiss before you add, “Thank you for helping me be good. I love you so much. I want you to be proud of me, too.” He hums happily, “I am proud of you. I love you too.”  

The two of you shuffle downstairs to the waiting smell of coffee and the sounds of morning bustling in the kitchen. You sigh happily at the dappled sunlight filtering in through the curtains and filling the cozy space with a welcoming warmth. His mother is chopping vegetables at the counter and calls out to greet both of you with an excited smile. Hongjoong leads you to a counter stool and drops your hand, indicating that you should sit there. He walks around to his mother, giving her shoulders a squeeze and kissing the side of her head as he says something in Korean that makes her clear her throat and smile again. He turns and shuffles things around in the fridge before asking you if you want coffee; you nod gratefully despite groaning internally at what the rich coffee will do to your already uneasy stomach. You realize your medication is still upstairs, and you’d probably better take it soon if you don’t want to risk forgetting and further annoying Hongjoong with your impulsive behavior.  

You excuse yourself quickly and dash upstairs, ignoring the quizzical look from Hongjoong. Thankfully, the cup placed in the bathroom for your use is sufficient to swallow down the medication. You take another greedy sip of the cold water and look at your slightly fuzzy but not altogether destroyed hairstyle in the mirror. You decide to take another brief moment to brush your teeth again as you feel self-conscious about adding coffee breath to your mouth’s current state.  

When you return downstairs, Hongjoong has placed a steaming mug of coffee by your chair and smiles at you sweetly as you return to your seat. When you gesture toward the prep his mother is doing and ask quietly if you might help, he nods and says something to his mother in Korean. She looks up and glances toward you pleasantly and responds to him before digging below the counter for something and returning with a small cutting board. She places a peeler and a knife next to it before sliding several daikon radishes over toward you with a smile. You nod gratefully and ask, “How big?” with a hand gesture, hoping to convey that you need to know how to cut the radishes. She picks up a nearby chunk of tofu and indicates that you should dice the radish into large cubes.  

You diligently get to work on the radishes, though you try not to cut too quickly as you see the speed with which his mother is cutting her vegetables, and try to go only a little faster. You figure your background as a former professional cook will be known to her at some point if she doesn’t know already, but you don’t want to show off by going at full speed or appear lazy by working too slowly. Still, she looks up in surprise when you indicate that you have finished and are requesting another task. She tuts and looks around, appearing to fumble for another task to give you before placing an empty bowl and some dried pollock before you to shred into the bowl.  

The two of you continue to work in this rhythm of helping her and listening to her chat with Hongjoong more about whatever it is they are talking about. You’re annoyed, once again, at the lack of translation, but you didn’t have a chance to talk to Hongjoong about it last night before bed, and you certainly didn’t feel it was the right time when he woke up mad at you this morning. You focus on the tasks before you and amuse yourself, watching the tiny specks of dust floating in the sunbeams that illuminate the cheery kitchen.  

When the preparations are complete, and his mother is ready to begin cooking, she puts out a hand to stop you from getting up to come help. Hongjoong tells you that she doesn’t feel comfortable sharing the stove as she would not want to accidentally burn you. He lets you know she will have the two of you bowl up the banchan and set the table while she cooks. You nod and gratefully accept the directives unquestioningly.   

Breakfast goes well, and you enjoy these opportunities to taste food prepared by Hongjoong’s mother as you ponder what it might have been like to grow up in his family. You know that he has always been a picky eater, and you recall many frustrating years when your younger self confused and irritated your parents by refusing amazing meals due to texture or taste complaints. But both of you receive doting looks from his mother now as you clean your plates and compliment her cooking.   

Bumjoong does not join the family for breakfast. Hongjoong tells you, as the two of you make your way upstairs to shower, that Bumjoong probably went for a run or to work out at a local gym. You suddenly hope that Hongjoong doesn’t need to do the same while you are here, and you beg the universe that he could just go without working out for a couple of days, as you’re not about to join him and don’t know how you’d handle being left here alone.  

He can make up for it when he’s back in Seoul for the next three days.  

After you’ve dressed in a long-sleeved, white, collared dress shirt with your brown knit tank top over it and your dark brown corduroy pants with your sensible black Converse, you emerge refreshed from the shower and ready to see the sights. Hongjoong showered quickly first as it was recognized that you would need more time in front of the mirror than he does. You were grateful for this consideration as you certainly want to look well-put-together today.  

When the two of you emerge downstairs again, his parents are both also ready to go to Anyang, and you stifle your surprise that they are apparently planning on joining you for the whole day. You suddenly feel guilty and selfish as you realize that they don’t often have several days with him, so this is probably all they will get for a while. You have to remember: you’re along for the ride. You get to see him so much more than they do, even if you don’t get him all to yourself very often.   

You clutch your crochet bag and phone as your familiar security blanket items and slide into the back of his father’s car as Hongjoong chuckles at you and your big bag. “You won’t need that,” he says, laughing. When you shrug, and he sees your big, anxious eyes, he pats your thigh kindly and tuts, “It’s okay. You can bring it.” His parents ride in the front seats, and he explains that his father insists on driving because he knows Anyang better as he is still working there and has seen all of the construction and changes more than Hongjoong has. You know that Hongjoong’s father was reluctant to accept the car as a gift, despite Hongjoong wanting to give it to him, so it is lovely to see him clearly using and enjoying it now.  

Hongjoong watches sweetly as you eagerly take in the view out the windows as his father winds the car through the beautiful countryside. There are small farms, greenhouses, businesses, and sparse houses as he approaches the freeway to head toward the big city. You exclaim at an adorable little brick-red house that you realize is actually a Waldorf kindergarten with precious details and welcoming architecture. His mother chuckles and nods at your enthusiasm, and Hongjoong’s eyes sparkle at you as you feel your cheeks burn with self-consciousness.   

The trip to Anyang seems relatively short compared to the drive down from Seoul, as the traffic on the freeway seems to be moving steadily and without delay. You are relieved when the exit from the freeway leads to a lovely city street lined with trees and tall, modern buildings as people walk down the sidewalks in leisurely or intentional strides. Hongjoong’s father slips the car into a lucky parallel parking spot, and his mother claps proudly at his successful parking on the first attempt. Hongjoong laughs, and his father shakes his head in mock annoyance as Hongjoong leans over to you and explains, “The car has an automatic parking feature. She always claps for him, but he knows she is clapping for the car.” He smiles sweetly at you as you giggle at his parents’ adorable routines, and you quickly wrap your coat around yourself a little tighter as the city buildings seem to be funneling the cold wind in between themselves and directly toward you and your fellow pedestrian travelers. He hands you a mask, and you both cover your faces as he conscientiously pulls his beanie down a little lower toward his eyebrows.  

The four of you make your way toward the open park walking areas; you see that most of the signage is in Hangul, so you shove your hands deep into your pockets for warmth and walk closely beside Hongjoong, just a pace or two behind his parents. You enjoy the park despite some hiking and stumbling over the stone pathways that are lightly slicked by the leftover fall leaves. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like when the leaves are all green, and the sunlight filters down through the thick foliage onto the paths. There is a lot to see from the decorated bridge, the creek below, and the various installations of artworks made of glass, metal, and wooden sculptures, as well as interactive features.  

Hongjoong takes pictures of his parents together in front of several pieces and a couple of pictures of you in front of things that you found interesting until his mother exclaims and pushes him over to join you while she pulls his phone from him to take a picture of the two of you. You wait until passersby are largely gone and take your masks down to lean against each other for a sweet picture. His mother graciously does this several more times, with Hongjoong holding you from behind, the two of you looking away toward a piece of art when there are too many people to remove your masks or in silly poses hiding behind some of the taller sculptures. You thank her profusely each time, and she winks at you knowingly.  

It’s interesting that Hongjoong has so much experience being out and about, taking pictures of anything he finds interesting, taking pictures of the members when they are together, or having others take pictures of him, yet he seems almost reluctant to take pictures of you. Or perhaps it is just a different mindset, and his thoughts are actually on just having an experience with you together rather than documenting it for posterity. He certainly wouldn’t need to document it for social media, so perhaps that sometimes feels more like work than leisure. You shiver against the cold as you figure you’ll have to work up the courage to ask him what that’s like for him someday.  

You are beginning to be grateful for the slight warmth the mask provides your nose as your forehead is becoming chilly from the cool weather, and you’re wishing you had a little something to drink. Hongjoong yawns and says something to his parents before they nod synchronously, as people who have been married for a long time often do, and the four of you begin the trek back to the car. Hongjoong tells you that they will be going to get something to drink and a small snack at a local cafe before you drive around to see some of the other sights around Anyang before heading back to the country and the small restaurant where the four of you will have dinner.  

You enjoy a delicious hot chocolate and cookie as you warm up your fingers and toes in the cozy cafe. Hongjoong’s mom teases him with her whipped cream-topped beverage while he shivers and sips at his hot tea. You wonder if he ever wishes he had just a tiny bit more insulation on that body of his, as you’re fairly comfortable with your layers of subcutaneous insulation, except when it comes time to try on new clothing styles. The four of you enjoy the respite of the warm cafe and delicious treats until his father sits back with a groan, and Hongjoong and his mother rise reflexively at this unspoken ‘time to go’ cue. You stand up awkwardly and move to clear your plates and mugs while Hongjoong’s mother clears crumbs from the table with a spare napkin.  

After some additional driving around to see local landmarks like Hongjoong’s old schools, their old apartment building, the little soccer fields he used to play on, and a couple of quick detours for Hongjoong’s mom to dash into her favorite shops for ingredients or household items, it is finally time to go back to the country to the restaurant for dinner. You’re slightly sleepy from all of the time in the car, and seeing Hongjoong’s parents have been holding hands across the center console for quite some time, you look to Hongjoong and make a sleepy face before whispering very quietly to ask if you could lay your head on his shoulder. He appears to think it over briefly before nodding and scooting over to the center seat so that he can place his arm around you as you lean onto his chest. His mom sees the two of you as she touches up her lip color in the vanity mirror. She smiles before turning back to look at him and clucks her tongue in approval.  

You close your eyes and pretend to be oblivious to this maternal blessing. In what seems like no time at all, you feel the car shift off of the freeway onto the bumpy country lanes, which turn and rise through the fields and over small agricultural waterways. The journey ends after his father navigates down a pitted gravel road that is clearly marked by ruts created by heavy tractor tires or other farming equipment but surprisingly leads directly to a beautiful restaurant built in a traditional style but decorated with modern metal sculptural accents and sleek lighting along the pavement.  

The four of you sigh with relief at the warm rush of air that greets you upon opening the restaurant’s door and stepping inside. There is soft lighting, and even softer music playing as a hostess leads you upstairs, past a wall of trickling water illuminated by slowly fading, color-changing lights. When you reach the top of the stairs, she turns to take you to a small dining room, which is set for the four of you and allows privacy and comfort while you enjoy each other’s company. You realize with relief that you have your phone on you because you brought it to take pictures in Anyang. When you turn it on, you feel a pang of guilt as you see you have a message; you hate having missed a message from Hwa, but it’s going to have to wait a little longer. You nod politely as the hostess takes your coat, and you place your phone on the table with the translation app open with what must be an audible sigh of relief.  

Hongjoong looks over at you and sees your hand withdrawing from your phone. He makes a little frown as he registers the presence of the translation app, but he says nothing. You shrink from his gaze and pull the phone back toward yourself, hoping against hope that he’ll stop you and insist that you keep it out for your own comfort. But he says nothing, only casually glancing over his menu to watch as you put your phone back into your pocket. You shrink into yourself as you stare at a menu with no discernible information on it as far as you’re able to understand. You set the menu onto your plate, roll your shoulders forward, and wrap your arms around yourself as if for warmth.  

Hongjoong’s mother notices your posture and looks at you with a kind, questioning expression as she pantomimes rubbing her arms as though cold. You nod slightly, figuring it is better to just go along with the assumption rather than even toy with the idea of explaining the truth. She sucks air through her teeth and says something to Hongjoong, who looks up suddenly with a confused “Huh?” at the same time his father also says, “Huh?” and looks to his wife to see what he did wrong, only to realize with relief that his youngest son is in the hot seat for once. Hongjoong’s mother rolls her eyes at her husband before saying something rapid and direct to Hongjoong, and she nods in your direction. You shrink even lower in your seat and stare down at your fingers in your lap, desperately kicking yourself for not bringing in your crochet bag.  

Hongjoong jumps up and retrieves your coat from where the hostess has hung it behind the table, and he tenderly drapes it over your shoulders. You look up at him and smile gratefully before returning your gaze to your lap. He tilts your chin up to look at your face again, asking, “Are you okay?” You nod and mutter something about just being cold. He smiles, feeling accomplished, and returns to his seat to peruse the menu. When the server returns, Hongjoong and his father discuss the options, with his mother directing and correcting when necessary while you admire the pretty table settings, the art on the wall, the server’s intricate hair combs, and your own uneven fingernails until the server disappears from sight.   

Hongjoong pours beverages for his parents and you before you take the tea from him and pour for him as well. He informs you that they have ordered wine also, but you can have something else if you like. You mumble that you’re fine, though you’re feeling as though you’d do some pretty shady shit for a diet soda right about now. He nods, oblivious to any internal conflict on your part, and continues to explain what they’ve ordered for dinner and how that will be presented here in this restaurant. You’re grateful to finally be in on the plan, but you’re feeling pretty overstimulated from all of the tourism today and all of the self-monitoring of your own behavior in comparison to others around you, as well as checking Hongjoong’s expectations regularly for any sign of a misstep. You’d almost rather go back to bed immediately than spend another minute ‘on stage.’  

Hongjoong and his parents talk and laugh until the food comes out, and he occasionally translates a little of the conversation for you or explains that his mother has asked questions about you. He apparently is answering her on your behalf without asking for your response because he probably already knows the basic answers to questions about your family, your past, your job, or things you enjoy. Still, it would be nice to be able to take a more active part in the conversation. You realize you’re far too overwhelmed at this point, though, so you’re grateful for just being kept marginally in the loop. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that this might be setting some sort of precedent for future ‘conversations’ with his family, but you figure you can fight that battle—if it ever comes down to it—when you’re more rested.  

Dinner wraps up nicely and everyone is groaning and laughing at how full they feel. Hongjoong’s father smiles at you with sparkling eyes but says nothing as you all make your way down the stairs and out into the brisk evening air. When the car pulls back up to the house, his parents head into the house while you and Hongjoong stay behind to bring in his mom’s purchases. He opens the trunk and steps behind it to pull you in for a deep kiss, which causes you to moan and press toward him out of a desperate need for connection and reassurance more than anything else. You’re only a little surprised to feel tears coming to your eyes, and when he pulls back from the kiss and sees them there, he looks genuinely confused.  

“What’s this? Are you crying? Why are you crying?” he asks, looking at you with his brow furrowed with deep concern. You sniffle lightly and give a small, self-conscious laugh. “I don’t know,” you trail off before he cuts in, “Did you not have a good time today? I thought you enjoyed it.” You shake your head and sniffle hard to try to reign in all of these unwelcome emotions, “I did. I am fine. I am just tired, I think. It was a lot to see and do for one day, and I just am feeling overwhelmed.” He tuts and kisses the top of your head, “Okay. Come on, let’s get these inside so you can relax, okay?”   

He carries the majority of the bags, but you insist on carrying your crochet bag and one of the smaller shopping bags so that you can feel as though you’re contributing. His mom says something to him as you both enter the house, and he responds mildly. You deposit the bags on the kitchen counter, and he says something to his mother in Korean, causing her to call out to him, sounding concerned. He shakes his head and pats her shoulder as he walks by where she sits, knitting in her chair; his father appears to already be fast asleep in his chair, though the television is still on without any sound playing.  

His mother pats his hand where he’s placed it on her shoulder and tuts lovingly. He turns and gestures at you to head upstairs with him. When you reach the stairs, he grabs your hand and holds it as you go up together. He says, “We can rest for a bit upstairs. You can change into your comfortable clothes if you’d like.” You nod gratefully and head to your room to slip back into your sweats. When you emerge, Hongjoong is also now wearing comfortable clothes, and he takes your hand to guide you downstairs. “We can watch a movie downstairs; Bumjoong is working on editing his vlogs, but he won’t mind.” You nod absently, hoping that there will be sufficient darkness for you to just doze off in Jjoongie’s arms, especially if there aren’t adequate subtitles or dubbing on the movie for you.  

When you get down to the entertainment room, however, Bumjoong removes his headphones and appears to want to talk. He says something in Korean to Hongjoong before Hongjoong responds in a fairly terse rush of syllables. Bumjoong’s face contorts into a surprised and somewhat alarmed expression causing you to wonder what in the world you missed. Perhaps Hongjoong assumed his brother would not mind if they took over his space to watch a movie, but maybe he failed to verify that first. It didn’t sound like Bumjoong was irritated until Hongjoong snapped at him though, so you shrink into the relative shadows of the large room to go and sit on the empty sofa before pulling your knees up to your chest.  

As you reach to wrap your arms around your knees, you feel something fall out of your pocket and hit the couch cushion. You look down and realize your phone has fallen out, so you gingerly turn it on and see that it is still on the translation app screen you had opened when you arrived at the restaurant. As you look up to see that neither brother seems to be looking at you, you hit the [Record/Translate] function and place it on the armrest of the couch. As if on cue, Hongjoong looks over at you, sees your phone open and on, and comes over to you to thrust it back into your hands and say shortly, “Please do not.”

You startle at his brusque manner and tone, and you fumble to try to turn off the phone and place it back in your pocket with trembling hands. Bumjoong has risen from his computer chair and now steps up quickly behind Hongjoong. He reaches his arm in front of Hongjoong and says to you, “It’s okay. You can use that. I like it.” His words are halting, and he clearly had to choose them without much forethought due to the rapidly escalating situation you now find yourself in. Hongjoong makes a noise of protest, and you look up at him with big, tear-filled eyes, and he throws his hands up and turns away with a grunt. You tremble, staring at his back as he sweeps his hand over his hair before turning around slowly, “Okay. Yeah. If Bumjoong says it’s okay, then it’s okay to use your translations. Just, please,” he trails off, and you stare at him with bated breath until you realize he’s not going to say anything else.  

You pull the phone back out and place it on the arm of the sofa, only looking at it enough to restart the translation before dropping it like it is an inadequately sedated venomous snake. You wrap your arms even more tightly around your knees and shiver despite the perfect temperature in the house. When Bumjoong stares at him without saying anything, he finally asks, “Why did you tell her to put her phone away?” You read on the translation. Hongjoong sighs and looks around at the floor, “I told her to please not do that because it is embarrassing to me. She was trying to use the translation in the restaurant tonight, and it was embarrassing. It is like she doesn’t think I can do it well enough for her.” You hold your face static as you watch the words appear on your screen. Bumjoong scoffs derisively.  

“You are embarrassed because you think her using the app makes you look incapable? Why on earth do you think it’s all about you? Are you actually translating for her, then? Do you tell her everything?” Hongjoong doesn’t respond to this challenge; he’s suddenly intensely focused on looking at the small bookshelf jammed with books in the corner that is likely too poorly lit and too far away for him to actually see. This lack of response causes Bumjoong to set his jaw firmly as he prepares to unload his full, unvarnished opinion on his younger brother.  

“Why are you rushing into things with this poor girl? You never wait for anything. You always have to have what you want when you want it, and you think your pretty face is going to save you. Well, maybe it will, but is it going to save her? What about her? I wonder if you even care about her at all. You’re supposed to wait... Until you’re done with your enlistment, at least. This is a terrible idea, and you know it. You’re just going to leave her out here to fend for herself? What’s your plan? Pout and bat your eyelashes at them? You aren’t going to make it public, for her sake, but really is it for yours? You care too much about what other people think. You care too much about controlling perception. You won’t even let her have her translation here with our parents, so she’s just sitting there in silence. Oh, yeah, I noticed that. You hardly said two words to her during dinner last night. It makes it so much more convenient for you, though, because you don’t have to actually have the whole conversation with anyone. You can control the flow of information.  

“What are you so afraid of? People are people. They are embarrassing sometimes. But it’s not all about you; you should seriously know this by now. I’ve been here the whole time, remember? I’ve watched you go through this with ATEEZ. You finally stopped trying to control everything they did, and you finally stopped being personally embarrassed by their behavior, and you were happy, weren’t you? Or were you just looking for someone else to control?” Hongjoong makes a noise in protest but says nothing.  

Bumjoong casts a sidelong glance full of pity in your direction, increasing your sudden urge to throw up. He continues his tirade, “And then you’re mad because she came in to hold you while you slept? Because you were worried Mom and Dad would be mad? What are you, twelve?” He raises a hand to indicate that he has no interest in responses to these rhetorical questions before he continues, “Yeah. I heard that this morning when I was leaving for my run. I had come up to see if you wanted to join me when I saw you two sleeping there, so I left. On my way out the door, I heard you. You seem to forget: you brought her here. You presented her to them; they don’t think you’re celibate, dipshit. They know, or at least they’d understand if they knew. But you want to pick a fight because of ‘rules’? I haven’t seen her do anything but try to make you happy. And it sure as hell doesn’t look like it’s making her very happy, did you ever think of that? Wow. Really. You are something else, you know that? What are you going to do, make her kneel to apologize?” You suppress an inappropriate snort of surprised laughter and look at Hongjoong for help.   

Hongjoong looks thunderstruck as he opens and closes his mouth without managing to summon the courage to speak a single syllable. He swallows hard under Bumjoong’s unyielding glare before he attempts to defend himself, “I have not tried to control her. I have just tried to help her do what she needs to do, when she has asked me to. I haven’t tried to control the guys in a long time; we solved that problem. I’ve outgrown it.” Bumjoong scoffs, “Are you joking? At least one of them has wanted to murder you in cold blood nearly every month of the year since you debuted!” Hongjoong looks scandalized, and you can’t help intervening, though your voice is tiny and shaking so hard the translation app is struggling to catch your words, “I have not seen him trying to control ATEEZ. They have all gotten along well as long as I’ve known them.”   

You glance at Hongjoong, hoping he can see the pride and positive regard in your concerned look. Bumjoong is not fazed by this, “Look at that. She believes in you so much because you’ve never even told her, have you? Does she know about the others? Why does she think you guys don’t fight? She doesn’t even know that she’s the answer, does she?” Bumjoong turns to you before he says, with specific emphasis on every word, “They don’t fight when they’re around YOU. You are the reason they don’t fight. Everyone knows it but you, apparently.” He turns to glare at Hongjoong again, “You didn’t even tell her. Why?” Now, in contrast to the excessively verbose criticism of Hongjoong, Bumjoong is waiting for some sort of defense.  

When no response comes, you can’t help asking another question, “What others did he mean, Jjoongie?” He shudders, and you see tears have spilled from his eyes, though you suspect they’ve been there for the majority of this fight. He turns to look at you, and you just want to hug him and hit his chest and demand that he tell Bumjoong why he is so wrong. But he doesn’t say a word, and that is more terrifying than any admission you could imagine. Instead, he turns toward Bumjoong and says quietly, “There haven’t been any others since the agreement.” Bumjoong is now spitting fire, “Oh no. Don’t tell me. You didn’t. Please say you didn’t actually go through with that insane idea. The agreement? Really?” Hongjoong hangs his head briefly before straightening up with more confidence, “Yeah, we did. And so far, it has eliminated all of the problems, at least since she came along.” He struggles to look at his brother as he admits to something that he already knows will piss Bumjoong off.  

Bumjoong growls, “Don't tell me she’s in on it. Oh, of course, you’re using her in that, too?” Hongjoong looks hurt, and it seems apparent that he must have confided in his brother when they were first starting out and trying to figure out how to deal with life as idols with the sex drives of active, healthy teen-aged males.   

So, apparently, he has shared this with someone outside of the agreement... who is now throwing it in his face.  

Again, you’re struggling to remain silent, so you decide to quit even trying. You swipe your phone from the edge of the sofa and thrust it at Bumjoong before starting a statement of your own, “I’m confused about this, Bumjoong. What are you trying to accomplish here? It seems like a lot of anger, and you seem to be dancing around whatever your main point is while trying to force the disclosure of things that Hongjoong and I may or may not have discussed together yet. That’s between us, not you. What exactly do you want from him?”   

You stare him down, now, unwilling to allow this bullshit to go any further. There’s nothing good happening here, and it needs to stop. You’re so tired and emotionally sore from the humiliation of Hongjoong chiding you and saying you were embarrassing him that you can’t even muster any curiosity about what skeletons in the closet Bumjoong is alluding to. You hold your gaze steady on Bumjoong and dare him to try to keep brow-beating his brother in your presence. You know, deep in the recesses of your mind, that he seemed to be genuinely concerned for you, but he’s going about it in such a way that completely negates his message.  

He stares between your faces, seeing your suddenly bold stance and Hongjoong continuing to stare around the room hopelessly. Bumjoong sucks air through his teeth and shakes his head as a weird smile begins to form at the edges of his mouth, “Well, I said what I wanted to say.” He looks directly at you now and continues, “If you really want to do this, you’re going to have to stand up for yourself with him, not me. I’m on your side. But when he starts back on his bullshit, you should be standing there with that look aimed at him.” He gestures at your crossed arms and chin, jutting out in challenge to Bumjoong’s assumptions. You realize, on some level, he’s not wrong. You’ve been so focused on controlling your own behavior and trying to somehow naturally adapt to a situation that you are not fully trained to handle; you hoped you could just be “a natural” and blend seamlessly into his life. Maybe you can, but the cost seems to be your own sense of value and well-being.  

You were not born to be a doormat.  

You glance at Hongjoong before attempting to extricate the two of you from this horrible conversation. “Thank you for your concern,” you say to Bumjoong with as much genuine inflection as you can muster before finishing, “But I think your brother and I would both prefer it if you voiced your concerns with him privately in the future. I don’t need to know everything he has ever struggled with or grown up through. You have seen all of his triumphs and failures over the years. You must understand that I am not in love with the little brother you grew up with. I am in love with Kim Hongjoong, this man,” you gesture toward Hongjoong, and he raises his head to stare at you in undisguised wonder as you continue, “This man I know and trust because I know his heart. His heart is my North Star. I don’t need you to save me from him, and I don’t need him to be perfect for me.” You return your gaze to Bumjoong’s face, and you’re surprised to see that his smile is beginning to look more natural and even respectful.   

Your voice is recovering strength, so you gather your last ounce of courage and add, “Thank you for trying to guide him as an older brother should. I know you love and support him; I hope he has heard your concerns and will take the good advice I am sure is hidden there. I am feeling quite ill from all of the busyness today; please excuse me as I am going to go to bed early. Goodnight.” You nod at Bumjoong and Hongjoong at once, retrieve your phone from Bumjoong’s open palm, and turn to assertively stride up the stairs quickly toward your room.  

As you approach his mother and father, you realize you haven’t wiped the tears from your cheeks, so you try your best to swat them away before they see you clearly. You delete the conversation from your translation app and reset it before saying to his parents, “Thank you very much for a lovely day. I had a wonderful time. Dinner was very delicious. I am quite tired, so I am going to go to bed early. Please forgive my rudeness. Please sleep well. I will be sure to sleep well.” You hit [Translate] and hand the phone to his father, who then shows it to his mom as he’s unfamiliar with the format. She smiles kindly as she reads it before briefly reading it to his father who also nods and smiles at you fondly.  

You take your phone back, bow to both of them in turn, and head up to your room to close the door. You feel your whole body begin to shake as you are finally alone. Hot tears rush from your eyes, and you’re just able to plug in your phone and throw yourself onto the bed before the wracking sobs begin, and you wail painfully into your pillow. You cry violently into the bedclothes until the feeling of nausea threatens to escalate to a level requiring immediate action, so you reluctantly attempt to reel in your unhinged emotions. The very thought of being so misunderstood and the pain of Hongjoong saying he was embarrassed of you has torn open some of the deepest, most violent injuries to your psyche that have accumulated and festered over time.  

Chapter Text

You knew this was a risk, with his hot and cold demeanor as well as his powerful ability to lead others and hold them accountable. You naively hoped you’d never disappoint him, and now you’re coming to regret this childish optimism as the reality has come crashing down on you. You are also beginning to realize that perhaps, at least in this instance, the lesson isn’t yours to learn. Perhaps this time, he is the one who needs to learn something, as Bumjoong said. You know darn well you did nothing wrong and have tried everything to make him happy and proud of you on this trip as well as every other time.  

Your stomach does a nasty flip at the thought that he is probably deeply regretting bringing you out in public rather than just keeping you on the second floor as his dirty little secret. Another howling sob has you thrusting your face hard against the pillow to try to contain it. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as you hear the mechanism of your door clicking shut. You shrink and tighten up your position, curled up in a ball on your side, as you anticipate the predictable dip of the mattress behind you when someone sits down there. 

But the bed doesn’t move, and you are beginning to wonder if you imagined hearing the door close, so you quiet your sobs in an effort to hear better. After several long moments, you’re surprised to detect shuddering breaths and the faintest sniffles behind you, which break, crush, cut, and pulverize your self-pitying little heart into a pulp. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder and see Jjoongie standing there, arms at his sides helplessly, as he has been watching firsthand the effect his behavior has had on your tender little loving heart. He gasps and coughs, sniffling and wiping his tears on his sleeve as he looks at you forlornly through his bangs. You can see how red his eyes are, and the fabric of his shirt is speckled with the evidence of so many tears he didn’t bother to try to wipe away.  

You can’t bear to look at him this way when you are still feeling your thoughts sliding down into the slippery chasm of pain from years of being told you were embarrassing by friends who wanted to be the “cool” ones or by your mother when you weren’t the ideal child, by teachers who said you weren’t trying hard enough, and by jobs which couldn’t see your potential outside of their inflexibly rigid rules. You turn your head back to at least alleviate the physical discomfort of trying to look over your shoulder in such a way since you’re powerless to alleviate any other form of pain you’re currently experiencing.  

He sobs when you turn away from him, as he is likely attributing this action as a rejection of him rather than your inability to soothe both your own feelings and his at the same time. He doesn’t move, and your adrenaline spikes as you start to panic that he’s making no move to try to fix any of this; he must have really changed his mind. He is probably just waiting for you to ask him to take you home so that this nightmare can be over for him.  

You shudder violently at the thought, and this must jar him from whatever overly self-focused thoughts he’s nurturing in his brain while you fantasize about your own worst possible interpretations coming true. You are shaking now as your heightened adrenaline has set you on the very slick edge of the precipice of a panic attack. You hear him take a hesitant step toward you and once again find yourself holding your breath in hopeful anticipation of the bed dipping down and him touching you in any possible way to try to comfort you. He has apparently gathered his wits enough to do just that, and you begin to wail pathetically when he finally reaches out and curls his body around your shaking form. 

You can feel him shaking as he holds you so tight. He initially struggles to weave his arm beneath your neck through pillows you are clutching for dear life, but he persists so he can fully wrap you in his arms. He folds his body around you, presses his knees behind your knees, and nestles the tops of his feet beneath the soles of yours. He sniffles into your hair as the two of you quake in your similar—but still very separate—experiences of this deeply devastating pain. 

Just as you struggle with painful rejections from your past, he is struggling with his perfectionism and the excruciating reminder of his past and present failures by his brother. Bumjoong seemed to genuinely mean well, but you know better than anyone that throwing someone’s past inadequacies into their face at a moment of vulnerability is highly unlikely to motivate positive changes in their current behavior. You shiver and press back against Hongjoong as you reach out to hold onto his arms and try desperately to regulate your breathing. You’re trying to find the right balance between feeling compassion for him and still wanting to kick him in the nards—metaphorically speaking, of course—for being so completely oblivious and uncaring toward you in this scary, overwhelmingly stressful situation of coming to his parents’ house.  

You don’t even know what they call you, for fuck’s sake. Girlfriend? Lady friend? Friend? COWORKER??  

You shut off the unhinged inner monolog to listen and see if his crying has subsided at all. When you hear greater silences in between his sniffles, you slowly pat his arms and move to roll over toward him. He releases his tight grip on you enough for you to turn toward him and bury your face against his neck. You slide one knee between as he places his top leg on your hip, alternating your legs in a comforting stacked pretzel. You chuckle a little at how hot and sweaty you both are for a completely unsexy reason. You certainly won’t be asking for another round of this any time soon. 

He whimpers at your chuckle and presses a tearful kiss on your forehead. You turn your face up to his and fight to stop a gasp of concern at the vision of his blotchy, tear-streaked face, his brow creased in pain, and his lips unable to close from the awkward grimace of more tears threatening at the slightest provocation. He looks over your face with his eyes huge and equally alarmed; you realize you probably look ten times worse considering what you had to start with in comparison with his stunning facial structure. 

You command him, in a croaky, shaking whisper, “Kiss me.”  

“Kiss me, Dipshit.” Shut up. We’re not saying that.  

He obliges without hesitation, and you melt into his embrace even as the few remaining tears on his face slide into your mouth. You ignore the salty intrusion and press your body and mouth against his to the point where it is almost painful. He wraps his arms around you and holds you so tightly you can just breathe enough to stay alive. You pant into his mouth as his kisses become more desperate, sloppy, and intense. You press your body against him, and he meets you with the quivering of his straining muscles matched by the increasingly evident pulsing of his hard cock against your thigh through his pajama pants. He chuckles as you moan pathetically as he relaxes his pelvis away from your leg, following a particularly powerful, prolonged thrust. You lick at his lips and pull his hair as you force him to return his mouth to yours.  

This is the only ‘lip service’ you’re going to get away with for some time, Kim Hongjoong.  

He obeys without a whimper and follows your lead.  As you roll onto your back, he rises to place his body on top of yours. He kisses you passionately as he continues to rut against you; his cock has clearly developed its own agenda. After several minutes of desperate groping and fervent kissing, he pulls back from you to wipe the hair from your face and kiss the apples of your cheeks where the clear lifeblood of your soul had earlier run freely from the devastating injuries caused by the one person you entrusted your soul’s safety to the most. 

He stares down at you, unsure of what to do or say. You both know that you need to have a serious conversation—possibly several of them—to address everything this day has brought to light. But right now, you simply need to feel all of him completely connected to you—body and soul—before you can discuss any of it in words. You wonder, given the topic of his parents’ rules and Bumjoong’s low opinion of his brother for actually attempting to follow the rules, whether what you need is even on the table.  

If it isn’t, we’re fucking going home. Swear to gods.  

Surprisingly, it is Hongjoong who breaks the silence first, interrupting your brain gremlins’ vociferous debate. He kisses the tip of your nose before pulling back and taking a deep breath. “I love you so, so, so much,” he says, looking miserable and hopeful all at the same time. You quietly look up at him, scanning your eyes over all of his precious features and waiting just a beat longer than you need to before he squirms and laughs a little, and you blurt out, “I love you so, so, so much, too.” He exhales with exaggerated relief, and you laugh lightly. You pull back from him again so you can fully look into his eyes without, you hope, becoming quite cross-eyed due to the close proximity. 

“I need you,” you say quietly, as you look at his deep, dark eyes rimmed with red, and he nods as he squeezes his arms around you again to hold you tight. “I need you, too. So much,” he whispers with a tremor in his voice again. You kiss his chin and look up at him meaningfully as you say, “Make love to me.” You hold your breath and wait for him to pull away or argue, but to your incredible relief, he does neither. He nods without a word and presses his perfect lips against yours for the longest minute of your life as tears begin to crest both of your faces once again, and he slides his body a fraction lower over you to press his hard cock directly against your slit through your sweatpants as you lift your hips and press your heat toward him.  

He parts your lips with his tongue, and your tongue meets his eagerly to explore each other’s mouths in a silent song of all of the unspoken words you’ve withheld from each other as a wordless vow to someday speak the words with these same tongues, and your bodies desperately cry out for the deep physical connection to seal your vow with an exchange of fluids and unrestrained rapture. He ruts against you rhythmically as your kisses intensify. You gasp and whine at the electricity your clit sends up each time his hard cock practically crushes it against your pelvis. He pulls back to examine your face and sees your grimace of pain mixed with pleasure and apologizes quickly before shifting back from you. 

You start to protest until he sits back, holding himself up over your knees with his powerful thighs before reaching a hand for you to grab and partially sit up, allowing him to pull your hoodie off. You realize quickly that it won’t end well if he attempts to remove it for you because even you sometimes struggle doing that on your own, so you arch your back to free the lower half before crossing your arms and expertly pulling it over your head. You allow him to help with your shirt before also pulling the cross-over move with your sports bra. He lets out a groan as soon as your naked breasts are freed, and he swiftly pulls his shirt over his head before shifting from side to side to yank his boxers and pajama pants off.  

You use the shift of his weight to work your sweatpants and underwear off, but you can’t get your socks off without risking kneeing him somewhere delicate. You’re about to sheepishly giggle at their unsexy appearance when you see the intense look on his face; his eyes have completely filled with the deepest look of need mingled with the exquisite emotional pain of nearly watching the one thing that could save him slip through his own inept fingers. He follows your gaze and reaches down to tenderly remove your socks; he doesn’t laugh at the little smirking skeletons or the fact that they reach all the way up to your knees. You are suddenly overcome with emotion as you watch him; he appears to be taking in every little detail about you as though he may never have the opportunity again.  

You gasp softly when he pauses to kiss a tiny mole on your thigh before finding the next one up and kissing his way back up to your face as though connecting a dot-to-dot. He carefully pulls the covers down from underneath you and slides himself down inside them before pulling them over both of you and tamping down the sides to prevent cool air from coming in to chill your naked body. You shiver anyway at the lightness of his touch and the tenderness with which he now lowers his perfect body over you. His hard cock throbs against you, and you press your aching core toward him as you feel both of your bodies shuddering with the intensity of your need for each other.  

He looks down at you with a soft, regretful smile before he says quietly, “I’m sorry.” You raise a finger to shush him, and he nods, recognizing that there will be time for that later. You pull him down by his hair again, greatly enjoying the wispy curls that flip away from the back of his neck and allow just enough length to be perfectly gripped in your fingers without causing him pain. He presses his mouth to yours and begins softly rolling his body upward as he ruts against your mound and kisses you searchingly.  

You part your legs and whimper desperately into his mouth so he carefully reaches down to aim his hard cock between your folds. He glances around hesitantly before realizing there won’t be any lube as you’re not at home. Admiring his concern for your well-being as well as his fairly amusing lack of awareness of the current slickness waiting for him down there, you reach down to push his hand out of the way, wrap your hand around his shaft, and pull his cock down toward your heat. With your help and the more-than-sufficient wetness already there for him, his dusky cock slips straight in, causing you both to gasp and moan at the intensity. 

He carefully lowers himself over you and wraps his arms around you as he presses himself so far inside you that his body shakes with the effort. You gasp and whine as the pressure against your clit sends showers of light off behind your eyelids. He slowly pulls back and returns his lips to yours, kissing you so tenderly that your pussy is quivering in confusion at the contrast between those loving kisses and this unyielding cock filling you completely. 

Either can be used as an instrument of destruction or love.   

You shiver and gasp as the quivering of your core was more than just confusion; you are suddenly cumming hard around his cock, and he looks down at your face in tender surprise as you look up at him in confused ecstasy. He gently kisses your lips and slowly resumes his thrusting and holding your bodies as close as possible to each other. He kisses you so mindfully that it feels like there is truly nowhere he’d rather be and nothing he’d rather be doing for as long as you’re willing to allow it.  

This level of focus and pure connection with him has been extremely rare, which never bothers you when you consider what he is capable of doing with that beautiful mind and body—however divided they might be. But to experience this intentionality in a moment when you truly need it, it seems to be coming from a place of sincere humility and remorse rather than as a begrudging apology in order to move on past discomfort.  

You hold him tightly around his back and slide your legs down alongside his, enjoying the jolt of the changed position as it forces his cock to press against different areas of your walls and mound. He moans into your mouth, and you sigh happily as you kiss his jaw, chin, neck, and mouth over and over. He suddenly shudders and pants, and you feel him pulsing inside you. You smile up at him, admiring the relief that floods his handsome face as you wait for his breathing to slow enough that he can kiss you again.  

You absently bend your knees back up as he kisses you, and he reaches his hand down to grope your ass while his hips give a little shimmy as an aftershock hits him. You fully expect him to move to withdraw, but he continues kissing you and groping your breasts, hips, and ass as he works himself up again. He sucks hard on your lips and moans against your hair as he kisses down your neck, and you feel his cock flexing back to life inside you again, causing you to shift your hips and enjoy the surprised gasp this elicits from him.  

Your evil mind suddenly wanders to what Bumjoong said about his parents being fully aware that the two of you have a healthy sex life, and you wonder just how much of the apology you need from Hongjoong could be made through physical acts of contrition. You decide to attempt to find out, as it would clear a fairly large barrier between you and open up deeper connections in the future.  

The next time he slides his hand up to massage your breasts, you arch your back, lift your hips, and whine at him, “I need you, pabo-ya.” He ducks his head to look at your desperate face as he says to you earnestly, “I need you. So much.” You nip at his lower lip and chin and say, “I need you to fuck me like you’ve never needed anybody else.” He shivers and coughs lightly as your words have hit him right where he needed to hear them, and he slips his body out of the covers to pull you down onto the rug beside the bed. He guides you to all fours before slipping himself in behind you and groaning as his pelvis smacks against your ass once he is deep inside you. You whine and flinch at the fullness before attempting to stifle your cries as he begins thrusting into you fiercely. The slapping of his bare skin against your ample ass is significantly louder than any noises either of you has dared to make thus far, but he doesn’t stop or slow his pace. You are gasping and whining at the building pleasure as his hands hold your hips as if he expects you to try to buck him off.  

You are seeing stars and feeling extremely close to another release as you lean down and press your chest to the floor, freeing your hand to reach back and stroke your clit. You’re working yourself up as he says, not too quietly, “Good girl. Cum for me.” You gasp and choke as the climax bursts within you, and you fight to hold back the screams that so easily leave your throat at home when you experience orgasms of this caliber. He chuckles and continues thrusting slightly less energetically until your body stops shaking, and then he resumes his pounding until you feel him shudder and slow, his twitching cock filling you up with his cum again. You carefully slide forward from him and flip onto your back before gesturing for him to return on top of you. He looks around and gingerly pulls the blanket from the bed to stuff under your leaking gash before he rests his body back on top of yours and kisses you with all of the love and tenderness you’ve ever wanted in life.  

You sigh happily as he lays his head on your breast and tickles your shoulders with his fingertips as he hums against you. You reach down and stroke his hair away from his forehead and back around his ear, tracing around his earrings and behind his earlobe delicately but firmly enough to avoid tickling him accidentally. He takes a deep shuddering breath, and you are so grateful to be in this moment with him that you hope you can just wake up and find that all of the awkwardness of today has just been a terrible dream like the one about carving spoons. But you know that the only way to make today worth having suffered through is to make sure you achieve better communication and closeness as a result. You focus, instead, on enjoying the delicate sensation of his skin under your fingertips and his body pressed against yours while keeping that small reserve of courage to address the whole unpleasant business when the endorphins subside, and reality dictates that it is time.  

You want to laugh bitterly as you suddenly recall Hwa’s jealousy at your chemistry match with Hongjoong. You would point to today’s clusterfuck and say, “See?! This is why it’s a terrible idea!” and he would roll his eyes and say something like, “Yeah, I know. But it’s chemistry.” and you would want to bite him. Hard. 

You realize you have no idea what time it is, nor do you want to fall asleep on the floor with Hongjoong, despite having apparently helped him work through the paranoia at being perceived as doing anything intimate in his parents’ house in defiance of someone else’s traditions, as his family clearly isn’t committed to these quaint attitudes about adult intimacy. You grab his hand and stroke his fingers, marveling at these hands that create such amazing things and the slight crookedness of his precious fingers when he flexes them all the way out.  

Poor baby. Even his fingers ain’t straight.  

You whisper into his hair, “What time is it, Jjoongie?” “Hmm?” he asks, having clearly also been visiting his deeper thoughts when you began to speak. “What time is it?” you repeat, unsure if there is a clock in the room or if one of you will have to fish out a phone to find out. “Oh,” he responds, finally recognizing and understanding your words, “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, right?” He shimmies his body against you, and you giggle at the feeling of him against your fleshy, soft pillow of a body. “It matters a little tiny bit. But mostly because I don’t want to sleep on the floor,” you say with a pout as he looks up to regard your face. “Oh, but the floor is so comfortable!” he protests, wiggling his body against you again flirtatiously. “Only when you have me for a body pillow!” you practically squeal but do your best to keep your voice at a reasonable volume. He laughs, “Okay. Okay. Fine. Let’s see what is the time.” He slides back off of you and pulls you to stand before wrapping his arms tightly around you and swaying with you there, naked, as he rests his lips on the top of your head and hums before very quietly saying, “I love you so much, Naui Haneul.” “I love you so much, too, Jjoongie.” 

He tuts and finally releases you to go find your phone, but you decide to get your underwear back on first, as the idea of leaving any of his cum here in his parents’ guest bedroom doesn’t fill you with nearly as much glee as the idea of leaving it on the second-floor dorm did. He moves to sit on the edge of your bed as you return with your phone.  

You show him the time, “It’s late but not very.” He nods and leans back onto your bed and pats his chest to indicate that he wants you to slide in beside him again. You are seriously tempted until you decide that you’d really rather today be the last low point between the two of you for as long as possible, so you’d better rip it off like a band-aid and have the shitty conversation that is needed to truly clear up the fuckery that took place today. Seeing your hesitation, he sighs and sits up in anticipation of what you’re about to say before you say it.  

You settle on the edge of the bed next to him, taking his hand in yours before you begin, “Jjoongie, I think we really need to talk about what happened today and make sure we are okay. I want to make sure we clear things up so that we can avoid, um, hurting each other the same way in the future.” You watch his face carefully as you talk to ensure he’s in agreement or at least following along. He flinches at the comment about hurting each other, and you hope he realizes you were being quite generous there because you were the only one who got hurt in this scenario.  

He better know that, girl, or else just go home now because he’s an idiot.  

“I’m not really sure how to approach this. I guess I have one question before I say what things concern me, and you can explain what I’m not understanding.” He nods nervously but says nothing, so you continue, “The things that Bumjoong said about you, with ATEEZ, and in general, was there anything that he said that was completely untrue?” When he starts to respond, you interrupt him quickly to clarify, “I don’t want to know about things that happened before you were at least 18, okay? Unless you think it is very important. I made plenty of mistakes as a child; I’m not going to judge you for making mistakes while you were learning how to be a person. It’s normal. Okay? So, with that, was there anything he said that was wrong?” He pauses to think this through and says, “No,” quietly as he stares at your hand and holds it in his lap. 

You nod encouragingly and continue, “I know you have had to work very hard to be at your best and prove yourself in the world, both to your family and in your music. I know you’ve been very vigilant about how you are perceived by others to make sure you are putting your best face forward. I can imagine that it isn’t always easy, as a leader, when you can’t directly control other people’s behavior, but you feel responsible for the perceptions formed about your group. I was not surprised at what Bumjoong said about this. I don’t think it is coming from a bad place or from bad intentions. But I also can imagine other people have had difficulty accepting this from you, especially when they want to be considered apart from their actions or as individuals.”  

You pause for a moment to make eye contact with him and see whether he has shown any need to correct you or interrupt. When he says nothing, you plod on, “I also know that I prefer people to tell me very directly what they want and do not want from me, so I can be confident that I am doing my best rather than just guessing and hoping that I am doing things right. But I am very tenderhearted when it comes to criticism, and finding out that I’m not doing something right is very painful, even though I’d rather know so I can do better.” He looks up at you and tuts sympathetically as he squeezes your hand to offer reassurance. You smile weakly and add, “It’s also really hard for me to be kept out of things or feel like I’m not fully accepted into a group or situation. So, when you said you would translate for me, but you didn’t, I felt very left out and afraid. I was worried that I would seem uncaring or disinterested because I didn’t know what was going on. I also did not want to be rude to interrupt your precious time with your mom to be selfish to know what was going on. So, I just sat there feeling sad.” He gives a little cry of dismay as it had clearly not occurred to him that you would interpret things this way. Now you squeeze his hand reassuringly as you say, “I didn’t know what to do, and there just wasn’t time to tell you how I felt. Sometimes, it’s really hard when things move quickly, and we end up having so little time to just talk. We were so tired when we got home that I never got to explain why it was important to me to have the translation. I was also worried that you were ashamed of me for not speaking Korean, so that made me feel very small and afraid.”  

Hongjoong makes another noise of protest, so you pause and look into his eyes as he furrows his brow in dismay, “I am not ashamed of you. No, never! I just thought I could do it for you, and you didn’t need to hear all of the silly stuff I talk about with my mom. I thought it would be boring for you, but I didn’t know how you would feel. I’m so sorry. When Bumjoong said I was being controlling by doing that, I also think maybe that is a little true because sometimes there is more to a story that I would have to explain and it seems unnecessary. Like you said, we don’t always have time.” You watch him carefully as you add, “It hurts me to not be involved or to be able to ask questions or answer questions for myself. That’s why translation is hard; a translator has to be impartial and just repeat things over and over, back and forth.” He nods knowingly, and it feels stupid to tell him how translators work, but he has to understand that you don’t want things simplified or skimmed over if you’re to be truly included. Your final argument, as you’ve told him before, maybe will hit home if you present it in this context. “Also, remember when we were at brunch at the resort? It was nice for me to have some of your attention, and you didn’t have to translate everything the whole time, so I think while you are plenty talented enough to do that, it’s a lot of work, right? I think you deserve to just be a part of the conversation, too. You don’t have to do it all, Captain.” He grumbles playfully and pouts as he leans over to kiss you gently in surrender. 

“Thank you for telling me. I didn’t know what it feels like for you,” he says sincerely as he looks at you with regret. You shake your head, acknowledging that you never thought it was intentional, “I know, and as I said, we don’t always get to talk about things like that, so how could you have known?” He shrugs and seems to struggle with the fact that you’re willing to release him from full liability in this misunderstanding.  

You decide it’s best to move on to the next piece, “Okay. When Bumjoong said that you tried to control other people, I wonder if you have trouble trusting people because it hurts so much when they disappoint you. That you think if you can control what people do, then they can’t let you down. I know I have struggled with that and sometimes avoided relying on others for that reason. Do you sometimes feel that way?” He shrinks a little, and you feel a little guilty that he probably hadn’t anticipated this deep of a conversation, although it has been something you have wondered about him for quite some time.  

He sighs and rubs his thigh with his free hand, “Yeah. I really hate how I feel about people when they let me down. I feel bad when they make me feel sad or angry, so I sometimes try really hard to control everything so that they can’t let me down, and then I won’t have to feel guilty about getting mad at them.” He chuckles awkwardly but looks up in surprise when you nod enthusiastically, “Yes! I get so mad when people hurt my feelings or disappoint me, and then I feel guilty about it. But then I feel even more angry that they made me feel guilty!” You laugh stupidly at your inability to properly process your own feelings, “I’m still trying to trust people and trying to figure out how to just be okay with getting mad sometimes. Sometimes, people do things that are hurtful, and it’s okay to feel hurt about it. But to fall into the trap of getting mad, then feeling guilty, well, then you can’t really solve the actual problem. I am not so worried about you feeling that way about me, though. I want you to know that I would rather work together as a team to prevent bad things and to communicate openly about what you want or don’t want from me so I don’t disappoint you.” You pat the back of his hand to draw his attention up to your face again before you add, “I am always doing my best, and I always want you to be so happy with me because I’m so in love with you. I love it when you let me help you, and you trust me with things. I love feeling like we’re working together and that you trust me. I would never disappoint you on purpose, but I am worried about that a lot when I don’t know what you want from me or if I’m doing the right things.” You look down and swing your feet a little as you add quietly, “That’s why the ‘good girl’ thing means so much to me. You tell me exactly what you want, I do it, and you tell me you are pleased. It works for me on a very deep level—even outside of the bedroom.” You add, feeling your cheeks blush heavily with this admission.  

He hums and turns to kiss you deeply before pulling back and saying with a raspy voice, “I love that about you.” He smiles devilishly and continues, “I love that I can tell you what I want and that it’s not because I’m being controlling, but it’s what you want me to do. I love that it is what works for us.” You nod emphatically and sigh happily as you rest your head against his shoulder for a moment, basking in the spoken words matching up with the truth you’ve known deep down since you have had the opportunity to spend time with Hongjoong and get to know this side of each other so intimately. 

“So, part of that is what helps me, like if you don’t want me to have the phone or if there is a problem that I don’t know about, it helps me if you tell me I’m doing good and give me a lot of that feedback, so I’m not just sitting there worrying about doing everything wrong. My brain can get very busy when I have nothing else to do. I hate it. I don’t need to know the details. I just need a quick check-in or simple instruction, if you will tell me more later. If you ask me how I’m doing, and I know you expect me to be truthful, it really helps. If you tell me I’m doing well, I believe that easily. But not knowing makes me so anxious.” He kisses your forehead as he looks at you with concern, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” You interrupt him, “We have barely had a chance to spend time together, let alone try to figure these things out. I’m just learning them, too.” You decide to fully commit to transparency as this is another commonality you share, “I haven’t had a lot of serious relationships, and it has been a while since my last one. I was so young that I didn’t know a lot about myself yet. So, I can’t even tell you things ahead of time if I haven’t already learned them about myself.” He looks at you in undisguised surprise, “Oh. That makes sense. I guess I thought you had more than me.”  

You laugh, startling him, “Yeah, I probably had more than you; I’m a little tiny bit older than you are. But it’s been a long time, and I have learned different things about myself outside of relationships. I’ve also been grieving my father, so I stopped doing much thinking about my emotions for a long time. It wasn’t good, obviously, but that’s what happened.” He reaches around to hug your shoulders, and you lean against him, grateful for this tender man beside you who can put aside the feedback about how he’s fucked things up with you in favor of giving you the opportunity to tell him about what you need from him rather than getting butthurt about it like so many previous partners would have if the situation had occurred with them.  

You lean your face up and kiss him deeply, relaxing into the warmth of his body beside you and the deeper trust you are building with him by persevering through this first major malfunction. 

Your phone buzzes, causing you to jump, and you fumble for it to see that Seonghwa is messaging you. Hongjoong turns to look at the screen with you as you open the message and cringe that you had forgotten to respond to him earlier.  

Dear One / Big Star🌠:    

Are you okay?   

I hope you didn’t change your mind about what happened yesterday.  

I am so sorry if I caused you pain.  

I hope that you are just having a good time and not upset with me.  

I love you so much.  

_______________________________________________  

You sniffle and quickly move to respond: 

Oh! I’m so sorry, Dear One.   

I was busy with a lot of driving around Anyang and dinner.  

I did not mean to ignore you.  

I didn’t have my phone out much at all.  

I love you so much, too.  

See you tomorrow!  

[Send]  

You shut off your phone and turn to cuddle against Hongjoong again when you see him watching you with a concerned expression. You shake your head a tiny bit and set your phone aside. When Hongjoong sees you aren’t planning to volunteer any explanation, he coughs lightly and asks, “What happened with Seonghwa yesterday?” You feel your vision start to go black around the edges as you sincerely hope this isn’t going to set off a whole new round of conflict, “Um, that’s a little bit of a long story. Can we lay down under the covers, and I will tell you?” You kiss his jaw and bat your eyelashes at him, hoping the silly move will prevent any unnecessary tension. 

He nods without saying anything and turns to move into the bed, leaving room for you to curl up beside him and rest your head on his shoulder. Once the two of you are settled in and covered by the remaining blankets, you reach out to hold his hand and play with his fingers while you tell him what happened yesterday. You decide the past pain Hwa disclosed about Hongjoong leaving him lonely was not needed to tell the story about the concerns about you abandoning him in favor of Hongjoong. You explain the lustful jealousy and physical reaction to unintentionally hearing you two that morning, and you emphasize that you gave him full consent to act out his desires.  

Hongjoong seems to react neutrally to the information, in a sort of “all’s well that ends well” attitude, but his hitched breath, tensed chest, and increased heart rate betray his concern. He struggles to choose an appropriate response, “So everything is okay now? That’s it?” He tries to look down at you, but the position makes it difficult to fully view your face. You sigh a little more heavily than you meant to, “Yeah. I feel like it is all okay now. I mean, I was okay right after he and I talked. But I was worried about Hwa, and I really don’t ever want to leave him lonely. He makes me feel so much better just by being around. He is my best friend.” You smile, unconsciously, at the feeling of joy that blooms in your chest at this last statement. 

Hongjoong pats your shoulder and hums, “I am so glad that you two are so close. If you are happy, I am happy. I love that I don’t have to worry about you when I am doing extra projects because you have Hwa to care for you. I love him, too, and I wouldn’t want him to be lonely. Never.” He sighs a little, seeming to hesitate before he says nervously, “Do you think Hwa is a better fit for you? As a lover?” 

You pull back from him in surprise and look down at his gorgeous face, still slightly puffy from tears and the exertions of the day, and yet completely perfect in every possible way. You look at his concerned face and lean down to kiss his swollen lips in a gentle, prolonged kiss before pulling back to look into his eyes, “Jjoongie, do you know what a twin flame is?” He pauses for a moment, mulling over the words and translations, before saying, “I am not sure.” You open your phone again and pull up an explanation for him, as you’re not even sure of the origin of the concept. When you find a satisfactory article, you begin reading to him, “The concept of the twin flame is earliest noted in the writings of Plato, who describes it as a phenomenon of human souls being split apart and reincarnated in separate bodies, then spending the rest of their lives searching for this ‘lost self.’ The journey and reunion can be intense and tumultuous, as they may not always be ready and may struggle with the intensity of self-reflection that can occur due to the fact that the two pieces of the soul, or two flames, are mirrors of one another. It forces you to confront some of your weaknesses and failings, but it also can strengthen you and create a bond like no other. It is intense, though, and while the twin flames feel they have known each other or met before, they have still lived separate lives, so there are things to be learned about one another as well.”  

He looks at you and mulls this over briefly. “That is interesting. It sounds like soulmates but more intense, maybe?” You nod gently, “Yeah, a soulmate doesn’t have to be romantic, and neither does a twin flame, but the soulmate is felt to be more stable and supportive of a relationship rather than a sameness with the intensity and passion of a twin flame.” He nods and says, “That makes sense.” You look at him cautiously before asking, “Do you believe in that? Or do you think it’s just, um, biology or whatever that makes people want to be around each other?” Hongjoong says without hesitation, “I think there is chemistry, but that it is deeper than biology. It is more than that. So, yeah, I guess it could be like soulmates or twin flames. Either one, depending on the relationship.”  

You turn his hand over to trace the lines on his palm before finishing this winding concept into actually answering the question he posed, “You asked if I think you or Hwa is a better fit for me. I think that there is no good answer for that.” You feel him tense up beside you so you gently squeeze his hand reassuringly to let him know you have more thoughts, “I think that Hwa is like a soulmate for me. He is my comfort, my happiness, and my safety. He is my most trusted friend, and I hope I am his. I hope that I mean as much to him as he does to me. I hope I bring him as much joy as he brings me and that he knows he never has to be alone because he has me.”  

You sigh nervously before laying your soul bare for Hongjoong, and you decide it would be better not to be a chickenshit in this instance and just look into his face boldly as you say the absolutely unbelievable thing you’re about to say. As you look into his bottomless, mahogany eyes, you bite your lip anxiously before gathering your courage and pressing your naked body against his side for strength, “I think that you are my twin flame. There is a passion for you deep within me that terrifies me to my very soul. It is pain and torment and ecstasy and heaven all rolled into one. I have loved you from the moment I saw your face, and I have been desperate for you since the first time I heard your voice. But it was what you said with your voice, your words, your poetry, your soul, which spoke to me. I have always been too intense for most people; I have struggled with feelings that were too deep or existential for people to be comfortable. I have shared parts of my thoughts with someone and found out very quickly that they were the wrong sort of person to be trusted with my deepest feelings.” 

He holds your gaze with calm wonder as you continue, “I have only ever felt a fraction of what I feel when I am with you. I think that if there is such a thing as a twin flame, then you may be mine if what I’ve just said doesn’t scare the absolute shit out of you and make you want to run screaming down the street to get away from me because I’m crazy.” You chuckle nervously and avert your gaze until his palm on your cheek startles you and presses your face back to look into his eyes again. He pulls you down for a deep kiss, and tears are instantly spilling down your cheeks again. You pant and gasp into his mouth in surprise at the intensity of this reaction, and your entire body is full of euphoric waves again as he wraps his arms around you.  

He kisses you with the reassurance and acceptance that you have always sought, and all others had fallen so far from being able to deliver; his lips and his breath intertwine with yours and communicate everything you have suspected and not dared to speak for fear of realizing that the dream was only that. You would look upon something in the distance, shimmering as though constructed of the strongest silk threads, only to find that this beautiful structure was made of fragile spun sugar threads and would break from the movement of the lightest exhale of truth. 

As you shudder and shake into his embrace and the blaze of hope inside you sends fireworks of ecstasy throughout your body, you are suddenly gasping at the fireworks from your core; you must have been pressing yourself against his hip desperately and brought yourself to this emotional and physical climax all at once. He groans in surprise, and you instinctively reach down to touch him. He gasps as your hand makes contact with the heat and excruciating hardness of his erection. You moan into his mouth as you stroke him desperately, and your legs twitch and rub against his. He shudders and pants into your mouth suddenly, and you feel his cock pulsing in your palm as hot, sticky semen shoots across his abdomen and up the side of your arm. He kisses you deeply once more as his breath shudders and his body relaxes. You pant into his cheek and press your body against his, enveloping his cum between you as your large breasts slide across it and your thigh rests on his lower belly.    

You moan again in sheer amazement at the intensity of your physical and emotional connection to this man. He turns his face to kiss your forehead as he sighs with a slight chuckle, “Twin flames, huh?” He lets out a long, satisfied exhale before he says, “Yeah. I think that’s true.” You wipe the tears from your face onto the pillow beside his perfect, feathery hair and nuzzle your nose up to his neck as you softly sigh happily and doze off into the black sleep of one who is already enveloped in the perfection of the best dream.  

Chapter Text

 The early morning light is beginning to infiltrate the curtains when you awaken to a light scraping sound on the bed table beside you. You push your hair out of your face and fight to force your puffy eyelids open to see Hongjoong’s mother setting down a tray with something that smells a lot like coffee on the table. She startles when she sees you moving out of the corner of her peripheral vision, causing the porcelain cups and metal spoons to jingle musically. You smile sleepily and suddenly think to clutch the blankets in alarm as you realize you have no clothing on. You’re only a tiny bit relieved to find that all of your nakedness was effectively covered by the sheet since you and Hongjoong left the blanket on the floor last night.  

His mother quickly deposits the tray and gives you a small apologetic smile as she ducks out of the room. You suck in your breath as you slowly turn to see that Hongjoong is fast asleep on his back beside you with one arm still extended below your shoulder and his hand resting under your bare breast. He has just enough of the sheet over him to cover his lower half, though his naked thigh and knee are exposed as he has his leg bent at a ninety-degree angle from his torso. You cringe as you imagine the reaction he will likely have when he awakens to the news that not only is his mother aware of where he spent the night, but she has also seen that the two of you were stark-ass naked as you shared the bed.  

He must have felt your shuddering or heard the door closing in his sleepy senses as he now rolls over to search for you with his free arm, groping blindly as he mutters adorably and moves his body closer to wrap around yours in the cool temperature of the room. You sigh and shift back against him, tugging the sheets out from between you and tossing them over his back to keep him from getting chilled. He snuggles up to you and smacks his lips happily as he inhales deeply at the nape of your neck before sniffing more curiously up your neck and kissing and smelling your skin as he works his way up to your earlobe before playfully nibbling on it until you squeal and giggle at the forest of goosebumps this raises on every inch of the skin on your arms, neck, back and breasts. He chuckles and kisses your cheek as he says, “Good morning, Naui Haneul. How did you sleep?” and he gazes fondly down upon your face.  

You groan, and he suddenly looks up to sniff the air of the room and sees the tray on the bedside table. You feel him go perfectly still, and you’re now frozen in fear as you know he’s seen the evidence of his mother’s presence. You feel the blood drain from your face, and you shut your eyes tightly as if refusing to see whatever comes next will somehow change things. A strange sound escapes him, and it sounds like a mix between a chortle and a nervous laugh. He’s gasping now, almost snorting with laughter as he looks down at you. You cautiously peek at him as his hair falls over his eyes. He rolls onto his back, rubbing his face with his palm as he continues to crack up.  

You slowly turn over onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows, and look back to face him. You’re cautiously peering through your own disheveled hair to see if he’s lost his damn mind or gained some sense, ironically. He looks over at you from underneath his palm as he now presses it gingerly against his forehead. “How long has that been there?” he asks with a goofy grin. “Your mom just brought it in a few minutes ago. I woke up when she was setting it there,” you offer nervously. He laughs again, “Oh, wow. Okay then. I guess that’s that, huh?” You giggle at his resigned, sarcastic humor and hope he won’t change his mind and decide to be mad about all of this later when the rest of his brain is fully awake. “I’m sorry, Jjoongie. I didn’t realize what time it was,” you say, accepting as much of the blame as you feel you can reasonably bear. 

He looks at you lovingly before raising himself up to kiss your forehead, “No. It’s okay. I was not going to leave you this morning. I’m so sorry I ever left you alone before. I promise I won’t do that again. I did not know how to do this; I have never brought anyone home to meet my parents until now. I have not crossed the line between being a boy and a man in their eyes—not completely, anyway. I mean, I don’t think they thought of me that way, but there’s a sort of difficulty in officially becoming an adult when your parents still remember you as a child, right?” You nod emphatically as you are painfully familiar with this bizarre parent-child dance that is a right of passage with no handbook. 

He looks at your face and appears to be memorizing all of your features again as he adds thoughtfully, “I am so sorry I did not handle all of that as well as I wanted to. I realize now I was completely unprepared. I guess Bumjoong was right about that, too. I just wanted you with me. I feel such a deep connection to you that I feel as though you are part of me already, so I wasn’t thinking as much about you as a separate person who is being thrown into this new, unfamiliar situation here. I should have thought more about how that would be for you. I love you so much. Thank you for telling me how you feel and for forgiving me.” He grabs your hand and kisses the back of it before looking up at you suddenly through his bangs and adding, “You do forgive me, right?” 

You bite your lip and look up at the ceiling, “Hmmm. I don’t know. I mean, I want to , but it’s difficult.” He stares at you for a moment before he sees the twinkle in your eye, and he looks like he is about to try to tickle you to death, so you quickly interject, “I think I can forgive you if you can just help me.” He looks at you as you tongue your canine tooth thoughtfully, “You see, I have this itch I can’t scratch.” Hongjoong looks like he is holding his breath as he waits for you to reveal how you plan to torture him. “I have this spot, and it’s right, um, down there.” You grab his hand and pull it beneath the sheets toward your heat as you raise your hips up and press his palm down onto your mound. He rolls his eyes and groans, and you whine until he relents and slides his palm down over your slit and slips his fingers between your folds and straight into your wanton pussy.  

You inhale sharply and buck at the electricity this sends up through your belly, and your other hand reaches out to grope for him reflexively, connecting with his shoulder first before sliding down along his abs and holding onto his hip. He gingerly knocks your hand free with his elbow, and you take this cue to reach down to find his hard cock bouncing and flexing as it waits impatiently for your attention. You gasp at the extreme hardness of it, and you wonder if he was already hard when he woke up or if he was so quick to get there just from your little hints. You slide your palm down to the base of it before gripping him and stroking him up to the tip. He moans and turns to kiss you as you drape your knee over his thigh and angle your pussy toward him so that you can get your hand down his shaft with enough room to stroke, and he can still massage your G-spot while the two of you make out.  

Hongjoong alternates between deep, passionate kisses and desperate fluttering gasps against your face as the two of you light up all your nerves with pleasure. His cock flexes intensely, and your pussy is clenching around his hand to capture any increase in sensation as he brings you agonizingly close to orgasm. You lick across his lower lip and suck on it gently as he shudders and fights to keep working you with his fingers. You whimper as you are so close now, “Oh gods, Jjoongie. Oh, fuck. Oh, don’t stop. Please. Fuck. Oh--” Your moaning desperation is interrupted by panting as your pussy spasms around him, and you arch your back at the incredible intensity of the release. You work so hard to keep stroking his cock, and you encourage him to let go as you pant through your orgasm. When his fingers stop moving inside you, he is able to turn his focus to your hand on his throbbing cock as you work him up and down as quickly as you dare. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and sucks air through his teeth until he, too, is swearing and gasping as his throbbing cock shoots hot cum over your naked belly and up under your breasts. You moan happily at his release and turn your face to kiss him sensually as he sighs and chuckles. You lick his lips and whisper into his mouth, “Gods, I love you so much. I can’t live without you.” He moans and nods, “I never want you to have to. I love you too much. I need you.” You sigh contentedly and relax into his arms, gingerly laying the sheet to absorb the pool of his fluids on your abdomen before indulging in holding his undivided attention just a little longer.  

After some time enjoying the connection of the skin-to-skin embrace, he begins to shift and pull back from underneath you so that he can raise himself up on his elbow and look over the contents of the tray his mother attempted to sneak into the room. You watch him curiously and turn to look over the provisions as well. There is a mismatched set of sunflower-themed mugs, a small ceramic coffee pot with watercolor sunflowers painted on the glaze, and a tiny sugar pot with a lid that is shaped like a sunflower seed. You feel Jjoongie scoot back to sit up against the headboard, so you slide back to sit up next to him before carefully reaching over to retrieve the tray from the bedside table and place it between you. You pick up the tiny sugar bowl and squeal at the unusual, whimsical shape as he laughs at your easily entertained ass.  

He slowly pours coffee into each mug before you both notice a small note beneath one of the mugs. After returning the coffee pot to the tray, he retrieves the note and opens it. Unsurprisingly, the note is written on stationery that has sunflowers on the borders. You stare at the pretty Hangul characters as he holds it up to read it: 

사랑하는 홍쫑에게,

나는 네가 이 삶에서 강한 의지와 결단력으로 이룬 모든 것을 자랑스럽게 생각한다.  

나는 네 행복만을 생각하고, 네가 항상 이것을 내 우선순위로 여기기를 바란다.   

네 마음을 잘 돌봐줘, 네가 누구에게 주든 나도 내 사랑을 줄게.  

네 기쁨이나 애정을 숨기지 마, 그렇지 않으면 네가 네 어머니로서 이 만족을 거부할 거야.   

내가 바라는 건 네가 사랑스럽고 존경받는 파트너가 되는 거야.  

내 모든 사랑을,  

네 어머니  

When he sniffles lightly and covers his mouth, turning away from you toward the window, you gently lay your cheek on his shoulder to wait for him to process his emotions. He sighs and turns to you with a tearful smile, which causes you to laugh in surprise, and you startle him into awkward, sniffling laughter as well. You are still holding your breath, as you have no idea what is in the note, though you are sincerely hopeful that you can infer good things from the lovingly presented tray with the beloved sunflower collection serving its purpose there to bring joyful morning greetings with the aroma of coffee. If the carefully handwritten note on the beautiful stationery were to contain some form of familial enmity or admonishment, the level of ironic cruelty would be legendary. 

After several moments of light sniffling and glancing back toward the note, Jjoongie finally says haltingly, his voice choked by emotion, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He chuckles again in surprise, “It’s good, actually.” He swears under his breath in relief. You watch him with sparkling eyes, as you would love more detail, but you are content to wait because his obvious relief has spread throughout your chest where a tightness of fear was attempting to burrow under your ribcage as you waited for any indication of the tone of his mother’s letter. 

He hands it to you and says, “Phone,” as his voice is still strained, and tears are still flowing freely down his face. You pick up your phone, open the translation app to a tab you rarely ever use, and hold the phone’s camera over the note to hopefully scan it all in one shot. After several failed attempts and battling the slightly wrinkled page, the shadows from the camera, and the trembling of your hand as you’re starting to feel quite hungry and overwhelmed, you finally get a decent shot and hit [Translate].  

You find yourself once again holding your breath as you wait for answers: 

My love, my dear son,  

I am so proud of you for all that you have accomplished with your strong will and determination in this life.  

I care only for your happiness, and I hope that you will always find this to be my priority.   

Please take care of your heart; whomever you give it to, I will also give my love.  

Please do not hide your joy or affection, or else you will deny me this satisfaction as your mother.   

All of my hope is for you to be a loving partner who is cherished and respected in return.  

All my love,  

Your mother  

As you read the translation, you find your fingers tracing the letters she wrote on the page in astonishment. You realize that her allegiance is and always will be to Jjoongie first, however, she is giving him her unconditional love and faith that he will choose to be with someone who will respect and love him the way she believes he deserves to be. You can’t really ask for a better blessing than that, even if you’d never imagined that you’d be there seeking some sort of approval. 

He grimaces as you tut at his adorable tears, and you lean over to kiss them off of his precious cheeks. He reaches his arm around to cup the back of your head as he wraps his other arm around your shoulders to hold you tightly. You sigh and press your forehead against his cheek, and you chuckle into his neck while attempting to move your upper body closer to his. When he finally relinquishes his tight hold on you with a satisfied sigh, you lean your face back to kiss him deeply. You couldn’t be more relieved at this turn of events, and you begin to find yourself feeling the accumulation of what could easily be a lifelong debt of gratitude toward his angel mother for this gift to her son of freedom to let his amazing heart soar and love you in the sudden, soulful, nonsensical, consuming way that comes so naturally to him once his mind embraces what his heart already knows.  

You shift back and watch him curiously as the two of you sit in the gradually brightening light of day coming through the curtains and intruding into your little safe haven. You can’t recall if it was ever discussed what the morning would hold, considering you will be heading to Seoul to catch your flight at three o’clock. You’re grateful to Jjoongie for scheduling his afternoon meeting for four so that the two of you could squeeze nearly another day out of this trip before he has to head into the office at KQ to make plans for the Paris gig at Cartier. 

You realize neither of you has touched the coffee, so you reach down to hand Jjoongie his while adding sugar to yours in an amount that would probably gross even Wooyoung out if it were witnessed. Hongjoong seems too preoccupied in his thoughts to notice the gritty accumulation in your cup as you toss back the cooled coffee to wash down your medications before dividing between you both what remains of the pot. Once you’ve downed all of the coffee, you shift to begin getting things together so that you can go shower. You know this will be the necessary next step, regardless of what the day holds, because you’re fairly certain the only parts of your body free of dried fluids are your feet and your hair.  

Thank gods.  

You snicker to yourself, drawing Jjoongie’s attention back to the here and now. He smiles at you sweetly before setting down his unfinished coffee and working his way to the edge of the bed. “What is the plan for today?” you ask as you watch him carefully move the tray aside and move across the floor toward his discarded pajamas. He appears to tuck the folded note from his mother into the breast pocket of his pajamas, and you sincerely hope he remembers to remove it if he is thinking about doing any of his own laundry over the next three days. He turns and looks up at you, startled, before musing, “I don’t know. I am not sure what anyone else was planning to do today after breakfast. But, uh, I think we should shower before we go down to find out.” You laugh heartily at the face he makes as he looks over your sticky, disheveled state with an air of pride. You lean over and agree, “Yeah. Yeah. It’s your fault, you know. But do I have to shower alone or...” “No,” he interjects firmly, “You’re not allowed to do anything without me ever again.” You laugh at his best attempt at an authoritarian edict before looking scandalized, “Anything? Ever??” And he suddenly looks a little panicked before you lean over to kiss him passionately, causing him to drop his pile of pajamas and wrap his arms tightly around you.  

You moan into his mouth before he pulls away, complaining, “You are too much for me. Oh no.” He looks down to see his cock bouncing back with a vengeance, and you giggle before spinning and wrapping yourself in the blanket from the floor to dash to the bathroom, leaving him sputtering and griping in mock dismay.  

When you both are sufficiently scrubbed and presentable, save for the fresh deposit of his cum from a shower session, which is hopefully contained by your panties and the thick denim of your jeans, as you’re woefully unprepared for such practical concerns, you head down the stairs to the delicious smells of breakfast in the oven and fresh coffee brewed in the pot. Another note on the counter reads that his parents have gone for their morning constitutional walk in the country, and they encourage the two of you to enjoy some breakfast at your own pace. Bumjoong is out for the day but leaves his best wishes, and his mother has a few additional instructions for the other items to serve yourselves, along with the lovely omelet in the oven. 

The far end of the dining table is perfectly situated in a little alcove of windows that extend the room slightly and add to the quirky character of the house. This curious feature also lets in the precious patches of warm sunlight that are so soothing on cold mornings. You carry the plates and chopsticks to the table before thinking of the tray with the coffee mugs on it in your room and dashing back upstairs to retrieve it rather than causing more dishes to be dirtied in your enjoyment of this perfect little breakfast with your darling captain. He grins boyishly at you when you round the corner from the stairs and set the tray on the dining table. You slip behind him to grab the coffee pot, but first, you grab two good-sized handfuls of his ass and squeeze before sliding your hands around to the front of his jeans and groping his inner thighs while carefully avoiding his cock as you hump his ass playfully. He groans and sets the bowl of banchan he was retrieving from the fridge onto the counter with a loud bang, and then he turns around to pin you up against the fridge door for a deep kiss and a few good thrusts of his hips against your thigh while he pulls your hands up over your head and holds them there. You’re whimpering and begging at this point, but Jjoongie pulls back laughing devilishly as he returns to his tasks as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. 

You dutifully return to your own mission to refill the coffee mugs on the table before searching for his mother’s hot pads and retrieving the omelet from the oven to place on the table. When the two of you have dished up plates and sweetened your coffee, you suddenly jump up, exclaiming that you forgot something. You quickly move to head back toward the kitchen but instead, double back to where Hongjoong is seated and slide your leg over his thigh to sit across his lap, facing him where you can pull him in for a sensual kiss as you grind your pussy over his groin. He whines and pushes back to stare up at you in surprise, and he’s probably wondering what on earth has gotten into you, so you turn to snatch his chopsticks off of the table and pick up a bite of the omelet to feed him as he laughs in shock and covers his mouth with his hand to prevent dropping any of the delicious egg or veggies. 

You laugh and peck his lips as you quickly grab a bite for yourself before turning back to retrieve another bite for him, making a concerted effort to press your heat against him as you twist your upper body to turn back and forth to and from the plate. He groans at the confusing combination of the intense sensation under his jeans and the comforting flavors of the familiar food cooked by his doting mother, but he continues to let you torture and treat him alternately in this way. You offer him choices of coffee or different items from the plate, and he makes an exaggerated point of grabbing around your waist to sit forward to see what is on the plate to choose from. While he ponders his options, he often nibbles at your neck or collarbone, causing you to squirm and giving you the added excuse to grind against his manhood.  

By the time you’ve finished a reasonable, if not slightly less-than-typical, portion of breakfast, you’re both sweaty and rosy-cheeked with desire. You decide not to tempt fate and rush straight upstairs to beg him to pound you over the side of his bed, as you are determined to christen both bedrooms—in fairness. He tugs fiercely at your pants as you fall onto your stomach over the side of the bed and arch your desperate ass up toward him. He spits lightly in his hand, unnecessarily—though you strongly suspect he does this for the visceral reaction you give him every time he pulls this hotter-than-fucking-reasonable move—and he slips his cock into your pussy while he slaps at your ass and grips your hips. You gasp and swear at the incredible hardness of his erection as he buries it deep inside you before slowly sliding nearly all of the way out and pausing until you wiggle and whine beneath him. He laughs again, the slightest hint of twisted mischief in his tone before he starts pounding you so hard you can hardly breathe in and out consistently if you attempt to do so out of rhythm with his demanding pace.  

You shudder and moan in ecstasy as his strong hands pull your hips back to meet his powerful thrusts and send even more electricity up from your core. His swearing and panting behind you has you on the brink as he takes your pussy to task. He is working you so hard and fast now that you can feel the bed slightly sliding across the floor with every punishing thrust. Your moans are getting louder and throatier as you can no longer control yourself due to the waves of pleasure now obscuring your senses. He gasps and shudders briefly, causing you to cry out, “Oh yes, Jjoongie. Please. Oh fuck. I love you so much!” He chokes and begins to spasm and grunt as his cock shudders and sinks deep inside you to unload. The sounds he is making and the intensity of the sensations finally thrill your overstimulated core into its own release, and you cry out wildly with relief as your core spasms around him.  

Hongjoong groans with satisfaction and falls dramatically forward over your back. He lays there for a moment before sliding his hands inside your shirt and around to cup your breasts as he nibbles at your earlobe and neck, whispering compliments and praises. You sigh happily and relax under his weight as the two of you attempt to bring your breathing and hearts back to a regular rhythm. He hums before moving to shift back off of you, and you mutter with your face still slightly pressed into the bed, “You came first, so you do the dishes, right?” You can’t hold your poker face for long as you crack a huge grin at his stunned silence. He pulls away from you and leans down to bite your ass cheek in retaliation for your audacity. You shriek and roll over, staring up at him and looking absolutely scandalized. He is laughing with that terrifyingly sexy, toothy grin of his, and you shiver with delight as you can’t hold onto your phony drama in the presence of true greatness. He watches your willpower evaporate and laughs again before he leans down and kisses you tenderly, which elicits a whimper of confusion from you and further giggles from him. You love the playfulness that has finally returned to him, and you hope that you can always return to this in the future despite whatever conflicts may arise. 

Not that you’re in any hurry to find any new subjects for conflict, mind. You quickly slide your pants back up and slip past him, yelling, “Okay! Fine! You wash. I’ll dry!” And you hear him stumble and nearly fall as he hurries to catch up with you; the sound about stops your heart until you hear him quickly closing the gap as he dashes after you, shouting his own counteroffer that you’re not able to hear due to your pulse pounding in your ears.  

The two of you round the corner into the kitchen, grinning like idiots, when you come face-to-face with his parents, who have just entered from their walk in the cold with frosty cheeks and happy smiles. You and Hongjoong skid to a stop nearly side-by-side, and both reflexively bow synchronously, causing his parents to turn and smile proudly at each other before his mom comes and kisses Hongjoong’s forehead and pats your shoulder tenderly. You both thank her for the beautiful breakfast and try not to allow the blush to overflow your cheeks into the entirety of your faces as your eyes scan over the table and the pretty little sunflower tray that snuck into your bedroom this morning.  

His mother smiles at your gratitude, and Hongjoong shoos her out of the kitchen so that the two of you can make good on the promise to do all of the cleanup there. She tuts in protest but happily takes her favorite seat with her knitting after she has hung up her coat and scarf. His father chats with him briefly, though you are focused on scrubbing dishes, having given up your claim on drying dishes once you realized you’d have no idea where to put them away.  

You enjoy the relaxed mood in the house as the morning lazily shifts into afternoon, and it is time to pack up your things if you’re to make it to the airport in time for your three o’clock flight. You load up your suitcase but make Jjoongie take some of your questionably dirty laundry back to the dorm with him as you’d be mortified to bring some of it to Seonghwa’s parents’ house, and he laughs but ultimately agrees. The two of you pack up the car and return to the house to thank his parents for a lovely visit and express how much you enjoyed your time with them in their wonderful home. His father smiles at you kindly again and shakes your hand, and his mother finally succeeds in her bid to hug you as you are not holding any items that prevent you from reciprocating. When she pulls back, you suspect that you see the slightest hint of tears at the corners of her eyes, and you’re certain that she winks at you meaningfully. You give her a heartfelt smile and a knowing nod, as you suspect she has blessed you as an ally rather than simply relinquishing her right to make your life a living hell had she taken a negative stance on your budding relationship with her son. She has advocated for your happiness more than she may ever know, and in freeing her son from the fear of her disappointment, she has given him the greatest gift of autonomy and trust.  

As Hongjoong guides the car back toward the main roads and onto the freeway, you sigh happily and pull the visor down to block the midday sun from blinding your view of the approaching city. You are so fully content that you nearly forget to be nervous about visiting Hwa’s family until you suddenly begin to envision having to do the whole “airport but make it in Korean” thing, and you hope your phone got charged somewhat last night because you honestly forgot all about it. You also start to panic slightly when you realize you aren’t sure which bag your passport and everything got placed in. Hongjoong feels your hand go clammy and glances over at you with concern. When he sees your vacant expression, he asks gently, “What is it, Naui Haneul? Did you forget something?” You stare ahead through the windshield, unseeing, as your mind is cataloging all of your belongings and their last known locations. You shake your head slowly, “I don’t think so. I just didn’t have a chance to double-check before we left, so I’m not sure where my passport and stuff are.” He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “I saw you put that in your carry-on with your computer, right? It should still be there.” You sigh and squeeze his hand back, “Thank you. You’re right. I just had such a wonderful time with you this morning that I forgot to be nervous about the airport.” He barks out a laugh, and you cringe at how silly that sounds. He tuts quietly, “I understand that. So much. You can do it. Just please try to remember to call me or message me when you land safely, okay? I will be worried if you don’t.”  

You relish the smile that tickles the corners of your mouth at his request; you’ve always been worried about him while he’s in transit, and now the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak. It’s refreshing. You pat his thigh and reassure him, “I will. Don’t worry. I will have a good time with Hwa’s family, and we will be back before you know it. And then it will be time for our special holiday!! Ooooh. Don’t forget to do your shopping!” You add with a grin. He’s going to need several reminders. You try to remember to put them into your phone later when he won’t realize you’re doing that, and he’ll just think you’re amazing for reminding him so consistently.  

He never needs to know your secret.   

Chapter Text

As Hongjoong pulls his car up to the Gimpo airport, the sun is setting the buildings and towers across the horizon on fire with its last feisty rays, and you shiver at the light chill that has already started to creep into the air from the shadows of the looming city buildings and cold streets. You squeeze Hongjoong’s hand nervously as he navigates to a discreet curb by an entry door before pulling his beanie down low and his mask on. You put one on as well, just in case, as you never know who would be keeping an eye out for any idols at the airport.  

You kiss the air, as you sadly realize you missed the opportunity for a proper goodbye kiss because your mind hadn’t been ready when you left his parents’ house. He chuckles and makes a light kissing sound as well before jumping out to retrieve your bags from the hatch and setting them gently beside you on the sidewalk. He reaches out and gingerly squeezes your hand again before saying quietly, “I’ll see you very soon. Have fun with Hwa. Salanghae, Naui Haneul.” You nod nervously and whisper, “I love you, too. So much. See you soon. Be good. Be safe.”  

He slips back into the driver’s seat but watches you carefully to ensure that you get into the airport and head toward the correct terminal. You pull out your phone and open the translation app, and you feel comforted by the phone’s familiar weight in your hand as you head toward the Sacheon flight check-in. You’re able to navigate the unfamiliar airport relatively easily, and when you’ve successfully found your gate, you pick a seat close to the podium and open a new message to Seonghwa: 

Hello, Dear One!  

I am at the airport!   

I can’t wait to see you! 💖🥰😘    

You will have me all to yourself for three whole days!  

Will that be too much? 😂  

I don’t think so, but you are my favorite and my best.  

See you so very soon!!  

[Send] 

You sigh heavily as you relax into your chair and finally feel free of all scrutiny and the immense effort of trying and failing to successfully navigate Hongjoong’s unspoken expectations, family honor, and perfectionist baggage. You couldn’t have anticipated just how big of a challenge this short visit would be, nor how glad you would feel to have resolved all of the conflict and left with a positive, hopeful outlook on future interactions with Hongjoong’s parents. You’ll have to let him sort things out with his brother, as the intense repair and forgiveness process you went through did not cover the awkwardness of Bumjoong’s well-meaning intrusion into your relationship with Hongjoong. You’re not quite sure how you feel about all of that, and you wish you’d had time to get to know Bumjoong better before he went on his unhinged rant. But that, too, is probably part of his very valid point that Hongjoong seems to be getting way ahead of himself with you. You feel like you can at least understand his intense passion and impatience considering you yourself are someone who clearly still believes in fairytales and twin flames. 

You decide that there is nothing good left rattling around in your brain to keep overthinking about, so you dig through your carry-on and practically cheer in triumph when you locate your earbuds and jam them in to hear Jongho’s ‘Here I Am Again’ on your ATEEZ complete playlist. You feel the immense relief of sitting here, alone yet deeply loved by the man who dropped you off and the one who will greet you on the other side of your short flight. You relax and rest your head back on the chair and close your eyes to fully let go and just enjoy a few moments of peace before heading straight into a different but potentially equally stressful situation with Hwa’s family.  

Yeah, let's start the second round. Fix on!  

If what you know of Seonghwa’s mother is any indication, especially considering the precious son she raised and carried lovingly on her back for months and months as a baby because he’d cry incessantly if she put him down, you are cautiously optimistic that the visit will be pleasant. You hope that she will at least be understanding of your shortcomings as a foreigner, though you know that cultural ignorance is off-putting to many otherwise reasonable people. Still, Seonghwa has not seemed as concerned as Hongjoong was about managing perceptions, so you cross your fingers and lose yourself in the thumping chants of ‘Dune’ before peeking one eye open to make sure nothing is happening at the gate that will take you across Korea to see Sacheon through your darling Hwa’s eyes.  

When ‘Light’ comes on and you hear Seonghwa’s voice, you can’t stop the huge smile taking over your face. Hongjoong’s melodic singing and smiling voice make you miss him suddenly, despite the radiating warmth of acceptance and love you feel at just the thought of being in Hwa’s arms again. You look again toward the gate to see that there is an airline employee opening the door and preparing the boarding procedures. The information on your digital ticket is difficult to understand with the way your app translates the airline jargon, so you quickly type a short message into the translation app that you do not speak Korean and you are unsure when to board, so you would greatly appreciate some assistance to be alerted when your group boards.  

You get up to go speak with the attendant and nearly faceplant as you trip over your carry-on strap that has inexplicably wound itself around your ankle. The gate attendant looks up at you with one eyebrow raised mildly as you fight to regain your balance and continue your forward momentum to approach and show them the message on your app. When he’s read the message, he gives a simple nod and gestures for you to sit back down until he calls you. You reluctantly remove one earbud and try not to grumble at the loss of ‘The King’ in both of your ears as you now have to sacrifice the delicious sensory experience in stereo in order to get on your flight at the appropriate time.  

After about ten minutes and no less than three completely unintelligible announcements over the gate PA system, the gate attendant waves you over and directs you to stand off the side of the retractable belt barrier where the other passengers will be disembarking from your plane shortly before you’re invited to board. The process is relatively boring to watch, so you stuff your other earbud back into your ear to ‘WDIG (Where Do I go)’ while you try not to stare at the crews chatting around the podium or the other passengers milling about who will be boarding your same flight when it is ready.  

The wait is mercifully short as, moments later, the gate attendant has started gesturing to garner your attention, and you bow and give him a small, sheepish smile as you struggle to gather up your things and stuff them haphazardly back into your carry-on quickly while your soon-to-be fellow passengers stare at you unimpressed. When you finally stumble up to the ticket scanner, the attendant nods politely and waves you down the gate ramp toward the plane. It vaguely occurs to you that there don’t seem to be any other passengers walking with you at this point, and you hope that the attendant didn’t misunderstand your request for clear directions and instead flag you as a passenger requiring additional assistance.  

When you step onto the plane, you are met with the rush of gently warmed, recirculating air from the cabin. A beautiful Korean woman in a well-pressed uniform with sleek, shoulder-length hair and red lipstick bows and waits expectantly for you to head toward your seat. You smile at her apologetically before holding out your phone and showing her the same message you displayed for the gate attendant in hopes that she will give you more explicit directions. She reads it demurely, and you follow up by showing her your boarding pass. The flight attendant nods and gestures for you to follow her into the front portion of the cabin, which you instantly recognize as the ‘not for regular people like you’ section. You’re not sure whether it’s called “business class” or “first class,” as you’ve never been seated there before. You start to protest before she again gestures with her open palm to a window seat on the far side of the section. She walks forward with you and points to show you the seat number tag and then the number on your boarding pass because she sees your obvious disbelief. You smile awkwardly and quickly say “Thank you” as you make your way toward the seat and plop down, marveling at the incredibly plush, comfortably-sized seat while you also see the ample room for your carry-on and other belongings in the extended room around your seat.  

The other passengers board the plane, and you try not to gawk as the majority of them move straight past your section and into the main cabin. You can only imagine the relative absurdity of paying for an upgrade for the one-hour flight; you’ll have to let Hwa know that this generously nonsensical gesture is not necessary, though much appreciated—especially when you contrast it with your recent twelve-hour flights in the sardine can that is the main cabin.  

Still, you’re fascinated at the vast differences in comforts offered as well as the different tiers of service available between yours and the main cabin. The attendant has already offered you an impressive range of options of zero sugar sodas and various other beverage offerings before the other passengers have even completed the long trek to the back of the plane. You are starting to think how you could get used to being spoiled in such a way.  

You glance around to see that many of the seats around you are still empty, and you wonder whether these seats went unsold due to the short duration and likely unreasonable price increase or if the passengers assigned to these seats are finishing up microbrews in an elite airport lounge somewhere and taking their time as there’s really no reason to rush into this crowded metal albatross if you don’t have to crawl over three full grown strangers just to get to your seat.  

Since no one appears to be paying much attention to you as they shuffle past, you open your phone camera and take a quick selfie, poking your cheek with one finger, with the coveted window displaying the tarmac behind you. You send it to Hwa with the caption: 

Someone has spoiled me. 👑  

I may be an insufferable pain in the ass forever now,  

 as my standards have been raised 😆💎.  

[Send] 

You decide to be unoriginal and copy and paste it to Jjoongie, too, because he may as well be alerted to your newly overinflated sense of entitlement so he’ll know who’s to blame for it. You smile and crack open your soda, cringing slightly at how loud the sound is in your relatively empty portion of the cabin.  

The flow of passengers through the front and into the main cabin is beginning to slow to a trickle. You hear several short announcements on the overhead speaker before plugging your earbuds back into your ears as you realize the pointlessness of staying fully alert when nothing you hear will make any sense since you don’t understand the language. ‘Promise’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist, and you smile and happily nod your head to the joyful rhythm while you watch the airport workers out your window bustling to load the final pieces of luggage, remove the chocks from the tires, and check off their safety inspections.  

Your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see that Jjoongie has responded first: 

캡틴❤️‍🔥:     

 Oh no. Seonghwa is in big trouble.   

He is a bad boy. 👿  

___________________________________  

You cringe and quickly respond: 

No! He is a very, very good boy! 😇  

You love it when he takes good care of me for you,  

Remember? 😘  

You will have to tell him he is amazing and reward him nicely! ❣️  

[Send] 

You grin and wait for his response, hoping that you’re not causing him to get too distracted in his important meeting at KQ. You’re a bit disappointed not to be able to get the full report right away of what they’re planning for the Paris trip so you can begin to try to envision everything you’ll need to be fully prepared to meet the boys’ needs there. But these next three entire days with your darling Hwa are well worth the delay in receiving information that you won’t really be able to act on for at least three days anyway.  

You’re jolted from your thoughts as the plane shakes suddenly, and you look up to see that the outer door has been closed. It appears you are without any nearby seat neighbors, and you savor the idea that you basically have this whole room to yourself.  

You fancy bitch, you.   

When the flight attendant comes by, she gestures at your soda, apparently unbothered by your clear inability to hear because of the earbuds, and you nod appreciatively to accept another. You figure ordering another soda is less greedy than ordering a cocktail or something, so you may as well indulge. Hwa obviously wanted you to be comfortable, so you sit back and enjoy ‘Selfish Waltz’ on your playlist as a weird smile takes over your lips at the irony of being so spoiled and yet not feeling selfish about it in the least. 

It wasn’t your idea, after all.  

You double check that you’ve fastened your safety belt, and you conspicuously ensure that your shirt isn’t covering the buckle so that the attendant won’t have to tap you on the shoulder to verify it when they do their last cabin check. Your instincts are spot-on, and the attendant gives you a thumbs up as she notes your secure buckle when she returns with your second soda and removes your already empty first can. Your phone buzzes again, so you glance down to see that Hwa has responded to your picture: 

Dear One / Big 🌠:    

THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!!! 😘  

I hope you have a wonderful flight.  

I love you so much!   

I will be here when you arrive.   

I can’t wait to have you all to myself for three days!  

❣️💝🫶  

______________________________________  

You smile and put your phone into your lap as ‘HALA HALA (Hearts Awakened, Live Alive)’ comes on your playlist, and you lean back into the comfort of this overstuffed, generously-sized seat and wait for the rush of adrenaline that take-off always induces in you. You honestly love air travel so much; you’d do it just for the fun of take-off and landing if it weren’t so damned expensive.  

Maybe now that you have eight sugar daddies, you can do it more often?  

You stifle a snort of deranged laughter as you vaguely hear an announcement over the speaker in the spaces between Mingi’s rapid-fire rap and the end of HALA HALA. The cabin lights dim slightly, and the plane begins to taxi down the runway. You turn your attention back toward the window as ‘Illusion’ comes on, and you can’t hide your giddy smile at the way this song feeds the excited butterflies in your stomach.  

You watch the city of Seoul shrink and disappear beneath the clouds as the plane reaches its cruising elevation for a brief moment before it descends again toward the relatively small Sacheon airport. You indulge in one more soda, which you nonchalantly tuck into your bag and hope you remember to pick up some more when you stop at a store with Seonghwa to pick up fruit and wine for his parents. With all of the stress of the visit to Hongjoong’s family home, in combination with the necessity of relying upon coffee for caffeine, your stomach is pretty angry at you. You start to wonder if you’d prefer the caffeine withdrawal headache, but you perish the thought as you definitely would just as soon avoid all discomfort and be able to be on your best behavior without any additional distress.  

The plane begins to descend, and you fight the urge to gather up your things before the wheels touch the ground as your body is practically begging to run straight out the door to Hwa as soon as the attendants open the hatch. You entertain yourself watching the open sea, bright-colored buildings, boats, and bold red bridge below as the tiny objects become larger until the runway rises up to meet the landing gear. The plane bounces several times as the tires shriek at the contact with the tarmac, and the windows rattle as the plane rapidly decelerates and heads toward the terminal.  

You are already clutching your carry-on with your phone securely in your fist when the light comes on to give you permission to unfasten your seatbelt. You stand and are practically vibrating with excitement when the attendant comes to collect you. She pauses to look at your sparkling eyes and ten-thousand-watt smile, and you see her struggle not to laugh at your impatient fidgeting. Instead, she simply steps back and gestures with her open palm toward the front of the plane and the exit door, so you give a slight bow as you dash out the door.  

Of course, you’ll have to collect your belongings at the baggage claim, but at least you’re free of the plane and standing on the ground once again. Two days without a Hwa hug, particularly after your first big fight with Hongjoong, has you absolutely jittering with nervous insecurity. You will have to make a concerted effort not to tackle him as soon as you see him, but you’ll need a really good cuddle as soon as possible.  

You have no trouble finding the baggage carousel as the small airport has a relatively diminutive claim area. You open your phone to let Seonghwa know you’ve arrived and are waiting for your bag, and as you flip your translation app open and tell it to connect to the airport wifi , a couple of messages come through:   

Dear One / Big 🌠:    

Message me when you get here.  

I will park outside the area where the bags come in.  

I’m sending a picture of my parents’ car that I will be driving.  

I’m so happy you are coming to visit my home.  

____________________________________________  

캡틴❤️‍🔥:  

You are right. I am happy when you are happy.  

I am glad you are being treated well.  

My meeting is very boring but important so   

Sadly, I must pay attention.  

I might have difficulty responding quickly to messages  

Over the next couple of days.  

Please be patient.  

I love you so much!  

Have fun with Hwa, and send me pictures!  

___________________________________________________  

You fire off a quick message to Hwa to tell him you are here waiting to collect your bags. 

Then open a new one to follow up with Hongjoong: 

I will send you pictures   

And I will be so very patient while you are working hard.  

I won’t bug you much because I am a very good girl. 🥰  

Not because I am having too much fun with Hwa. 😆  

I will be sure to miss you a lot and not have too much fun. 😘  

I will see you very soon. 💖  

[Send] 

As you see your bag rounding the turn on the carousel, you quickly glance back at the picture of Hwa’s parents’ car in your phone and try to hold it in your memory because you have every intention of grabbing your bag off of the claim and running straight toward the line of cars without stopping until you’ve located his. You bend your knees, ready to pounce like a cat, and quickly snatch the bag by the handle expertly as you swing it around to the floor and yank the handle to extend it. You bop your head to ‘Guerrilla’ and fight to keep all of your sass on the inside of your face as you’re feeling like a badass, however conceited and inaccurate that may be.  

You flip all of your belongings around and turn your body to face the doors leading out to the loading zone before revising your plan to run and simply walking swiftly to the automatic doors. When you step out into the rapidly cooling late afternoon air, your eyes squint at the blast of cold air and the brightness of the LED lights over the sidewalk. You feel much less confident in your ability to instantly detect Seonghwa’s car, so you cautiously move toward the right as you figure you can always double back and walk facing the line of cars, which would probably make it easier for Hwa to recognize you if you don’t see him first. You grumble and pull your jacket closer to your body as you reach the front of the line with no luck. 

It would be really fuckin’ helpful if people didn’t all have their x-ray-grade headlights on full, too.  

Your eyes water in protest, and you can feel the little tingle in your brain that is telling you to get as far from those awful lights as quickly as possible before you earn yourself a nice little migraine for your trouble. Nevertheless, you walk even more slowly now, partially because the wind is hitting you directly head-on and also because you don’t want to have to walk this whole path a third time, so you’re pretty much counting on Seonghwa spotting you before you see him and jumping out to rescue you. ‘Gravity’ buoys your resolve, and you force yourself to plaster a neutral look on your face rather than sinking comfortably into the ‘absolutely fucking done bitch’ face you’re feeling on the inside. 

As you pass the doors you initially exited, or at least you’re pretty sure these are the doors you exited, you stumble over an uneven patch in the sidewalk, and nearly fall flat on your face. The water from the wind hitting you in your eyes is now running down your face, and you can feel unruly strands of your hair beginning to whip around where they have escaped your carefully pinned style. You curse your choices for not plastering it down better, but you were trying so hard to look soft and precious at Hongjoong’s parents’ house, so that is your bad luck now. 

Grumble. Grumble. “Natural consequences... Blah, blah, blah... Own actions.” Grumble.  

You blink and squint, slowly dragging your stupid, gigantic suitcase along the sidewalk as your stomach begins to rumble and, as though in calculated fuckery, you realize you also really have to pee, but you thought you’d rather just get to Hwa as quickly as possible, so you made another apparently highly regrettable choice.  

Great. And now my nose is starting to run.  

The wind is really whipping up, and between the bleary eyes, sniffling nose, whipping hair, empty stomach, the slight penguin waddle from the full bladder, and the rapidly disintegrating positive outlook—all compounded by relationship drama and basically zero sleep last night—you realize you’re about one more blind stumble over the sidewalk from sitting down and having a full-on fucking meltdown in the middle of the Sacheon Airport.  

You stop and force yourself to take a deep breath and pull out your phone to check one more time what the car looks like. When you’ve looked at it long enough to feel confident that you’ll be able to recognize it from the side, you check your new messages and seeing no new ones, you suck in your lip and quickly message Hwa: 

I’m having trouble seeing you because of the wind.  

I’m very tired and getting sad.  

Also, I really need to use the restroom.  

Can you see me?? 🥺  

[Send] 

If there is one thing you have got to learn, it’s to speak up for yourself sooner rather than later.  

You stand there shivering, staring at the screen as though you will somehow be able to sense the reply before it arrives, like a spider sense or something. It occurs to you that sending him a picture of where you are might also be helpful, as he is probably much more familiar with the features of his hometown airport. You open the camera app and quickly turn to take a pic of the side of the building behind you when you see that your camera is having trouble focusing because a very tall human with big, boba eyes is staring directly down into the lens. You squeal and nearly drop your phone as hot tears of relief slide down your face to wash away the icicles trailing down your cheeks from the freezing gusts coming down from the mountains.  

He looks alarmed, somehow making his eyes appear impossibly larger, as he reaches out for your suitcase and carry-on bag before ushering you toward the warmth of his waiting car. Seonghwa opens the door for you, and you slide into the passenger seat with an unattractive grunt. He quickly loads your bags in the back seat before navigating traffic to dash back to the driver’s side and slip into the car with a happy sigh. You groan lustily at the warmth of the heated seat, and he laughs as he reaches up to move your unsexy windswept hair out of your face. You hope to gods it’s not stuck in your snot or something. You laugh and push his hand away and pull down the visor to check for yourself before he gets a chance to see what an absolute wreck you are. With your makeup having effectively been blasted away by the cold, you can now see how puffy your eyes still are from all of the crying last night.  

Great.  

You shiver, and he realizes he is just staring at you, so he pats you on the shoulder and just asks, “Let's go  home?” You nod and realize you’re so cold you can’t even feel your bladder anymore. But the heated seat may change that sooner than you’d like. “How far is it?” you ask nervously. He looks you over as he tries to guess why you’re asking before he says, “It is about half an hour's drive. But I am not sure because of traffic.” You wince a little but then remember your original plan. “Oh, but Hwa, we were going to stop for fruit and wine!” He looks surprised that you’re still willing to do that, considering how miserable you currently seem. He says hesitantly, “Yes. Do you still want to do that? We could go get something tomorrow.” You shake your head vigorously and add, “No. I want to do it before I meet your parents. Plus, is there maybe, um, a store with a bathroom I can use?” Suddenly, his large black eyes flash and twinkle with understanding, “Ahh. Okay. Yes. I know just the place.” He stops to look and sees that your seatbelt is fastened before turning to look behind and pulls the car out into the evening traffic.  

Your shivering begins to subside as you practically melt into the warmth of the luxurious seat. You vow to never, ever have a vehicle without heated seats in the future, if you can help it, because holy hell, that shit is fucking next level. When you can also feel your face, you smile up at Hwa and gently reach over to pat his thigh. He nods and smiles at you, but you can see that he’s keeping his eyes focused on the road, and his hands at very intentional positions on the wheel. You gently squeeze his thigh, and he smiles a little wider, but you know he has not been driving for terribly long, so you decide not to torment him too much, especially on the freeway. 

He suddenly notices how quiet the music is and moves to turn it up, “You want music?” As you watch him flick the volume switch upward, you realize your earbuds are still in and probably prevented the wind from giving you serious ear pain, though they weren’t actually playing music for who knows how long. You shake your head and pat his thigh as you pull out the earbuds and shove them into one of your pockets, “No, Hwa. I am happy just to be here with you. How was your day? Did you do anything fun?” He steals a glance at you to double-check before filling you in on everything he’s been up to in the past couple of days.  

Seonghwa tells you about how he and his mother ran errands to get ready for your visit, and she had a list of things for him to help her with around the house because his older brother is enlisted, and his father has been traveling for work. He was able to help his mom put some additional lighting in her kitchen cupboards as she’s begun to have some difficulty seeing clearly into dark places, like under the sink. He beams proudly at this accomplishment and then adds sheepishly that he knew how to do this because of the special lighting he used in his Lego cabinets. You giggle at his adorable sweetness and ask, “What else?”  

Hwa pauses thoughtfully before a momentary dark cloud passes over his expression, and you almost would have attributed it to a shadow from the absence of light from streetlights as the freeway shifts to more uninhabited areas between the airport and the city. But he hesitates just a little bit too long for you to ignore your instincts. You know you left things on somewhat shaky ground between the two of you despite having cleared the air and hopefully reassured him of your deep affection for him. “Hwa?” you ask nervously, as you are really not in a good place physically or mentally to tackle anyone else’s emotions at this moment. 

He sighs and shakes his head, “Um, well, Hongjoong called me after he left you at the airport.” He says this and just lets it hang in the air as you gape at him stupidly. You swallow hard and shift nervously in your seat before you can manage to respond curiously, if not a little too nonchalantly, “And?” He glances quickly at you as he maneuvers the car into the next lane to align with the upcoming freeway exit. Seonghwa takes a deep breath, “Well, he told me that there were some, um, troubles, and he wanted to make sure that you are okay.” He steals another quick look at you, and you can tell he’s now regretting not waiting to have this conversation where he can monitor your reactions without worrying about wrecking his mom’s car. You also regret this conversation because you just got away from all of that, and you’d frankly prefer to leave it all behind you for a bit and just bask in the safety of Hwa’s presence. You were already worried about your relationship with him after he was jealous and worried about you abandoning him; you can’t seriously be expected to somehow also turn around and defend your relationship with Hongjoong to him or to process what happened there and make things even more tangled up than they already are.  

You stare out the window at the lights of the city and the flashes of dark alleys, office buildings dimmed for the day, and winding back streets with sharp corners blocking any light from view. Your own reflection flashes back at you when a car turns its headlights across your path. You cringe at the harsh shadows of your puffy eyes and furrowed brow before heaving a sigh and saying what you really think, for once, “I’m really tired, Hwa, and I don’t really want to talk about all that just now. I’m okay, and I will talk about it with you later, just not right now, okay?” You turn back toward him and try to forget how fucked up your face looks. He pauses a little longer at an intersection than is necessary to really look at your face and make his own conclusion about whether or not you seem okay. You smile up at him sincerely, if not a little weakly, “Hwa? I am really, really excited to be here with you. I just want to enjoy being here with you and not worry about anything I don’t have to, right now. Okay?” He seems relieved by this, and he releases one hand from its assigned position on the wheel to caress the side of your face. You lean into his warm, gentle hand and sigh happily before kissing his palm as he withdraws to put it back on the wheel and continue driving.  

He clears his throat happily as you whisper, “I love you, Hwa.” As he turns the car toward Sacheon-Eup Market, he says simply, “Salanghae.” When he begins searching for a place to park, he glances at you with a grimace as it’s clearly taking him longer than he’d hoped, “You need to find a restroom, right?” You nod emphatically as you look at him with big eyes and puffy cheeks, trying not to laugh in your current condition. He chuckles enough for both of you before asking, “And you’re hungry, too?” You laugh a little at this potentially self-serving question before admitting that you are also pretty hungry as well. “Okay,” he says confidently, “We will go to the market, where you can use the restroom, and we can get something to eat before we go search for gifts, okay?” You nod gratefully and watch for any potential parking spaces before he eventually locates one and quickly jumps out to open your door, leaving you cracking up at his unhinged, sudden energy.  

He pulls his beanie down low and puts a mask on, and you find yours from Jjoongie’s car in your pocket and cringe as you realize you could have protected your face from the nasty wind if you’d remembered it was there. But you weren’t expecting to be on the sidewalk for so long that it would matter, and you were pretty focused on your goal of finding Hwa as soon as possible. But having it now is quite convenient as Hwa still seems less concerned about being perceived with you here, and you can’t fathom why he seems so confident until you see the market. This lovely space is full of young families with toddlers and elderly people meandering, socializing, or working their way through their shopping with single-minded focus.  

Literally no one here is looking for idols. What a relief.  

You take Hwa’s offered arm happily and try desperately to make your short little legs keep up with his long strides. He chuckles a little as he feels you bobbing along, hanging from his arm as though it is going to somehow help your legs span longer distances than is physically possible for you. He slows a little, allowing you to walk at only a slight clip while you look up at him and cross your eyes because neither of you can see the other’s mouth. You whine a little when it seems like you’ve been walking for a while, “Hwa?? I have to go to the bathroom!” He laughs and says, “I know! I am taking you there. Don’t worry.” You sigh dramatically and hope you don’t have to add a dry pair of pants to your shopping list if this takes much longer. He reaches over, pats your hand on his arm, and squeezes it tenderly.  

You decide to try to change the subject, so you look up at him between watching where he is leading you and trying to avoid unnecessary collisions with any passersby or carts, “You said you have a surprise for me. Do you still have a surprise for me? When do I get to find out what it is??” You jump a little, tugging on his arm like you’re five. He laughs and sways dramatically as though you are really pulling him back and forth. His eyes smile down at you above his mask, “Hmm. What do you think it is?” You roll your eyes and scoff loudly, “Ugh. I have no idea! I hate that game. I don’t know. I’m not going to guess.” You can tell he wants to pout at your unwillingness to play along, but he can’t do anything effectively with the mask over his luscious lips, so he tuts and says calmly, “You will have to wait and see, then.” He turns to look resolutely ahead as you begin to whine in protest before realizing you have finally arrived at the restroom and not a moment too late.  

He is chuckling at you as you flee from him to go take care of business and reemerge, sighing happily in relief as you also enjoyed using the warm water and hand dryer to return the sensation of normal blood flow to your cold fingers. He pulls you lightly to the side of the hall where the public restrooms are located and tugs his mask down while shielding you from the view of the main walkway with his tall body. You realize now why he wore the beanie and the coat with the hood, and you can’t help but wonder how often your darling boys get overheated in all of these crazy layers, whether it’s due to privacy or fashion reasons. But he is lowering his perfect, beautiful face toward yours as he pulls your mask down expertly with one slender finger, and his amazing lips lean down to press a gentle, unhurried kiss on your quivering mouth. The tenderness of his calm presence, his loving kiss, and the adrenaline of the risks of being so bold in public have you dizzy with arousal. You start to say something, but it comes out all garbled as your brain has short-circuited.  

He chuckles and pulls up your mask before pulling his back up in a smooth motion and turning back to walk out toward the shops. You’re quiet as the overstimulation of your full bladder is now replaced by the buzzing in your clit that is tormenting your nervous system with every hurried step, as your thick denim jeans are nothing if not complicit in worsening this condition. You start to giggle at the absurdity of it all as you are still struggling to keep up. You hope that food is next and that there will be something very bland to help you cool off, as you are pretty convinced that there might be some connection to spicy foods like 떡볶이 (Tteokbokki) as aphrodisiacs and that would make you feel hot and bothered all over, and you’re fairly certain that you’d have trouble turning down something so delicious if it were offered. 

You finally get your brain to reconnect to your mouth and look up at Seonghwa as he scans the shops for options, “What do you want to eat?” He hums and says, “I know one place that I like, but I am not sure if they are still here or not. I don’t want to get your hopes up if they are no longer in business here. Just a minute.” He steps over to a woman seated, cleaning fresh herbs and organizing them in buckets. You can hear the two of them conversing as he must be asking her about the food stall he is looking for. A store with a large selection of various hats catches your eye, and you see a cute, dark gray newsboy cap that looks a lot like Hwa’s, so you quickly grab it and take it to the shop clerk to pay. You’ve successfully smashed it over your hair since the wind pretty much destroyed it anyway, and you turn back to find Hwa. He comes over to you and tuts as he exaggeratedly looks around over your head, “Oh no. Mah best friend is missing. Oh. Help. I’m so sad without her.” He pretends to start to whine pathetically, and you smack his chest as you slip your hand around his elbow again and lean your head against him happily. “Did you find out where the shop is?” He looks down at you, and you can only infer that he is smiling, but he nods, “It is just up this way. Yes. There is a little 소떡소떡 (Sotteok Sotteok) shop up this way. It is so good.” He groans happily and pats his flat stomach; you suddenly wonder how you will eat and maintain anonymity in public, and you tug his sleeve in concern.  

“Oh, the mask? People here do not really care. They do not want to worry about us any more than we want to worry about them. We can get our other shopping first if you feel nervous,” he says as he leans his head against your new hat for a moment and waits for you to decide what you feel comfortable with. “I trust you, Hwa, but I don’t want any trouble. I also don’t want to have sticky fingers for shopping. But I am very hungry, so can we shop fast, or should we get a snack first?” He laughs heartily as he apparently shares your priorities. “I think we can shop pretty fast. Let’s do that.” He starts to pick up his walking pace again until the feeling of your chubby body bouncing back against his as you try and fail to keep up with him has you practically jogging and now he’s wheezing with laughter while trying to apologize as you attempt to bite him. You realize, too late, that you’re just going to get a mouthful of the mask, and you growl and groan at him before letting go of his arm and taking off at the quickest pace you feel comfortable maintaining without drawing unnecessary attention to your thick foreign ass bouncing past, followed by your lanky, mysterious Korean escort.

After securing a decent bottle of blended wine, some Korean pears, a bag of green grapes, and some 곶감 (Gotgam), which are dried persimmons. You wink at Hwa when you pick up the grapes, and you quickly move to hand the clerk your card before Hwa can protest. You predicted, accurately, that he, too, would be confused by your insistence on paying, however, you belligerently stand firm. As you were too busy being dramatic, you forgot to look for soda, so you’re greatly relieved by a small beverage cooler near the sotteok sotteok place, and you buy as many as you can stuff into the small bag you brought from the car, garnering a judgmental eyebrow raise from the clerk and a laugh from Seonghwa.  

You love how he humors you. You wonder if there is anything you could realistically do or ask for that he would truly be embarrassed of you for or if there would still be that little sparkle in his eye that assures you of his unconditional love. You sigh happily as you think of it, and he mistakes that as a sigh of happiness at the approaching sotteok sotteok stall. You laugh and don’t clarify, as you’ll hopefully have more time in more private spaces to tell him just how much you appreciate and love him.  

The two of you fail to withstand the temptation of taste-testing your well-earned snacks before getting back to the car, but you both think better of leaving your masks down as you exit the market to walk back down the street to the car. There are too many unknown variables on a city street, even one as docile as this one seems to be. You carefully hold Hwa’s snack for him, and you’re feeling so lovey-dovey that you don’t even dare to tease him that you might try to eat any of it while he drives. You just have no interest in messing with his emotions; both of you need a break from all of the ups and downs, really. He smiles gratefully when he pulls into an empty lot near a park, and you hand him back the delicious treat.  

You unbuckle in your seat and twist your body so that you can rest your back against the door and lean against your bent knee as you enjoy the tasty food with your darling Hwa in relative silence. You hadn’t pictured the time alone with Hwa to include scarfing down a snack in the abandoned parking lot of a children’s park at dusk, but here you are. You also can’t think of any other place you’d rather be. You happily slide the last rice cake off of your stick before suddenly becoming concerned with what you’re going to do with the slightly sticky implement now that you’re finished. Hwa laughs and shrugs, taking your empty stick and aligning it with his before grabbing a couple of wet wipes from the center console and passing you one.  

When you’ve both finished wiping your fingers and faces, he takes the wipe from you and expertly rolls the empty sticks back up in it and tucks them into a small trash bag you hadn’t noticed in the backseat. You cluck your tongue at him, forever impressed by his fastidious nature, and he humbly smiles at you. He’s so damn cute that you can’t resist sliding over the console to straddle his lap and grab both sides of his face in your hands to kiss him passionately as he wraps his long arms around you. You are moaning into his mouth and whining because you had no idea just how badly you missed this physical connection when a light buzzing in his pants makes you stop and raise a curious eyebrow. 

He groans sheepishly before patting your knee to indicate that he’ll need you to lift up off of him so that he can fish his phone out of his pants. You slide clumsily back into your seat before tucking your feet back down under the dashboard where they belong and watching him, expectantly, for news. He groans and quickly reaches out to start the car back up. You fasten your seatbelt in concern and wait for him to say something. He does the same and says, “I’m sorry. I forgot. My mother. Dinner.” You give an unintentional cry of dismay, and he laughs a little, “It’s okay. She isn’t upset, but it is almost time. She was checking to make sure we would be home soon.” You groan in relief. You’d definitely prefer to make a good first impression rather than strolling in late with lips swollen from spicy sotteok sotteok and kisses, dragging her son behind you with a massive erection as you’d had no means of taking care of that and not getting arrested. You’ve seen enough to know the last place Park Seonghwa should be making news is for being arrested in a park after dark with a foreigner sucking him off. Imagine the scandal if you were also identified as a KQ employee. 

You take a deep shuddering breath to still the heart palpitations and laugh nervously, not wanting to fill him in on the very colorful imaginary trip your mind has just taken. You reach over to rub his thigh again until he presses your hand in place with his and looks at you nervously, and says, “My mother, remember?” You laugh hysterically before apologizing profusely and sitting on your hands until he turns off the highway onto a smaller by-way that passes a traditional building he tells you is a Shinto shrine. You enjoy watching the houses and various businesses pass by until he navigates down a narrow gravel road to turn into the driveway of a large, multi-level house with a white, wrought iron picket fence and a small garage. You stare curiously, as you haven’t seen many garages since you’ve been in Korea, so you’re wondering what is different about their home.  

Seonghwa sees you staring at it as he unbuckles his seatbelt before saying, “That is from the previous owner. They were Air Force and from another country. So, he wanted a garage. You probably know most of our houses don’t have big garages. My mother uses it for the car and also for her gardening tools.” You smile at him and lean over to give him a kiss before you head into the house with him. He moans, and you pull back quickly, saying, “Oh, don’t do that, Hwa, or we’ll end up sleeping in the garage tonight.” He laughs and pats you on the head before saying, “No, my mother is not that way. I think she would be understanding. But let’s not find out, okay? We can be respectful.” You nod and give him big eyes as you get out and start gathering up all of your things. You are grateful for more direct dialog on the subject, but you would probably have asked now that you’ve learned so much from your near misadventure with the Kim family. 

Chapter Text

Seonghwa leads you to the front door past large bushes and the wintering remains of what appears to be a lovely flower garden. You shiver in the evening air as you wonder how much nicer it probably looks by daylight.  

Seonghwa doesn’t knock, and you figure that is because he’s been here the past couple of days, and his mother is presumably aware that he has gone to fetch you from the airport. As the front door opens, he beckons you inside, and you notice the contrast of the light wood and linen-colored walls with tightly woven rugs in natural colors like sage, gray, and rust. The decor is sparse and elegant, if not a little impersonal, as one can’t tell by looking at the beautiful vase or ornately carved plant stand whether it is an heirloom or just a beautifully handcrafted piece of decor.  

The house is relatively silent, save for the light, rhythmic tinkling of clothing tumbling in a dryer somewhere further into the house. You hear a slight scuffling and a sudden exclamation as a round-cheeked woman in a soft, rose-colored dress, beige pants, and grey knit slippers comes around the corner, causing you to jump back in surprise. Seonghwa chuckles lightly and says something to her in Korean, causing her bright face to blush noticeably as she clears her throat and slips around her son to come and greet you. You’re halfway through a respectful bow when you realize you’ve all but forgotten the instructions Hwa gave you before you left. She tuts and pats you on the shoulders, smiling kindly as she looks you over. You find yourself blushing to match her dress as you gaze into the lightly aged, matronly version of Hwa’s face. Her eyebrows are less full than his--when he hasn’t bleached them into invisibility--but otherwise, she has the same majestic forehead, large, gentle eyes, and plump lips that seem to default to a smile whenever she is looking at her beloved son.  

You quickly notice that she is a lot smaller than her initial presence suggested as you notice that she is wearing several layers of clothing under her rose dress, including leg warmers, a shawl, and another long-sleeved shirt. She moves gracefully as she flits around you and Hwa, collecting your coats and hats, instructing you on which spare slippers would likely fit you, and gushing excitedly over the wine and fruits you have brought her. She almost reminds you of a dancer as she swirls around the furniture fluidly and without hesitation. Her figure is relaxed into the softness of one who has passed through the childbearing years; her waist is no longer defined or restrained, and her shoulders slope gently down as though rounded by time.  

You watch her with fascination as she begins putting various bowls on the dining table and sets out various serving ware before pulling several crocks from the oven to place on the table with deliciously fragrant, steaming contents that make your mouth water as soon as she opens the lids. You startle at a sudden light touch on the small of your back, and Hwa laughs gently as he apologizes and gestures for you to come into the dining room.  

He makes a similar gesture with his mother before kissing the top of her head and moving to pull plates, chopsticks, spoons, and bowls down from a cupboard to place them around the table. You stand there awkwardly, watching mother and son move in a familiar dance without rehearsal, before you realize you could be offering to help rather than just standing there gawking. Hwa chuckles at your sudden embarrassment and passes you several glasses and the wine opener so that you can be of assistance.  

Seonghwa’s mother makes short comments to him as she bustles around, and he smiles and nods; you suddenly panic at the idea that your translation app would be greatly helpful right now, but your emotions are still too tender and raw at the very idea of opening yourself up to the pain of rejection again. You force yourself to take a deep breath and remember who you are with; your darling Hwa would not deny you the translation you need in order to feel safe and welcome here. He always insisted on you using it before when he was less proficient in your language; there is no reason he’d suddenly, uncharacteristically, want you to be in the dark now.  

Not that you could have anticipated that Hongjoong would prefer you to be ignorant, either.  

You pause after opening the wine and look at Hwa, intently—willing him to notice either through your sudden lack of movement or some form of best friend telepathy that you hope is developing between you. He does, in fact, make eye contact with you a moment later, and you gulp before asking, “Phone? Translation app?” in a voice that barely registers over the rustling of Hwa’s mother’s shawl and the light swish of her light pants brushing against her dress.  

Hwa nods and moves into action immediately, “Where is it? Is it in your bag or your coat?” When you realize that he is already heading to retrieve it for you, you follow him because you honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead about where the phone actually is now. He is heading away from the main entryway, so you call out to him to let him know you’re with him, and you have no idea where he is going. He slows his pace and reaches out to grab your hand before pulling you back around the stairway to the right of the entry, where you see there are a couple of doors tucked behind the staircase on the main level. When he opens the farthest door, you gasp in awe at the brightly colored lights around the furniture and under the shelving that appear to be LED strips set to a slowly fading pre-set through all of the colors of the rainbow.  

His walls are a deep slate gray, and his bedding is lighter gray with several layers of monochromatic gray blankets and a comforter. It is perfectly made, and the desk nearby shows no signs of recent activity in its pristine, dust-free state. He chuckles at your wide-eyed stare and gestures toward where he placed your suitcase and carry-on bag so that you can look for your phone. When you fish it out of the side pocket of your carry-on, you find yourself holding onto it tightly, like it is the most precious thing you own, and you’re about to cross a rickety bridge. You look up at him gratefully, and he clucks his tongue at you before wrapping his loving arms around you and pulling you close for a long, reassuring hug. He rests his chin comfortably on the top of your head as you melt into his embrace, enjoying the vanilla, coffee, and floral scent of him in his soft knit sweater.  

When it feels like you’re probably indulging a little too long, you crane your neck to look up at Hwa, admiring his pristine jawline, causing him to look down and kiss your forehead and the bridge of your nose before you say simply, “Your mother?” before he gets the idea to start kissing you anywhere else. He laughs at your bluntness because you’ve totally nailed it, so he drops his arms from around you, grabs your hand gently, and pulls you quickly out of his room, saying something he probably heard on an old television show, “No girls allowed!” You cackle as the two of you emerge from the passage beside the stairs to see his mother happily pouring herself a glass of the wine you brought and preparing to sit down at the table to wait for the two of you.  

It’s pretty obvious where Hwa gets his super chill, patient vibe from— most of the time.  

You can’t help but wonder if his mother has a similar temper when she feels free to show her aggravation. Hopefully, you will only hear of it in reference and never witness it in person. You beg the universe to keep that for another visit, at any rate, because your little heart can’t deal with anyone else’s emotions for at least a few days. You trail obediently behind Seonghwa back to the table, where he guides you to your chair, pulls it out for you, and gently pushes it in behind as you attempt to sit down.  

It looks so damn easy in the movies, but you realize you have no idea at what point you’re supposed to actually lower your ass to the chair. It’s a completely different ballgame when you don’t know what you’re doing, and you damn near sit down so hard it causes poor Hwa to let go of the back of the chair as he wasn’t prepared for your whole weight to be on it. You gasp in horror, and Hwa’s classy mother busies herself, fussing with the wine and stirring up something in one of the crocks. Hwa stifles a laugh and pats you on the shoulders, making sure you’re okay, before moving to the chair opposite you.  

His mother calls for the two of you to dish up the items that are nearest to you before passing them around the table. You marvel at the assortment of delicious dishes, including 양념게장 (Yangnyeom Gejang), which are spicy marinated crabs, 김치순두부찌개 (Kimchi sundubu-jjigae) which is soft tofu stew, and 짜장면 (Jjajangmyeon) which are noodles with black bean sauce. You shimmy and hum in your seat as you carefully place a little of everything on your plate. Seonghwa’s mother looks at you with sparkling eyes; she watches between the two of you as you exchange looks with him and giggle with gratitude at the food that was clearly prepared with so much love. More than once during the meal, you catch his mother sighing happily as she watches him devour the food she made.  

There is relatively little conversation during dinner, as Hwa is focused on eating, and your energy is waning inversely proportional to the amount your stomach fills up. You sigh happily and slump back slightly in your chair before thinking of your app and setting it to record as you say, “Thank you for the delicious meal. It was so wonderful. You are a talented cook; I can see why your son loves to eat so well.” [Translate] His mother reads the characters in Hangul and smiles happily as she reaches out to pat your hand lightly.  

After you have all eaten more than your fill of the delicious foods, you and Hwa rise to take care of the dishes. Hwa has to shoo his mother out of the kitchen more than once as she is reluctant to let her precious son toil away when he is home from work. Hwa kisses her forehead and guides her by her shoulders to a chair in the living room and places the television remote in her hand while giving her a meaningful look. When he is satisfied that she has finally given in and will take the instruction to put her feet up and relax, he returns to the kitchen to dry and put away the dishes that you are working on washing.  

He shuffles his feet in a little dance as he comes back in behind you at the sink. When you feel his strong body press up against you from behind, you give a breathy sigh and lean into his warmth. He slides his hands from your shoulders down your ribs, lightly gliding his fingertips over your breasts where he estimates your nipples to be before continuing down to your hips and pulling your ass back in a quick jerk against his groin. He growls into your ear, and you giggle before shaking your head and continuing to work through the dwindling pile of dirty dishes.  

When you finish the dishes and Seonghwa has put the clean dishes away, the two of you make your way out to the living room, where his mother is watching TV. You don’t recognize the show she is watching, but you’re becoming quite tired, so you decide not to ask about it. Seonghwa says something to his mother, and you lazily decide not to get your phone back out to find out what they are discussing. Hwa turns to you and tuts as he sees your puffy, tired eyes and vacant stare. He says something else to his mother, and she chirps kindly and stands from her chair.  

Seonghwa leads you to his room, where he points to your suitcase and tells you to get ready for bed. His mother returns shortly with a folded stack of blankets, sheets, and a mat rolled up under her arm. She efficiently unrolls the mat and places the stack of blankets on it for Hwa to make up a bed for himself on the floor. He kisses her forehead gratefully and gives her a meaningful hug as she gives you a little pat on the shoulder and says goodnight to the two of you.  

You hold up your little bag of toiletries and a pile of sleeping clothes to Hwa, and he recalls that he didn’t show you the bathroom, so he takes you out of his room to the second door under the staircase, which reveals a bathroom with a sink, toilet, and glass-encased shower. You pat his ass as he leaves you to your privacy, and you take your time brushing your hair and putting it into a messy ponytail. You brush your teeth and take the time to look around at his bathroom, which appears to be recently updated with natural stone tile in the shower, natural mats and towels, and several beautiful houseplants on a shelf above the toilet.  

When you slip back into Hwa’s room, you’re surprised to see that he hasn’t put the blankets on his mat yet. You’re not sure what he’s been busy with, but he slips into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth after he pulls the covers on his bed back for you to get under. You realize you haven’t checked your phone in some time, and it’s unlikely that Hongjoong would still be in meetings by now. You send him a quick message: 

Hello dear captain 💖  

I am so sleepy.  

We are going to bed soon.  

I hope you had a good meeting.  

I love you so much.   

See you in a few days.  

Be safe. Have fun!  

I can’t wait to hear the plan for Paris!   

Goodnight, my 🔥❤️‍🔥🔗❤️‍🔥🔥  

[Send] 

When Hwa returns from putting on his pajamas, you look up in surprise to see that he is wearing a loose satin sleeveless shirt and silky shorts like basketball shorts but clearly meant for sleeping. He blushes slightly at you, clearly checking him out, and when he crawls into the bed, you paw at him shamelessly. He slowly crawls up over you, and you spread your legs for him to lay himself on top of you as he begins kissing you deeply. Your breath hitches, and your body catches fire as he wraps his arms around you and kisses you passionately. He moans into your mouth as he presses his entire body against yours, and you wrap your arms and legs around him, holding onto him for dear life.  

He presses his body against you but pulls back from the kisses to look over your face with a slightly sad hesitation. He kisses each of your puffy eyelids and returns to your mouth to kiss and suck your lower lip into his mouth before reaching a hand to sweep a few stray hairs back from your forehead. You sigh happily into his hair as he rests his forehead on the pillow next to your head. “Sleepy?” he whispers into your ear, causing you to giggle and shiver at the tingles this sends down the right side of your body. He snickers, and you respond, “Yeah. Very sleepy.”  

You can feel him nod his head beside you before sliding himself off of you toward the empty half of the bed. He gently pats your hip to indicate that you should roll onto your side so that he can move up behind you to hold you as you fall asleep. It isn’t more than a moment later, it seems, that you are dozing off in his loving arms.  

You awaken to the sudden awareness that you are in an empty bed, as the room is quite dark now. The lights in the shelves have been turned off, and it seems that Hwa’s curtains must be blackout curtains, because there is next to no light in the room. You rub your eyes to try to somehow bully them into seeing better in the low light. When you realize it’s a lost cause, you sweep your arms across Hwa’s big bed but find nothing but cool sheets there. You grumble lightly and try to reach for your phone to see what time it is, but you can’t remember where you left it last night. You cringe as it dawns on you that this also means you didn’t plug it in.  

You carefully whisper, “Hwa?” as you figure he may have just moved down to the mat on the floor after you fell asleep. You slowly lower yourself over the side of the bed and crawl on your hands and knees to where the mat is and cautiously sweep your hands out in front of you to avoid kneeing him or falling onto him if he is on the floor. When you find the mat empty, you sit back on your knees in confusion. 

He didn’t mention anything about having to get up or anything for the plan for today, so it is confusing that he is just gone from the room. Not only that, but the complete darkness makes the unfamiliar room a bit disorienting and frightening. You decide to venture out to investigate, and rather than risk falling, you walk on your knees to where you estimate the door to be before cautiously opening it and peering out into the dim light under the staircase.  

You can see a faint light coming from the rest of the house, so you open the bedroom door wider in order to locate the light switch. If you can at least find your phone, you can check for any messages from Hongjoong and then figure out where you’re going to plug it in. You find it still tucked in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans, and you dig out a charger from your carry-on to plug it into a nearby outlet. You see that it’s barely five-thirty, and you groan audibly at the absurd earliness you woke up. You tiptoe out to use the bathroom and hear quiet voices out in the main house.  

When you’ve done your business and gotten a refreshing drink of cool water, you shuffle blearily out toward the living room and see Hwa and his mother having tea and talking. You rub your eyes and wonder what in the absolute hell he is doing up so early. His mother sees you first and smiles kindly as you bow before turning to Hwa. “Did you get enough sleep?” he asks you skeptically. “No,” you grumble, “I’m not done yet. I just woke up, and you weren’t there, so I wanted to check where you were,” you say with a pout. He laughs at your silly hair and pitiful face. “Okay,” he says before glancing at his mother, who nods at him. “I will come back to tuck you in, alright?” You puff out your cheeks in your continued pout and nod before turning to shuffle like a toddler back into the bed.  

He slips in behind you, and you moan as he reaches his arm around your shoulders and places his hand on your breast while pressing his body against your back. He moans softly into your hair and gropes your hip with his free hand, squeezing your love handles and pressing his increasing hardness against your ass. You obligingly press your ass back toward him to encourage him. He groans and whispers into your hair, “But you’re tired. You should rest.” You nod, “Mmhmm.” But you continue to arch your ass toward him and press your breasts into his hand. He begins kissing your neck and sucking on your earlobe, which elicits a whine from you, causing him to laugh in gratification. 

He presses his hard cock against you again before tutting into your hair, “You should sleep. I can wait.” You whine and wiggle your ass against him, but he simply wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders and rests his knee over your hip as he slips his head back onto the pillow behind you. When you feel his body begin to relax and his breath slow, you are lulled back into a comforting sleep.  

You awaken several hours later to Hwa groping you again, and you whine at the interruption of your sleep because, to you, it feels like only moments have passed. He chuckles at your feisty reaction, and you growl at him before rolling over to bury your face in his chest. He holds you tightly in his arms, and you feel the light tapping of his erection, which is not restrained by his light satin sleeping shorts. You know well enough that there aren’t any underwear under those, so his cock is dangerously close to freedom.  

You casually slide a hand down to investigate and can’t resist stroking him with your palm over the slinky fabric of his shorts. He moans against your forehead and presses his hard cock against your hand as you turn your face up to meet his. Seonghwa instinctively meets you for a passionate kiss as you rub his cock more vigorously through his shorts.  

When he begins groping your breasts under your shirt, you toy with the elastic waistband of his shorts, causing him to pant into your mouth and beg, “Yes, please. Touch me.” You kiss him deeply and oblige as you slide your small hand under the cool elastic of his shorts. As predicted, there are no underwear there to hinder your exploration, and you easily locate his flexing member there waiting, desperate for your attention. You slide your fingertip over the velvety head and find the precum there, which makes your mouth water. You suck hard on his lower lip, pulling it back and stroking your tongue across it forcefully before pulling back to slip beneath the covers to lavish some attention on his dick. 

He shudders and twitches as you lick up the shaft of his cock before reaching the head and pulling it entirely into your mouth while swirling your tongue across the head. You can feel his legs twitching, and he reaches to grab and squeeze your shoulder or hip with every flex of his desperate cock. You lick and suck all the way around his cock, moving slowly up the shaft until you have caressed every inch of his hardness with your mouth. When you reach the tip again, you flatten your tongue across it and lick tenderly under the head before pulling it all the way into your mouth and working it down into your throat. He gasps lightly and tenses as you begin working him up and down. Hwa hisses air through his teeth and throws his head back against the pillow in ecstasy as you pleasure him deep into your throat. You gingerly caress his balls with your hands and feel the increased flexing of his cock as you work him closer to climax.  

Seonghwa slides his hands down and reaches for you, desperate to hold your breasts or grip your ass, and he gently pulls you back from his cock. You let it slide out of your mouth, and it is so rigid that it barely moves. He groans as he rolls you over onto your back and eases his lithe body over you, treasuring your love handles and groping your hips. He slides his long, delicate fingers down over your belly to your mound, pausing for the slightest moment after pulling your pants off before continuing down to the top of your thick thigh and pushing your legs apart. You easily follow this direction and open your legs for him. He continues to stroke down your leg before moving himself in between them and lowering himself over your body while he grips his incredible hardness in his fist. Hwa watches you with an intensity that conveys so much more than lust; his tenderness is equally matched by the fire of his desperation for you. You rock your hips up toward him and reach for his strong shoulders because you want him close, and you want to kiss him so badly now.  

You whimper, “Dear one, I need you.” His eyes close momentarily as he moans and lowers to press his excruciating erection into your heat. He pauses at your entrance, and you flex your hips toward him, willing him inside you as you pull on his shoulders and all but beg him to slip it in. Hwa looks deep into your eyes as he pushes himself inside of you, and fireworks ricochet throughout your body, radiating out from your core, as you feel the intensity of his love for you as well as his body’s incredible desire to be a part of you. You both pant with pleasure, and he leans his forehead against yours before lowering his face to kiss you deeply. He holds his cock deep inside you, and you feel it flexing there as he kisses you slowly and intentionally—the movements of his tongue designed to stimulate the tender nerves on your lips and excite your tongue to explore with his. You buck your hips up and press your mouth against his to match the dance of his tongue. He presses his cock into you as hard as he can, and the pressure sends off sparks behind your eyelids as your clit cries out at the crushing pleasure of his hard body. He whimpers into your mouth, and his whole body is shaking as he holds firm against you. When he can maintain the intense depth no longer, he begins passionately kissing you again with a fervor you have never experienced from him as he slowly withdraws his cock from you. You feel every millimeter as he drags it out with the incredible control of an artist who knows every inch of his body, every muscle, and how to exploit it to coax the most inhuman performance and make it look easy. 

You are shaking again as he is nearly out of you, and he stops his sloppy, uninhibited kisses to watch your face as he hesitates. You whimper pathetically before he begins sliding himself equally slowly back inside of you. Your hips and core have developed a mind of their own and spasm uncontrollably while he continues to move so deliberately that your body can’t believe he’ll ever make it all the way in again. Yet all you want is the full connection of his cock inside of you. You watch the small beads of sweat trickle down from his temples, and a laugh escapes you at the twitching of your hips that you cannot seem to stop. He is distracted by your chuckle and smiles down at you fondly as he leans down to kiss you deeply again.  

Your voice shudders as you whimper and moan wantonly; you can’t believe how much this slow pace and control, in combination with his intense, unrestrained kisses, have already brought you to the brink. You are jumping and shaking all over with the intensity. Hwa smiles at you before returning to his mission of kissing you as though you will come from this attention and not the waves of pleasure radiating out from your core and invading every nerve in your body. You are bucking and panting as he slowly returns his cock to your favorite depth; he is sunk so far in and holding there with intense pressure against your mound, crushing your clit in the vice between your pelvic bone and his. You whine and shake all over as he kisses you, licking delicately across your lower lip with the tip of his tongue while his eyes look deep into yours. Your head tilts back, and you are panting and crying out with the slow loss of control as your core explodes with pleasure.  

Hwa pauses with his tongue on your lip as he watches you cum so hard around his perfect cock. He smiles slyly and lowers his face for a deep, soulful kiss. You whimper and then begin laughing as the endorphins have left you dizzy and giddy. He chuckles deeply at your undisguised wonder at the experience. Seonghwa kisses you passionately again before slowly dragging his cock back out, setting off a full round of aftershocks that have you giggling in surprise. “Ah, ah, ah—” you practically beg him to stop, but at the same time, you want nothing more than him to finish inside of you. He pauses at your spasming, oversensitive pussy’s complaint and waits there patiently. In the meantime, he begins kissing you deeply again, and the comfort of his technique and the pressure against your mouth help your core calm to the gradually increasing drag of his cock inside of you. 

You look up, deep into his eyes as he kisses you, and your sudden, intense eye contact catches him by surprise. He shudders with the devotion he sees there, and it causes him to groan and begin stroking more earnestly now. You feel your core come alive again as he thrusts into you and holds your gaze. You smile at the connection and pleasure, and he is again surprised by this expression of delight and all-encompassing love as he is working you both to climax again. You flex your hips to maximize the connection with your clit every time he is fully inside of you, and he shakes as he nears his release. “Come for me, Dear One,” you say, your voice crackling with the disuse that comes with early morning, and he shivers and thrusts ever so slightly faster. You continue to watch his precious face and seek the darling soul deep in his eyes, and he fights to keep eye contact as he reaches his peak. 

You widen your legs and open your hips to him as far as you can, and he drops down to hold you tightly as he begins to cum inside of you. His cock pulses, and he pants into your hair as his orgasm continues for what seems like ages. You are panting and twitching around him as his release has sent you over the edge again. You lightly buck your hips to beg him not to stop moving, and he grunts and shakes as he tries to keep working despite his body’s desire to lay there, immobile. He whines and laughs but drags his cock as best he can, and you laugh as your fireworks fizzle but the endorphins remain. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles and raises his head to kiss your lips tenderly. You press your swollen lips against his and hum, “It was wonderful.” He laughs, a little in disbelief, and you gaze at him lovingly. “It was! Oh god. I love you so, so much, Hwa,” you stare into his eyes, daring him to contradict you. He kisses your forehead and nods, “I know. I love you so much, too.” You sigh happily and wrap your arms and legs around him as you hum and close your eyes, desperate for a little more sleep but unwilling to release him from this complete connection. 

He recognizes he is beat and relaxes on top of your plush body, and before you know it, the two of you are asleep in this ideal embrace.  

Chapter Text

When you wake again, you fumble for your phone to check the time and squint blearily in the light of the screen before rolling back to cuddle up to Hwa. You hate to wake him, but you need to find out what time you should be getting up. You tuck your head beneath his chin and slide yourself back into his arms as you wrap yours around his back. He moans contentedly and pulls you in closer to his bare chest. He smacks his lips happily and then plants a kiss on the top of your head as he wraps his leg over your thigh. You tilt your head up to kiss him just under his perfect chin, which makes him hum happily before tipping his mouth down to kiss you tenderly.  

You melt further into his embrace as he holds you so tight and kisses you with his gentle, steadfast devotion. While you hate to relinquish his perfect lips from yours, you still need to know what the plan is for the day so that the two of you can make the most of this time you get together, just the two of you. “Hwa?” you whisper against his cheek. “Hmm?” he whispers into your hair, causing you to giggle. “What are we doing today?” you ask curiously. Seonghwa tuts lightly and flexes his arm around you to pull you just a little bit closer as he says, “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure there was something we were going to do. But it depends.”  

You pull back to peer up at him in surprise, “Depends on what?” He hums and fights to pull you back against his chest, the struggle making you laugh as you want to see his face. “Hmm. It depends on if you’re afraid of heights.” You hear the smile in his voice as he is clearly teasing you now, but you’re nervous nonetheless. “What kind of heights?” you ask, with a slight quiver in your small voice. The deep chuckle that comes from him makes your hair stand on end and tingles your scalp where his chin rests on top of your head.  

He pulls back to look down at you and presses his palm against your jawline to bring your mouth up to meet his. He kisses you deeply and presses his pelvis toward you as he holds this assertive embrace. You feel his cock intermittently bumping against you as it is clearly that time of morning. After several long moments, he pulls back only a few millimeters from your mouth as he says cryptically, “I guess we will just have to see.” You shiver, and the electricity of his uncharacteristic mischief shoots from your groin all the way up your spine to the nerves in the back of your throat. When he feels you shiver, he chuckles again and wraps his arms more tightly around you. He groans and presses his cock toward you again, and you can’t resist slipping your hand down to tease him.  

Seonghwa moans against your forehead as you press your palm against his throbbing morning wood. As you slide your hand down toward his balls, you change your position so that you can entice him to bring his lips down to meet yours. He obliges as he feels you shift, and you wait until his tongue is passionately exploring your mouth before you wrap your hand around his shaft. He shudders and moans into your mouth as you begin to stroke him, but he clearly has other ideas. He uses his long arms, which are still wrapped around you, to pull you with him as he rolls onto his back. You follow his lead and allow him to pull you up onto his chest, where your heat is now straddling his excruciating hardness. You whimper into his mouth as you feel the head of his cock thumping against your entrance.  

As he starts to rut his hips up toward you, you start to panic that he is not quite aligned with your pussy. You quickly shift your weight and slip your hand down to help guide him in. You both moan in pleasure as his cock slips past the brief resistance at your entrance, and he presses himself deep inside of you. You return your face to his as you spread your hips open to him and kiss him desperately as he slides himself in and out of your slippery heat. He keeps his arms wrapped around your ribs as you rest your elbows on the mattress just above his shoulders to maintain access for his thrusting while keeping your lips connected to his. You feel his hard abs flexing as he works his cock inside of you, and the electricity of his straining muscles, as well as the friction against your clit, have you moaning and grinding your hips back against him.  

As the intensity builds between you, you straighten up and can’t resist leaning back to work his cock with a little of your own effort; and he smiles up at you as he enjoys the change in view. His long, elegant hands reach out to fondle your breasts and caress your nipples as you now control the pace and depth of his dick inside of you. You, too, get to enjoy the change as you can rub his lean chest and washboard abs with your fingertips as he closes his eyes with the pleasure of you working your hips as you ride him. One of your hands slips down to circle your clit as you begin to feel the pleasure within you radiating throughout your body, the closer you get to climax.  

He feels you beginning to falter in your rhythm as your speed increases and your panting moans become more desperate. Seonghwa reaches to grip your hips with his hands to slow you down slightly, despite your whines of protest, and he uses his strong hands to direct your hips back and forth to match his cock pressing up against you from below. The change in effort, as well as angle, causes his cock to absolutely wreck your G-spot and the surrounding wall, which has you crying out until you stuff your spare hand into your mouth to try to quiet yourself as Hwa chuckles beneath you. You are suddenly coming hard on top of him, and your shuddering, bucking hips begin to slow as he watches your face with fond amusement.  

When you finally regain full control of your vision and voice, you chuckle lightly before tracing the outline of his nipple and running your finger down over his pecs and between the deep creases of his abs. “Feel good?” He asks, his arm now tucked confidently behind his head as he smiles at you. You shiver and giggle, “Uh-huh.” He nods at you before you lean forward onto his chest, holding him still inside of you, and he reaches up to wrap his arms around you while pulling slightly to where he can kiss you passionately. When you feel him suddenly flex his cock up against you forcefully, you realize that he didn’t cum yet. You cry out at the sudden pressure from him and pull back to look into his face in surprise, “You didn’t? Oh, Dear One, I’m sorry.” He chuckles at your realization before he kisses you aggressively and then pushes you off of him, causing you to fall onto your back with your knees bent and hips splayed open as you hold your breath to see what he will do next.  

He gets up out of the bed and walks around toward you in all his naked glory, his dusky cock glistening with your wetness, as he reaches out his elegant hand to you. You shimmy to the edge of the bed to reach it, and he pulls you to stand before guiding you over toward his desk with his hand on the small of your back. He slips behind you a step and glides his hands down your arms to press your palms against the pristine desk’s glass top, and you quiver as he nudges your foot to spread your legs apart. You tremble with anticipation as he holds your hip with one hand and grips his hard cock in the other as he slides it between your legs. You reflexively arch your ass back toward him, and your head falls forward with a gasp when he slips his throbbing cock inside of you again. You whimper as he presses so hard into you that you can feel him shaking behind you. He returns his other hand to your side, holding your ample hips in his perfect hands so confidently. He gives you a tight squeeze there before releasing the grip to a firm but gentle amount as he begins to pull his cock nearly out of you to begin thrusting.  

You whine and buck at his powerful thrusts as he is now darting rapidly into you. The sudden fullness contrasted by the slow withdrawal is dizzying, and his precision somehow seems to match all of the sharp angles and clean lines of his sleek desk and shelves around you. He pulls out so slowly, with the calculated measure of a surgeon, before slamming back fully inside of you so quickly you are unable to do anything but gasp. His breathing behind you is quiet, and you’d give anything for a mirror to be able to see his face as he is clearly trying out something new on you; he has never taken his pleasure in this way with you before. You are powerless to do anything but keep your hands on the desk to brace yourself, and he seems fully absorbed in working this unusual rhythm. He slams into you again, and as he begins to slowly pull back, you whine, “I want to see you, Dear One. I want to watch your face as you fill me up.” You are pouting reflexively, even though he can’t see your face. He gasps suddenly at your desperation for him, and he pauses as if thinking what to do next. He’s clearly had some ideas of what he’d like to do to you in his very own bedroom under his parents’ roof, as though it is a right of passage, perhaps.  

He withdraws completely before leading you back to his bed, where he gently directs you to lie across the center of the bed on your back. You watch his angelic face as he carefully moves himself into position on top of you and reaches his hand down to guide himself back into the welcoming warmth of your pussy. He closes his eyes in relief as he slides himself all the way inside you, and the collision of his pelvis and yours makes you see spots. You moan at the shared sense of gratification for the depth of this connection and shared ecstasy. He leans down to kiss your chin, your lips, and your jaw before propping himself on his elbows to give you your wish: to watch his stunning features contort as he cums hard inside of you.  

As Seonghwa begins working his desperate cock in and out of you, you meet his gaze unflinchingly as you encourage him, “Oh my god, Hwa. Fuck. You are so beautiful. You fit so perfectly inside of me. Fuck. Fill me up, baby. Oh god.” You watch his brow crease with the intensity as his mouth is open in a slackened, panting, unfocused way while the sensation of your welcoming pussy strokes his excruciating erection in all of the right places. He shudders a little, so you continue goading him on, “Oh fuck yeah, Hwa. Faster, baby. Give it to me.” At this, he cries out and begins fucking you much faster as he looks deep into your eyes, causing you to whimper with the intensity of his gaze, even more so than the pounding of his cock. You whine as he suddenly gasps and thrusts powerfully just a few more times, and you can feel his cock spasming inside of you. The sensation of him cumming so hard while watching your face has you moaning and taking a shuddering breath in relief. “Holy shit, Dear One,” you chuckle lightly as you relax onto the bed before reaching out to beg him to come down and kiss you. After exchanging kisses of loving gratitude, you both chuckle as he relaxes over top of you again to catch his breath. 

When he finally pulls back to look at your face again, and you can feel his cum beginning to seep out of you around his softening dick, you wiggle your hips to make him gasp and take the opportunity to ask playfully, “What’s for breakfast?” He laughs at your audacity before pausing to tuck his sleep shorts between your legs as they are the only article within reach, and he slides out of you to stand beside the bed. You roll onto your side and look in appreciation at his sculpted, naked form. He blushes unironically and finally says, “I don’t know yet. I am sure we can find something, though. Do you want some tea?” He looks around to find some clothing to put on while he goes out to retrieve some beverages, at least.  

You shake your head and pout, “Soda, please, Hwa.” He laughs as though chiding himself for being so forgetful, “Right. Okay.” He slips from the room, and you roll back onto your back to stare at the ceiling in delirious gratitude for the love and sense of safety this wonderful man gives you with little thought to himself. 

He returns moments later with one of your sodas and a bottle of barley tea for himself. You groan as you roll over to retrieve your medications and swallow them down before turning back to smile at your precious Hwa. Now that your body and mind are finally both awake, you saunter, naked, over to where he sits on the edge of his bed.  

You come to stand between his knees as he reaches out to caress your thick thighs, ass, hips, and waist with his hands. You lean down and kiss him lovingly as he hums happily at your close proximity and the ease with which you can both just enjoy each other’s bodies. “Shower?” you ask, with a big smile as you shift back from him. “Hmm,” he pretends to consider this for a moment, “I think a shower would be wise. My mother is out doing her walk and probably chatting with her friends. We can have breakfast with her when she returns.” You nod and smile at him before you quickly move to gather up your shower things. When you fold a large pile of clothes into your arms to bring into the bathroom, he swats them away and says, “It’s okay. We can dress in here. My mother will not be watching the door.” You puff out your cheeks and nod at him, grateful for the chance to just enjoy a nice shower and not have to dress in a steamy bathroom for modesty’s sake.  

Hwa stands and reaches for some of your things to assist in getting you into the bathroom to shower. He starts up the shower before checking the water temperature while you busy yourself arranging the necessary toiletries within reach inside the shower and on the sink. When the water is at a comfortable temperature, Hwa slips out of his shirt and workout pants before extending his hand to stabilize you as you step into the comfortable glass shower enclosure with plenty of room for the two of you to take turns in the relaxing water.  

Naturally, Seonghwa is finished in the bathroom before you are, so he leaves you to finish your hair and makeup with a promise he’ll go investigate what might be found for breakfast. You happily hum to yourself before suddenly having a desperate withdrawal for your ATEEZ playlists, and you grab the robe Hwa left you to dash out to his room and grab your earbuds.  You slip back into the bathroom undetected as ‘Royal’ comes on your ATEEZ Complete playlist. Suddenly, Hongjoong’s rap makes you feel a slight chill as you wonder if he ever responded back last night.  

It’s a strange dichotomy: to feel nervous and sort of hesitant toward him and yet need nothing more than the consistent reassurance that he is not feeling that way about you. You quickly open your messages to see if he messaged last night or this morning, as you figure you might have accidentally deleted the notification before you actually saw it. Your face forms a deep frown before your brain fully registers that there are no new messages from him since you said goodnight last night. 

Your paranoid mind has already done the math that the last time he messaged you was during your flight. You double-check and see that you sent your message last night. There’s literally no reason he couldn’t have messaged you before bed last night; he couldn’t have possibly been in meetings that late. Besides, he could still message you even if he was in a meeting—it's not like he’s their prisoner. 

What the hell?  

You try not to let the paranoia mess up your makeup. 

At least keep the frowning to a minimum until your foundation sets. You wuss.  

You finish up and slip back into Hwa’s room as ‘Rocky’ comes on. You dress in a loose, comfy pink knit sweater that has tiny flecks of different colors in the yarn and reminds you of bubble gum ice cream for some reason, your favorite Y2K jeans, and uncharacteristically, a tall pair of white socks with pink stripes at the top. When you’ve hit your hair with another round of hairspray for good measure and laced up your Doc Martens, you dance your way to ‘Shaboom’ out to find Hwa.  

You see him seated at the kitchen table with his mother, and you suddenly hope that you have not made them wait for you for too long. He sees you first and stands so quickly that his mother startles. She chides him in Korean before turning to smile up at you as you walk past to your seat near Hwa’s end of the table. It suddenly occurs to you that they seat themselves both at the head of the table, and the small table only fits four people. You know that Hwa’s brother is away on his enlistment, but it seems odd that they wouldn’t have a slightly larger table in case of company.  

Your curiosity is snuffed out by the sudden realization that you still have your earbuds in, and Hwa has clearly asked you a question. You rip them out and apologize before he repeats, “Would you like some tea?” as he leads you to your chair and assists you in being seated. You are only slightly more coordinated at allowing him to assist you, and you make a mental note to beg him to stop when you have a moment alone. It’s not that you mind having him dote on you in this way, but it just makes you feel like a clumsy ox when you’re bad at it. You would hope that it is not his intention to make you feel like a dumbass, so you figure he’ll probably be willing to drop this effort on your behalf. 

He pours you a cup of tea before returning to his chair and passing you various dishes from the table. You look up questioningly at his mother and back to Hwa before feeling self-conscious that you don’t have your translation app, but you’re frankly getting shaky from hunger, so you’re not going to disrupt the process. Hwa sees your look and says simply, “Eomeoni had breakfast before we got up. She let us sleep out of kindness.” You turn and nod at his mother as Hwa briefly repeats what you imagine was your question to her in Korean. She smiles knowingly over her teacup, and you feel your cheeks blush as you stare down at your plate. Hwa has placed a large bowl with stew and some other items there, and you nod again toward his mother before picking up your spoon to dig in. 

Even Seonghwa’s mother seems to know better than to attempt to engage him in conversation when he’s eating. She seems to enjoy watching him eat well, and you can relate to her on a deep spiritual level where that is concerned. Of course, you know he’s probably already burned off an impressive number of calories this morning while the two of you engaged in your personal favorite form of cardio. She sips her tea happily and occasionally laughs to herself as she watches the two of you inhaling your food in relative silence. Once he has consumed no less than two bowls of tofu stew, a large pile of marinated crabs, and polished off the rice when it became apparent that no one else wanted more, he finally sits back and sighs happily as he smiles at his mother across the table.  

He looks over at you and smiles next, looking down at your plate curiously as if to check whether he felt you had eaten enough. You grin at his precious face, causing him to blush and laugh awkwardly at your sudden, unabashed attention. You realize you might be violating some cultural norm to be so openly fond of him, particularly in front of his mother. But he may also just struggle since he pointed out to you that he has not brought any other women home, and your stomach does a weird turn at the messages all of this may be sending to his mother.  

Well, we can barely figure out what this is, so how could we even attempt to explain it to her??  

You turn your attention toward cleaning up after ensuring that Hwa and his mother are both finished with the food on the table. Hwa jumps up and begins helping you clear the table, and his mother tuts softly when Hwa places his large hand on her shoulder to ensure that she remains seated comfortably while the two of you set to work on the dishes. Hwa is even ahead of you as he begins filling the sink and washing the dishes before passing them to you to dry and stack. He lets you know to set them aside, and he’ll show you where they are put away when he finishes washing.  

The dishes are done in no time, and you sigh happily at your full stomach, the view of the clean kitchen, and the whole day ahead of the two of you. You lean against Seonghwa’s side, and he kisses the top of your head before clapping his hands lightly, “Are you ready to go?” You stare up at his big boba eyes that twinkle brilliantly as you open and close your mouth stupidly, “Go where?” He chuckles, “It’s a surprise. But you will need your things.” He starts shooing you toward his bedroom, and when you see him pulling a small travel suitcase out of his closet, you sputter, “All of my things?” He laughs, “Yes, I mean if you need them each day, you need to pack them to bring. Yes.” You stare at him, unsure of the idea of packing everything up and going somewhere unknown.  

Seonghwa glances up from placing several pieces of clothing from his dresser into the bag when he notices you standing in the middle of his room, frozen. He sets down his pile and walks over to wrap you in a big hug before walking backward toward the bed. When his knees hit the side of the bed, he sits down and guides you to sit across his lap as he wraps his strong arms around you and holds you against his chest. He breathes deeply several times, and you feel your head rise and fall with his taut chest as he does this obvious demonstration of what you should probably try doing based on the look on your face. After several moments, he looks down at you, and you turn to see him smiling down tenderly as he gently presses a lost piece of hair back behind your ear.  

“It’s okay, little star. We are going to do something fun, and then we are going to stay at a beach house. I have a friend who rents out their place for an Airbnb. You will love it. We can see the ocean and everything. Just the two of us.” You stare up at him as though he is an alien. “Just us? But what about your mother, Hwa? Will she be lonely? I don’t want to make her sad. She doesn’t get a lot of time with you.” He clears his throat and squeezes his arms around you tightly before pulling back to look into your eyes again, “Little star, she has had my whole life to spend time with me. Yes, I am gone a lot for work. But she knows I am a grown man, and I am living my life with all of that history with them. She knows that it is important for me to get to be a man which will give me even more life experience to make me a better son.” You fight back the clenching feeling in your throat as you think about this perspective. Hwa isn’t trying to be everything to everyone. He’s trying to be everything he needs to be in order to be the best version of himself he can be. You reach up impulsively and pull him down toward you for a deep, sensual kiss as tears start to stream from your eyes.  

How is he real?  

He kisses you with the passion of a thousand love stories as you melt into his embrace. When the two of you finally release the kiss, you sigh and relax your head against his shoulder. He rubs your arms gently and says, “So, are you ready? Does that sound good? We will need to go get some things to have for dinner and snacks there at the house, and there is one more surprise activity but I want to do that just before sunset. You will like it. It will be very enjoyable. You won’t need anything but to have your phone battery charged in case you want to take pictures.” You smile excitedly at him and kiss his lips again, quickly, to avoid getting caught up again in his hypnotizing hold. “Okay. I will get my things,” you say as you slip off his lap and head to put all your toiletries back into your suitcase.  

When you return from the bathroom, you suddenly think to ask him, “Dear One? Will we be coming back here before we have to go to the airport?” He looks up from his case where he was expertly coiling up his power cords as you know he has done thousands of times before, “Yes, we will spend the night at the beach house, and then the last night we will be back here.” You bounce happily over to kiss his forehead as you’re surprisingly grateful that his mother won’t be alone for the last night before Hwa returns to Seoul.  

He laughs at your unbridled joy and catches you around your knees when you lean down to kiss him. He carefully grabs you and causes you to fall in a controlled descent as you theatrically squeal at his pantomimed takedown. He pins you with his arms as he crawls over top of you, and you pretend to attempt to push him away as you laugh hysterically. Hwa reaches your face and has your legs pinned between his, and he reaches up to pull your arms up over your head. He leans over and kisses your face, and you squirm back and forth in an exaggerated effort to avoid further kisses while you squeal and giggle.  

A soft thump in the hall outside makes you freeze in terror; Hwa stops his fake attack on you, but he laughs as he retreats. You stare at him, your eyes wide with horror, as you realize you have been making quite the commotion because you forgot about his mother currently still being in the house. He laughs and shakes his head at your worry before patting you gently and saying, “It’s okay. It’s just fun.”  

You stumble back to finish packing your suitcase while you can feel your pounding heartbeat behind your eyeballs. Seonghwa comes up behind you when you’ve finished, and he helps you bring your things to the front door. He calls out to his mother to say goodbye to her when the two of you are ready.  

His mother comes around the corner from the kitchen with a demure smile as she hands him several bags and says something to him in Korean. You bow, despite all of his assurances that it is unnecessary, and smile gratefully to her before saying, “Thank you, gamsahabnida. We will see you very soon. I will make sure he eats well.” Hwa translates this for her, and she nods to you and smiles a little wider as she glances between you and her son. 

Seonghwa wraps his petite mother in a huge hug, and you marvel at how his tiny ribcage is still smaller than his mother’s frame. She seems to be thinking the same as she sucks air through her teeth and pinches one of his ribs, causing him to grimace and exclaim, though he doesn’t pull away. He leans down and kisses her cheeks, one at a time, and says something to her in Korean before turning to take your hand as the two of you walk toward the door to pick up all of your bags.  

Hwa loads his mother’s car, and you panic again, “Hwa? What will your mother drive while we are gone?” He laughs sweetly at your genuine but naive worries, “She will not need it while we are gone. She has assured me. She has friends who can drive her if there is an emergency. But we went to get groceries and things, so there is nothing she anticipates needing the car for while we are gone. Your heart is so big, Little Star. Don’t fret.” He reaches around your waist to squeeze you in a quick side hug before escorting you to your side and opening the door for you. You can’t help but laugh at yourself a little.  

How nice would life be if one could simply ‘not fret’ when one wished?  

He turns the heater up in the cold car as the engine warms up, and he rubs your thigh as he leans his head on the headrest and looks at you contentedly. You feel yourself blush a little, but you fight the urge to look away as you’re really enjoying this special time to just exist with the darling man and experience just a tiny bit of life with him, Park Seonghwa, as himself—not Seonghwa the idol, the visual, Mother of ATEEZ. 

He sighs happily before checking to ensure you have your belt fastened by slipping a slender finger underneath it and tugging playfully as he leans over to kiss you deeply. Your stomach does a happy flip, and you feel the heat rushing from your core at his brazen behavior in the relative safety of his mother’s driveway. He laughs devilishly, and you sigh as you shake your head in mock exasperation while he puts the car into reverse and pulls out toward the road.  

Seonghwa pauses to put an address into his GPS before navigating onto the highway. You sigh happily as he sets the cruise and eases into driving down the relatively uncomplicated rural route, and he feels confident enough to reach out to hold your hand across the center console. You tenderly massage his hand as you so often have in the past while the two of you whispered secrets in the dark or watched shows on the couch with the rest of the members. He sighs happily and puckers his lips at you before returning his eyes to the road.  

When the GPS dings at him, he takes an exit at a complicated-looking interchange, which turns out onto a smaller, coastal highway. After enjoying the beautiful views of nature and relatively little evidence of humans, aside from the occasional car and the highway itself, of course, you realize you’ve been traveling in silence for quite some time. You hum happily to break the silence without alarming Hwa, and he glances over to see you smiling sweetly at him. “I’m so glad we get to take an adventure together, Dear One,” you say as he smiles while keeping his eyes on the road. You squeeze his hand to emphasize your point before adding, “I love you so much, Hwa.” He tuts and whispers in his deep, gentle voice, “Saranghae.”  

As you’ve had no idea where you are going or how much time has elapsed versus how much time remains, you’re pleasantly surprised when the GPS dings yet again, and Seonghwa slows the car to take a simple turn off to navigate down a narrow driveway and pull up to a large white house overlooking the ocean in the distance. You suck in your breath at the impressive two-story structure with large windows and a massive deck that appears to have a barbecue and a chiminea on it, as well as several large, comfy deck chairs and a picnic table. You squeal lightly as Hwa comes around to open your door, and you jump out, rushing past him to the wall overlooking the ocean as he laughs behind you and tries to keep up with your unexpected, enthusiastic exploring.

You suddenly feel self-conscious as you’re looking out at the ocean with the breeze blasting you in the face and your grin becoming plastered there due to the cold and your ridiculous excitement. Hwa wraps his arm around you and tuts happily, “Do you like it?” You stare up at him in wonder, “Are we staying here, Hwa? Or is this why I need to not be scared of high places?” You puff out your cheeks and squint at him in the afternoon sun. He barks out a laugh and kisses your nose, “This is where we will sleep. We will be going to the, um, surprise high places next.” Your cheeks puff out nervously, causing Hwa to laugh even more at you now.  

You grin up at him adoringly, and he beams at you, “We need to get the keys and drop off our luggage and things for dinner to keep cold first. Then we will go.” You jump and turn to dash back to the car, still surprising Hwa because, although he seemed to expect you to run for the car, he did not expect you to be holding his hand and dragging him along as you did so. He laughs and practically trips over his own feet as you squeal all the way back to the car. It’s pretty safe to assume he didn’t hear all of that, though, with the ocean winds blowing into his ears. You attempt to carry more than your small arms can span, and Hwa has to assist you to prevent injury. He is still laughing when he finally closes the trunk and joins you in the house, where you are now eagerly inspecting the views from the windows, the cupboards in the kitchens, and, for no reason in particular, the television channels. Hwa comes up behind you as you are opening all of the curtains in the living room, Nam Timjangnim style, and he wraps his arms around you tightly before spinning you around and kissing you passionately.  

You melt into him and moan as your body lights up with the possibilities of this beautiful, huge house and absolutely no audience or interruptions to your privacy. Seonghwa seems to be thinking the same as his kisses become more wanton, and his body responds to yours with greater pressure and power in his groping hands and flexing hips. You are both gasping when he pulls away and chides no one in particular, “Okay, no time for that now. We can have all the time we want later. We first need to get going for the, um, big surprise.” You whine and pout while reaching out your hand to grope his crotch, “I thought this was the big surprise.” He laughs at your brazen horniness, and you exaggeratedly shuffle like a disappointed child as he heads to the refrigerator to retrieve one of the bags his mother sent while ensuring that the rest of the items are all safely nestled inside.  

You are looking at him with big doe-eyes when he rises up from the fridge, and he startles a little at the rapid shift from silly to serious as you whisper, “This is amazing, Hwa. Thank you so much. I love it.” He tuts and nods, looking awkward before he grabs your hand and pulls you out of the house and back to the car. You are lightly humming to yourself as you buckle in and wait for Hwa to round the car and get it started up again. 

Seonghwa gets into the driver’s seat and puts another address into his GPS before checking, “Do you have your phone? Is it well charged?” You pull your phone from your pocket to see that there is plenty of battery, and still no message from Hongjoong. You throw it on the floor in petulant disgust, causing Hwa to jump slightly. “Sorry,” you grimace and pick up the phone. He glances over at you nervously, “What’s the matter?” You grumble, “No message from Hongjoong for a while. That’s all.” He sucks air through his teeth, and you almost wish you had lied when you add, “It has been almost 24 hours. A whole day. That’s weird. Isn’t it?” Seonghwa is focused on navigating back onto the coastal highway but risks a quick glance and an attempt at a reassuring face as he says, “Not with Hongjoong, it isn’t. It’s pretty much normal for him.” You sigh heavily and stare out the window at the beautiful, sparkling ocean in the waning afternoon sun.  

He reaches out and pats your thigh tenderly, “I know. It will be okay, though. Let’s just have fun, okay.” His caring attempt to soothe your feelings makes you feel like a total shithead, as he doesn’t deserve to have you pouting over Hongjoong’s bullshit when he’s brought you to this literal paradise, and you have his full, undivided attention. You don’t have to navigate any cultural or familial nonsense with his family, and you can just be moony best friends who love each other more than you ought to as you enjoy this practically honeymoon-level adventure together. 

Oh shit.  

Chapter Text

You sigh happily as the beautiful scenery passes and small restaurants or tourist stops begin to pop up along the coastal highway. You marvel at the small seafood restaurants and several large, incomprehensibly luxurious-looking resorts randomly appearing along this almost magically uninhabited stretch of highway flanked by lush evergreen forests and the rocky ocean coast. A collection of buildings, which appears to be a city, looms on the horizon just a few minutes later, and you squint to try to make out what is ahead, much sooner than your eyes are able to see clearly. Seonghwa suddenly pats your thigh again and says, “Close your eyes!”    

You startle at this sudden instruction and are almost alarmed, as though he is telling you there is a nasty accident ahead that you don’t want to see. But he chuckles and adds, “No peeking,” as you put your nervous hands up to cover your eyes. You feel the car slow rapidly and hear Seonghwa’s turn signal clicking cheerily as he waits to make a turn. You keep one hand over your eyes but reach over to squeeze his thigh anxiously as he hums to himself. After you feel several cars zoom past, he finally turns the car left and begins moving forward. There are several speed bumps that make you exclaim in alarm as they are rather jarring with no warning.    

Seonghwa apologizes, and by the third bump, he remembers to say, “Jump!” which makes you laugh hysterically until you realize that he’s not laughing, and he’s confused about why you found his thoughtful heads-up so comical. He probably doesn’t know that he used the wrong word. You rein in your laughter and sigh happily at the rush of endorphins now coating the butterflies that inhabit your stomach as you wait for him to finally tell you that you can open your eyes.   

After going at what seems to be a snail’s pace for some time, he finally slows to a stop, and you hear him set the parking brake. He reaches over to unbuckle your seatbelt, and you startle at his sudden breath on your ear as he places a lingering kiss just below your earlobe. You moan and lean toward him but hear him pull away, chuckling as he opens his door. “Just a moment, little star. No peeking,” he reminds you. You freeze to listen to any possible clues around you, and you are annoyed to only recognize the sound of him retrieving the bag given to him by his mother from the backseat.    

You startle violently when he suddenly opens your door, and he is laughing in earnest now as he apologizes and reaches for your hand. “Keep your eyes shut, but give me your hand, okay?” You blindly fumble for his hand, and he catches yours reassuringly in his extended palm and gently guides you to get out of the car so that you don't hit your head. You can feel the warm sunlight on your face and see the gentle glow of the sunset through your closed eyelids. When he begins to guide you to turn away from the sun, you let out a surprised whine as you’d figured that would be the ‘ta-da!’ moment, but he tuts and chides you, “Not yet, little star.” He gently guides your hand into his bent elbow so that you can walk more closely arm-in-arm, which makes the blind journey slightly smoother as you allow his body movements to inform you of changes in terrain.    

He tells you, “Step!” when there is a step up, and you take several more tentative steps with him before feeling the metallic clang of metal under your feet and hear a light dinging sound. When the floor suddenly begins moving upward, you cry out, and your knees buckle slightly. Hwa laughs and wraps both of his arms around you, his bag swinging around to hit you just below your ass as he holds you up and chortles. You whine in annoyance at him and lean more of your weight on him than is necessary just to make him struggle a little in playful revenge. He holds you tight and presses his face near your ear, and you feel his mask on the side of your cheek. You quietly mutter, “Hwa, I forgot my mask.” He tuts and squeezes his arms around you for a moment before releasing you. As he loosens his hold around you, you feel the floor stop moving and hear the distinctive clunk of elevator doors sliding open. He pulls your hand back through the crook of his arm and pats it with his other hand as he says, “Let’s go.”   

Hwa leads you further on, and you stop to hear him conversing with someone in Korean, and it sounds as though their voice is coming out in a speaker. The speaker woman laughs whimsically at something Hwa has said, and you duck your head in embarrassment to be standing there with your eyes closed tight and no idea what is going on. The speaker's voice briefly says something, and there is a long pause as Hwa shifts, and you try to lean against him while also relinquishing your death grip on his arm to give him the use of his hands. He murmurs to you, “Just a minute. Almost there.” You nod and shimmy nervously against him.    

You notice a light breeze where you are standing with Hwa, and you can no longer detect the glow of the sunset. There is no distinguishable difference in the intensity of the diffuse light hitting your eyelids from any direction, as far as you can tell. You can smell the ocean air, which is unsurprising and ultimately unhelpful in your attempt to figure out what is going to happen next. You hear voices in the distance, and though it sounds like they are speaking Korean, you are pretty sure you can hear the voices of adults and children. The children shout excitedly, and the parents seem to respond with encouragement and affirmations. You find yourself smiling as you lean your head against Hwa’s shoulder and just focus on what you can hear around you.    

He moves again to retrieve something from the speaker woman before nodding and thanking her, then leaning down to tell you that you are going to start walking forward again. He shuffles you away from the speaker woman, and you walk along with him for a few paces before the bright sunlight hits your face and warms your body suddenly. You gasp as the glowing orange rays are paired with a blast of salty wind that sucker punches you and causes you to practically gag at the disturbing sensation of having your breath stolen by a rude gust of seaweed-scented air.   

You growl once you’ve caught your breath, and Seonghwa laughs heartily and pats you on the head as he pulls you closer to him. He stops you after a few more steps and pauses, where you can hear a light whirring overhead as you strain to hear over the sound of the wind in your ears. You hear the occasional voices of adults talking, children laughing or whining, and the vague noise of the speaker woman coming through in the silence in between. Seonghwa removes his arm from your hold and sweeps it around behind your back to guide you as you move forward once again. He carefully bears some of your weight as you step on what feels less stable, like the floor you have been walking on, as there is a slight sway to the sensation and a slick, smooth surface for walking.    

Seonghwa leads you further and then turns you slightly before he says, “Sit down,” as he carefully guides you to sit on a lightly cushioned, vinyl-covered seat with a similarly textured seat back. There is a sudden clunk again toward the right before the seat seems to move. You whimper and lean against Hwa, and he chuckles in his deep, velvety voice before you feel him reach up and remove his mask. A moment later, the sensation of bright sunlight radiates into your face again, and he slowly sits back from you as he says, “Ready?” You shiver and whisper, “Ready for what?” He laughs, “Ready to open your eyes? Okay. One, two, three!”    

When you open your eyes, you are staring at the ocean spreading out in front of you, though you are high above it, as you are in a cable car that is gently moving toward the gorgeous sunset spreading itself over the ocean as it prepares to complete yet another day. You gasp at the stunning view and turn to look at Hwa with excited eyes. You are, instead, met by his lips tenderly enclosing yours in a kiss that melts your soul further into his and has you suddenly feeling tears on your cheeks. He gently slips his tongue into your mouth and presses his full lips over yours as you quiver. You reach out to wrap your arm around his shoulder and pull him closer to you.  

He lovingly kisses you with the delicate awareness of one who knows you, body and soul, and is fully attuned to your every need. His impressive tongue dances over yours with loving sweetness, and you whimper into his mouth as your entire soul catches fire from the incredible glory of the sunset and the overwhelming beauty of this perfect man beside you. His hand finds your waist and wraps around you to hold you comfortingly; he seeks no sexual gratification in his conscientious embrace, which only serves to make you want him that much more.   

You moan against him and shift in your seat as the fire sparks up within you. Hwa chuckles as he pulls back and directs you to look at the views as the car moves down the metal cable at a leisurely pace over the ocean. You shriek a little in surprise when you suddenly realize that the floor is made of plexiglass, allowing a full view of everything the car glides over on its journey. Hwa tuts reassuringly, sweeps back a bit of hair from your forehead, and kisses your temple before pressing his forehead against yours and looking down his nose into your eyes. You giggle and hum happily as you know that if he looks this cross-eyed from the position then you, too, must also look quite silly. He kisses your mouth lightly before asking, “Are you okay? This is not scary. You like it?” You nod against his forehead, and he grins as you say emphatically, “I love it, Hwa. It’s amazing! It’s not scary. It is so very, very perfect.” You turn away to look again, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder as he says, “Good.” You sigh happily and lean back against his chest as he finishes, “Because I paid for us to go twice.”    

You laugh and turn to look at him in amused disbelief to see if he is fucking with you, and he stares back at you with his big, beautiful, round eyes and his full lips that form a perfect ‘o’ as he pretends to be clueless as to why this would elicit a shocked reaction from you. You turn and slip your leg over the top of his and lean your face close to his before asking him, “So, we have a lot of time then?” He nods and murmurs, “Mmhmm,” as he presses in for another deep kiss and wraps you in his confident, loving arms.    

You are whining and searching for places to grope him when something suddenly occurs to you, and you pull back nervously, “Are there cameras?” You stare up at him in alarm, and he laughs at your shameless behavior and sudden panic, “I don’t think so. But uh, there are the other cars.” He gestures toward the returning rail, where you can see the tiny outlines of other cable cars making their way back to the base. You pull further back from him and mutter, “Oh. Shit. Right.” He laughs and pats your thigh gently, “It’s okay, little star. I want to enjoy the view and the ride but also to enjoy being close to you. There will be time for other things later. I want to share the romance of this ride with you and see the beauty of the sunset and the ocean with you. It makes me think of you, how beautiful you are to me, when I see things like this.”  

He gently holds your chin between his thumb and index finger as he looks into your eyes and seems to be forcing the words past your guarded brain and straight into your heart. You shiver lightly before leaning in to kiss him as you attempt to prevent his mouth from saying anything else that you might struggle to believe if you stopped to analyze it long enough. Being here, at this moment with him, when he has put effort into creating this perfectly orchestrated experience for the two of you to share, has already effectively shut down your denial reflex. You’re determined to just enjoy the experience to the fullest as you vow to treasure every minute spent in Seonghwa’s company from this moment forward.   

Maybe you took him for granted before, even if you always tried not to, but you know you will never do that again as you are making this vow to appreciate and love every second you get to be near to him. There is no reason for you to ever forget how fucking lucky you are to have a single memory with him, let alone the deep, devoted, loving connection you two effortlessly share. After several more lingering kisses, he pulls back to kiss your forehead again before he directs your attention to the incredible sight of the harbor, the Changseon-Samcheonpo Bridge, and the islands and city lights beyond. Hwa takes out his phone and snaps several pictures of the two of you with the sunlight brightening your faces, and you catch him taking pictures of you as you excitedly ask him about the strange little boats and structures along the coastline below.   

While you stare around and point out all of the fun things you see, Hwa begins fussing with something in the bag his mother sent with the two of you. You turn to see what all the ruckus is about, and he swats your hand away as you reach out to help. When you cry out in mock protest and pout at him, he clucks his tongue and finally relents to pass you a small, knotted bag that he is unable to untie due to his short fingernails. You make swift work of this and find that his mother has somehow, inexplicably, found time to stuff the dried persimmons you bought for her, and she sent some of these little delicacies with the two of you as 곶감단지 (Gotgam-danji). You coo in surprise at the precious little fruits stuffed with chestnuts, walnuts, jujubes, rice syrup, and spices.  

Seonghwa chuckles as he gently reaches out and carefully places one of them into your mouth. He watches every millisecond of your reaction with affection as you enjoy the layers of flavor and the tender dried fruits. “Oh, my gods, Hwa,” you moan in delight as he laughs, “That was amazing! Oh, wow. Do you think your mother will share her recipe with me?” You sigh in ecstasy as he just watches your face with adoration. You suddenly sit up and pick up one of the delicacies and carefully slip it into his mouth, enjoying his expressions with the same rapture as he did yours. “Mmmm,” he closes his eyes and savors the experience before you lean over to follow that deliciousness with a sensual kiss, causing him to moan more deeply and pull at your hair a little.   

“Hey, now. You said we would have time later,” you chide him and enjoy the flush in his cheeks as he is reminded of his earlier demonstration of better self-control. When he grumbles playfully and shoves another persimmon in your mouth, you cry out in protest before retaliating by putting two into his mouth and shifting to sit on his lap with your knees straddling his hips so you can wrap both of your arms around his shoulders. You stare into his surprised eyes as you both struggle to manage your mouthfuls of treats. You playfully peck his lips until he effectively clears the excessive amount of food from his precious cheeks and wraps his arms around your waist to kiss you deeply as you grind your pussy against his lap. You are both panting and blushing before the descent of the car increases steeply, and you realize you are coming to the return station where the car will make a U-turn before the climb back toward the station that you started at. This will mean closer proximity to other cars, and you quickly tumble off of his lap as he laughs and searches for the bottles of tea his mother included in the little care package.   

You sigh happily as you watch the station pass by and the car turns back up the hill. You find you can easily look back to further enjoy the sunset over your shoulders, or you can watch the ocean and small boats below past your feet through the transparent floor. Seonghwa tells you about the zoo that is part of the cable car park and is accessible at the station you just passed through. You smile with contentment and hold the hand he has draped over your shoulder. You absently spin his team ring around his finger and watch the showers of sparkles this sends over the interior of the cable car when the sunbeams hit it just right. Your stomach curdles a little when you realize what you’re doing, and it’s hard to readily identify if this is due to eating too many rich, stuffed persimmons too quickly and washing it down with several gluttonous gulps of tea or if it is due to the conflicting emotions connected to the stunning ring and its equally unique creator.    

You sigh a little heavier than you mean to, and of course, Seonghwa notices and is aware of what you’re probably thinking. He tuts and gently asks, “No messages yet?” You look at him, surprised, and he just holds that careful, neutral expression he is so annoyingly good at. You shrug, “I don’t know. I haven’t checked in a while.” You can feel Seonghwa release a held breath as he finally says quietly, “You can check. I don’t mind.” He kisses your temple and adds, “I don’t want you to worry.” You lean your head against his shoulder again and say simply, “Okay. I might check later. I don’t want to right now.” He clucks his tongue and rests his chin on your head as the two of you intertwine your fingers and enjoy the view enveloped in this safe, comfortable silence. Hwa waits a beat or two before pulling out his phone and grabbing a quick picture of the two of you in this unintentionally cute pose before returning to holding you in his reassuring arms.   

The car works its way back up toward the base where the two of you presumably got on, and you exclaim in surprise when it continues through the stop and onward up the mountain. Hwa laughs at your surprise and waits until an oncoming car passes before leaning over to wrap his long arms around you and kiss you passionately. This time, he exercises considerably less restraint as he slides his hand down over your belly and down toward your heat, rubbing your clit under the thick fabric of your jeans. You buck your hips up and whine at him, as this is exactly the kind of distraction you need right now. He moans into your mouth as you reach over and press your small palm to the crotch of his jeans and feel the incredible hardness of his cock trapped in its denim prison. You press and rub against it as he licks into your mouth, and the two of you moan and grope at each other, completely forgetting about the concept of cameras.    

When he begins to slide his other hand up under your sweater and squeeze your breast, you peek one eye open for the next oncoming cable car to avoid and have to push his hand out just in time to avoid being viewed in your naughty behavior by a smiling family and their wide-eyed young children who are now waving enthusiastically as their car passes by yours.    

You gasp and chuckle awkwardly as you look at Hwa’s rosy, engorged lips and ask, “Did you really pay for two trips?” He barks out a laugh and raises one eyebrow, “Why?” You roll your eyes at him and say nonchalantly, “I don’t know. I mean, if you’ve seen it once, you’ve probably seen it, right?” He laughs and grins cheekily as he says, “Well, maybe, but have you considered what it might look like in the dark?” He winks at you, and you stare at him in shock. “Park Seonghwa, I am worried about you! I am very concerned that I might be a terrible, terrible influence on you,” you say, as you glance back up the track and return your palm to his swollen crotch as you suck his lower lip into your mouth and whimper as he forcefully returns to his stroking of your clit. He pulls back from torturing you for a moment as the car passes over a gap in the forest below. You can just see through the glass floor of the gondola where the thick trees of the mountaintop give way to clearly manmade indicators of civilization where the lush grass is cut short in wide open areas.   

Seonghwa points out the traditionally styled buildings below and explains that there is a monastery on the mountain. When you see a large, bold, black, and red-lettered banner on top of one of the roofs of these buildings, he chuckles and explains that the translation says that whoever sees the sign will be cursed to live a terrible life after that. You stare at him, bug-eyed, and he laughs as he tells you that the monastery, understandably, was against the construction of the cable car right over the top of their little haven on the mountain, so the banner was in response to ultimately being unable to prevent the intrusion of the little cable cars and the prying eyes of thousands of tourists a day peering down at their spiritual retreat.   

When the cable car rounds the bend to return to the first base you started at, you can see that the sun has nearly set over the ocean in the far distance. There is a light chill now that seems to come through the glass, though it’s hard to tell if you’re feeling an actual change in temperature or just anticipating the change from day to night. You snuggle closer to Hwa, who intrepidly takes the invitation to begin kissing and groping you again until the car arrives at the station, and he is forced to stop to show the tickets for the second trip around. He smoothly places the bag of persimmons over his lap as he speaks to the ticket agent, and you laugh hysterically as soon as the car begins moving again, and you’re out of the eyeline of the employees there.   

He grins sheepishly at you as he places the bag back on the other bench before returning his lips to yours and working his hand against your crotch again. You are rutting against him as he makes you desperate for his cock, and the complete impossibility of having him here exponentially increases your desire. You expertly unfasten his jeans to free his cock while keeping it hidden by his large, loose sweater as you begin stroking him urgently.   

He moans against your mouth, and you can feel his hips fighting to press his cock against your hand as he gasps and whines. “Oh, fuck, Hwa. I want you so bad, Dear One,” you whimper against his skin as you kiss and suck on his neck and stroke his aching cock relentlessly. He moans and gasps before pulling back from you as he is dangerously close to cumming all over the inside of his sweater. You glance at the window and see that the car is about to start the descent toward the station at the zoo, and you drop suddenly to your knees on the glass floor and take his entire cock into your mouth without warning.    

You hear Hwa’s hand slam against the glass window in surprise as his whole body flinches at the sudden intense pleasure and contrast between your hand and your wet mouth and tongue caressing his throbbing cock. He is gasping and twitching beneath you as you suck him off energetically in the twilight. He tenderly places his palm on the back of your head to feel your rhythm as you work diligently to bring him to climax; he knows he has a limited amount of time before the car comes into view of other cars and the employees at the lower station, and the risk seems to heighten his arousal. He swears and tenses, and you moan gratefully as you feel him beginning to spasm in your throat. You swallow fiercely and hum as it takes him forever to finish unloading.  

When he finally finishes, you gingerly pull his boxer briefs back over the top of his cock and toss his loose sweater over top, as he’ll need to do his own zipper when he is done moaning and laughing at the ecstasy and the rush of being so carefree in public. You smile fondly at him and kiss him sensually before the car nears the point where you no longer feel safe being affectionate. You smile demurely and lean your head against his shoulder until the car has rounded the bend and begun heading back up toward the mountain. Hwa returns his lips to yours as soon as your little car is out of view of others, and you moan wantonly into his mouth as he’s also returned his hand to your clit.    

He seems to have derived confidence, if not inspiration, from your performance as he now unzips your pants and tugs on them to indicate that he wants you to lift your ass so that he can slide them down off of your hips as he kneels in front of the bench. You gasp and whine at the rush this sets off within you as he tugs your panties to the side and slips his long, elegant fingers inside you. You are moaning and bucking your hips as he strokes your inner walls and watches your face with his calm, dark eyes. He also appears to be gauging the travel distance between your car and the station, as you both are aware that the first station will be coming up soon. As you beg and rut up against his hand, feeling his knuckles pressing against the tender flesh around your entrance, he suddenly moves up to sit beside you again and withdraws his hand as you whine pathetically.   

When you see the lights of the station, you understand and gingerly lay your pink sweater over your lap and lean over to peck his lips tenderly just before coming into full view of the station. You sigh with relief as soon as the lights of the station no longer reach your little car, and he kisses you fiercely, causing you to choke in surprise as you are unprepared for his passion. He pulls back in concern, but seeing your blushing, laughing face, he relaxes and looks you deep in the eyes as he slides his middle finger into his mouth and moans at the taste of you that lingers there.   

When you gasp and rut your hips toward him, begging him to return those fingers to your pussy, he removes the middle finger out of his mouth and slips his index finger into your mouth. You suck his finger diligently, and your whole body shivers as you taste your wetness on it. He closes his eyes and sighs heavily as he feels your tongue stroking his finger sensually and feels your desperate longing for him in your body’s reactions. You are sliding your ass off the bench before he makes a move, but he is ready there with his pants around his knees, and yours pulled down to your ankles as he frees his resurrected cock to finish the job his fingers started.   

You wrap your arms around his neck and pant into his hair as he slides himself inside of you. He wraps his arms around your waist as though to lift you and pull you to him, as his excruciating erection slips in and out of you easily due to the excessive wetness there. You gasp against his mouth and nip at his chin as he moans against you. He practically picks you up to bounce you on his cock as he works you both quickly to your climax. You fight to keep your volume down as you don’t know what level of soundproofing the cable cars have; you also don’t necessarily want to give the monks any additional reasons to curse the patrons of the cable cars should your unbridled ecstasy be heard all the way down on the mountaintop below.   

Hwa begins to shake and swear as you twitch and clench down around him. As he feels you reaching your climax, he laughs in triumph before panting again and spasming deep within your core. He lowers your ass gently to the bench, and you moan gratefully as he kisses you so passionately that you reflexively wrap your legs around his ass and would refuse to let him go if the light of the station wasn’t looming in the not-too-far distance.    

You moan and chuckle as you suddenly hope you two haven’t effectively fogged up the windows. You gingerly lift your ass and pull your pants back up before sliding your hand over the seat to make sure there is no evidence of your, um, complete enjoyment of the trip on South Korea’s longest cable car.    

Chapter Text

Hwa puts his mask back on and zips his coat back up as the cable car rounds the track to the drop-off point at the base, where you assume the two of you started your little journey. He steps out first and holds your hand as you get out onto the walkway, where he tucks your hand into the crook of his arm to guide you back to the car. You marvel at the vast network of cables, pulleys, machinery, and the sleek, modern features of the base building. Seonghwa chuckles at you lagging behind before you remind him, “Hey! You didn’t let me look before! I want to see!” He slows to give you more time to gawk up at the huge towers and bright metal flag sculptures in the parking lot, and he patiently points out the views of the bridge and helps you orient yourself from your trip over the ocean to the mystery spot where he parked the car when you initially arrived. 

You sense he’s starting to get a little impatient, and despite the temptation to slowly examine every sight or feature that catches your eye as you walk with him, you suddenly realize that he’s probably getting hungry, and you’ll have to actually cook something for the two of you when you return to the beach house. You smile up at him and say, “Thank you, Hwa. That was amazing. Are you hungry? Want to go back to the beach house so I can cook something for dinner?” He looks down at you, a little startled, and you laugh at his beautiful, bewildered face, “What? Why do you look surprised?” He seems to come to his senses and responds, “Oh, I’m not. I mean, I don’t know. I guess I forgot about dinner.” You stare at him before darting out a hand to his forehead in a pantomime of checking him for fever. He tuts at you in annoyance and swats your hand away, embarrassed, causing you to bust out laughing.  

“Are you saying you aren’t hungry?” you stare up at him in amazement. “No. I am hungry, of course. But I am fine with just snacks or whatever.” He attempts to downplay it. You scoff at this suggestion as though he has personally insulted your cooking, “Well, if you feel that way about it...” You look slightly scandalized as he sputters and fumbles with the key fob that unlocks the car doors before reaching around your back to open your door. As he leans around you, you quickly raise up on your tiptoes to kiss him on the neck, and you can almost swear you see him blush under his mask. You admit, “I would like to get you home where I can see your whole beautiful face, Dear One.” He nods and waits cautiously for you to get all the way into your seat before gently closing your door and making his way to the driver’s side. 

He quickly gets in and tugs his mask off as he starts the car. Hwa leans over the console to kiss you tenderly, and his seemingly impulsive, carefree approach makes you anxious. “Can we go now, Hwa? I will kiss you literally all over for as long as you want—once we get back to the beach house. I just really feel nervous about being out somewhere like this, okay? I’m sorry; I know I’m being silly, probably.” He nods and says, “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s go.”  

You sigh happily at the chance to hold his hand as soon as he feels safe to do so once he’s navigated onto the highway, which is largely comprised of long stretches and very few other vehicles on the road. Just a few short minutes later, he slows the car to turn left into the house’s gravel driveway, and you find yourself doing a happy little dance at the sight of this gorgeous home with welcoming lights outside leading to the front door, where you know a private little oasis awaits the two of you. You hop out of the car and practically skip around to where Hwa is, ensuring that he collects the bag with the containers from the treats he brought along. You smile up at him when he is finally done, and you reach out to hold his arm as the two of you head for the house.  

When Seonghwa opens the front door, you let out a little gasp as there are comforting, warm lights inside, as well as the mouth-watering smell of a hot meal. He chuckles as he turns behind you to lock the door, and you cautiously make your way toward the dining area that overlooks the deck and the dark ocean beyond. “Hwa?” you say quietly as you slowly wait for him to catch up to you, not wanting to explore the promising glow of flickering lights and the smells of spicy and savory foods up ahead, in case you spoil the magic. Seonghwa steps up behind you and places his palm on the small of your back to gently encourage you to go see the dining area. What you see in the dining room beyond makes you stop and stare in surprise. 

The large bay window ledge has been decorated with a variety of candles, all flickering and reflecting off the glass. The dining table is now covered with a white tablecloth, which you do not remember being there before, and there are various covered dishes of hot foods over small candles to keep them warm. There are other platters and dishes with utensils nearby, and two place settings with a lovely bottle of sparkling wine in a large bucket of ice that sits between two fizzing glasses already poured. You stare up at Hwa, surprised, and he smiles sweetly as he makes his way over to pick up the fluted glasses to hand one to you. You can’t hide your amazement, as this grand gesture exceeds almost anything you’ve experienced in your life up to this point. He blinks tenderly at you as you just watch him in wide wonder; he says softly, “A toast then?” You nod stupidly at him and just watch as he appears to think for what seems like a very short time, then begins, “To my very best friend, who I love with all of my heart. I am so glad we have met and have been able to know and love each other in every way. You have helped me to be more like myself, and I love you so much for that. I hope that we can make each other so happy for many more years.”  

You watch his beautiful face in the candlelight and see the bright stars of shimmering tears lining the corners of his eyes, and you know the same are present in your eyes as well. You nod, as your throat is not allowing you to utter any meaningful syllables, and clink your glass against Hwa’s. The two of you sip at the fizzy wine and smack your lips synchronously, which breaks the spell and causes you both to burst into nervous giggles at your identical reaction to the fancy wine. Hwa slips behind you to turn on a nearby Bluetooth speaker before starting up some classy, romantic instrumental music at a low volume. He returns to you and reaches to take your glass and set it on the table before sweeping his long arm behind you and pulling you close to sway to the music as he holds your hand in his.  

You lean your head happily against him and allow him to dance gently with you as you feel the bubbles of the wine tickling your stomach, and the happiness of an incredible day fills the rest of your body with a giddy sense of carbonated joy. He kisses your forehead before changing his mind and reaching out a finger to tilt your chin upward, where he can press a sensual, loving kiss to your lips for as long as he wants. You hum happily into his embrace and return his tender kisses with the confidence and love you have always hoped to convey to him. He finally breaks the kiss, almost reluctantly, and you realize he must have really felt torn between his loving desires and the tempting aromas on the table nearby.  

You pull him by his hand toward the table as you watch his shining eyes surveying the vast spread. “Did you organize all of this?” you ask him, impressed. He nods modestly, “I asked my friend what the options for meals are, and he and his wife offered to set this up for us.” You squeeze his hand and let go so that he can have both of his hands to open the dishes. He begins to carefully open the lids and dish up some of the items onto the two dinner plates while you step behind him to fondle his ass and rub his lean, washboard abs, causing him to chuckle as you do your best to shift your weight and move with him to avoid disrupting his mission. You moan happily as you enjoy unfettered access to his perfect body while he is too focused on serving the food to stop you. When you reach around to find his stiffening cock, he laughs, embarrassed, and tries to pull back from you before realizing you are directly behind him, so his effort only results in him pressing his ass against your pelvis as you chuckle deviously. You take pity on the man and step back, pulling your arms back from his undefended dick in order to allow him to place the plates down in front of your place settings, and he gestures for you to sit with a smug, adoring grin on his face.  

When you look down to compare plates, you notice right away that he appears to have divvied up the impressive variety of dishes and banchan separately between them. You glance up at him as you slip down into your seat and recognize 새우 부추 만두 (Saeu buchu mandu), which are dumplings with shrimp and chives, 미역줄기볶음 (Miyeokjulgi-bokkeum), which is sautéed wakamé. There is a large bowl of 육개장 (Yukgaejang) set for each of you, and the smoky, earthy soup is full of beef and veggies, and the spicy aroma makes your mouth water. Hwa smiles knowingly as he watches your eyes sweep over the delicious spread. He slips into the seat next to you and asks, “Do you know all of these dishes?” You nod and say, “Most of them. But I don’t recognize those.” He glances where you gesture toward a pile of 삼치양념구이 (Samchi-yangnyeom-gui) next to his 오이무침 (Oi-muchim) spicy cucumbers. He leans over and looks to see where you are pointing, and picks up a piece to carefully feed you. 

As you lean toward him to take the bite from his chopsticks, he opens his mouth in the reflexive ‘mama bird’ gesture to encourage you to open wide. His bright eyes are round with anticipation as he awaits your opinion. When you smile and nod at the slightly sweet, fried fish before picking up a dumpling from your plate to offer him in exchange. He gingerly removes the entire thing from your chopsticks, and you have to turn to hide your blushing smile at the way he fills up his cheeks with the chewy, tender dumpling. The two of you take turns sharing bites between you, and Hwa seems to enjoy telling you about the foods and why he thinks that it is a good choice to eat at this little seaside haven together.   

The two of you push back from the table with a groan when you’ve polished off the majority of the delicious dishes, with Hwa putting in the lion’s share of the efforts. He places his palm on the small of your back as you turn to begin collecting the serving dishes from the table and take them to the kitchen to wash. He pulls you back to him before you make any progress and wraps his arms around you tenderly to pull you in for a deep, soul-searching kiss before he releases you, chuckling at the light perspiration on both of your foreheads as your bodies attempt to process the impressive amount of food you just put away.  

You smile and blush further as you return to the task of clearing the table. Hwa picks up the remaining dishes and follows you into the kitchen. You search the pantry for containers to save the leftovers in, and he steps lightly around you to begin washing the emptied dishes. As he waits for the water to fill the basin in the sink, he begins following you around the kitchen, playfully swatting at your butt and pretending to accidentally catch you in his long arms as you move around to clean up the rest of the dinner dishes.  

You locate some dish towels to help dry the dishes, and the two of you finish clearing up in comfortable silence. As the water drains from the sink, he gently takes your hand and leads you out toward the sliding door, which opens onto the large deck overlooking the salty waves in the darkness below this secluded beach house. You shiver lightly as a sudden gust of ocean breeze hits you, but Seonghwa wraps his arms around you as he walks you toward the railing to gaze at the barely visible coastline in the intermittent light from the moon and twinkling stars above you. His embrace is warm, as is your combined body temperature, because of all of the spices and the stew you’ve just consumed. He sighs happily into your hair as you lean back into him and melt against his lean form. You hum happily to yourself as you enjoy this feeling of warmth and safety, as well as the intimate solitude of this little retreat away from the prying eyes of the public and the inherent nosiness of your chosen family, your seven rowdy roommates, and, for all intents and purposes, your seven coworkers.  

You feel his breathing slow as he relaxes into this shared sense of comfort, and you carefully turn to tilt your chin up to meet his lips as soon as you’ve completed the motion. His mouth finds yours easily in the familiarity and confidence that has developed in the connection between the two of you as you’ve spent so much time together as best friends and lovers. He moans happily into your kiss as you reach up to weave your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck and wrap your lower arm around his tiny waist.  

Seonghwa kisses you with the steadfast devotion he has always demonstrated toward you, and you find yourself shivering at the thought of all of the insecurity you’ve felt with the uncertainty of the past few days. His reverence and romanticism erase all sense of worry when you allow yourself to let go of anything but this soulful connection between the two of you. He continues to kiss you deeply until a shiver runs up his back, and you realize that he has been sheltering you from the brunt of the increasingly chilled ocean winds as the sun has long since abandoned the coastline.  

You shimmy against him and look up into his loving eyes as you ask, “Inside? Are you frozen?” He laughs and kisses your forehead before turning to go back into the house with you. Once inside, he leads you to the small living room and hands you a miniature remote before slipping out of the room. You quickly recognize that this controls the fireplace on the living room's far wall, so you turn it on and find a comfy spot on the sofa before realizing that Hwa has not yet returned. When you call out to him, he replies, “Just a minute! Stay right there.” There is a slight rumbling sound beyond the fireplace wall, and you try not to stare at it nervously as you wait for him to return.  

When Hwa returns, he has a pile of towels and a couple of mugs in one arm and a steaming tea kettle in the other. He grins at you as he nods for you to follow him out of the room and past the kitchen to a far bedroom beyond the areas of the house you’ve managed to explore so far. The room also has candles lit, and you realize that the fireplace is two-sided between the living room and this stunning master bedroom.  

The master bedroom has as many beautiful, wide windows as the living and dining rooms, but with the added seclusion of facing the back corner of the property, where the ocean coast offers sufficient privacy. You snicker at your own naughty thoughts as you realize that the curtains of this romantic room really never need to be closed—not for modesty's sake, at least. Hwa sets the kettle and mugs down carefully before turning to you with a hopeful smile. He waits for your eyes to track to the large jacuzzi tub he is currently filling with warm water and lightly jasmine-scented bubbles. You don’t even wait for him to ask before you are slipping out of your clothes and tugging longingly at his. He disrobes wordlessly and offers you a steady hand to hold as you step into the comforting bath.  

Once the two of you are safely lowered into the large tub, he pours two mugs and passes one to you. You inhale the scent and smile at him as he moves to place his body behind yours and places a rolled-up towel on his lean chest before gesturing to you to lay your head against his shoulder while the towel supports your neck. You moan a little as the full decadence of this delirious moment hits you. You resist the urge to fondle or caress any part of him but the bit of his thigh that is pressed up beside you. He smacks his lips, and you hear a light clink as he sets the mug on the edge of the tub before leaning down to kiss your neck and nibble your earlobe. After coaxing a tiny squeal from you, he chuckles in his velvety, soft voice before he ceases his teasing kisses and sighs happily in the comfort of this completely bare, reverent moment between the two of you. 

You relax into the warm tub and rest your head against the towel so that you can see the twinkling lights of the boats passing by in the darkness of the ocean. The soothing temperature of the water and the spicy, sweet moju (warmed makgeolli wine with jujubes, cinnamon, and ginger) releases all of the tension in your muscles from the inside out. You lean back happily against him as he wraps his body around you. 

As the water begins to chill, you feel the light sweat glistening along your neckline from the steamy bath and the toasty beverage. You lean forward slightly, and Hwa grabs you and whines to prevent you from moving away from him. “I’m cold,” you pout as you turn to look back at him. “Do you want more hot water? Or do you want to get out and, um--” You glance toward the bed, which now seems more cozy and plush than you remember it looking when you walked in. “Hmmmm,” Hwa muses for a moment before quickly saying, “Bed.” You can hear the smile in his voice. You daintily turn as you move to stand so that your ass isn’t directly in his face before shimmying some of the water droplets from your body with a sly grin and picking up the towel to remove the remainder before scurrying over to the bed and under the covers with a squeal.  

Hwa is still laughing at your ridiculous dash into the bed as he stands and dries himself with the other towel. You peek your eyes over the cover to admire the shimmering droplets of water along his lithe body as he moves in the flickering light from the fireplace. You lean up on your elbow and sigh in appreciation of his ethereal beauty, and he glances up at you through his hair, which now hangs in damp strands from the humidity. You lick your lips and pull back the covers for him as you enjoy the look on his face and the fact that you can still make him blush just by looking at him.  

He jumps into the bed enthusiastically, and you almost fall forward into him because you didn’t brace for such a forceful impact. Seonghwa sighs and slides over toward you, taking advantage of your loss of balance to slip one long arm beneath your side while he wraps the other around you. He places his leg over your thigh and slips his foot between your calves while he looks down at you with contented adoration. You meet his gaze and press your lips to his as you relax into his arms and lean into the light buzz from the wine and all of the excitement of the day. Hwa kisses you with so much devotion that you realize you keep forgetting to breathe with the softness of his full lips against yours.   

You moan against him and press your body against his as you feel deeply fulfilled and safe in this place with him. The fact that he arranged all of it so thoughtfully seems to magnify the effect of the beauty and privacy of the beach house. You hum happily and whisper against his lips, “Thank you, Hwa.” He presses his lips over yours again tenderly before pulling back and saying, “You are welcome, Little Star. Saranghae.” You look up at his beautiful eyes and nod, “I love you, too, Dear One.” He moans and rolls himself over on top of you as he begins kissing you more passionately.  

You lift your shoulders so he can slide his arms under you as you return his ardent kisses with matching devotion. You spread your legs to wrap them around his, and you feel his growing passion for you as the hardness of his cock increases every time he presses his hips up against you. You press your pelvis up to meet it and moan as the fire in your stomach from the wine is now completely eclipsed by the arousal that is flaring up from your core.   

Seonghwa kisses you deeply until your lips begin to burn, and your pussy is begging for any attention from him since all of his energy has been focused on your mouth. He continues pressing his pelvis up against you, but it is only making you more desperate for him. You are about to beg him to make love to you when he pulls back and looks down at you lustfully before sucking your nipple into his mouth and twisting the other between his fingers. You arch your back up to meet him and attempt to rut your hips against his thigh. He slides his hand from your nipple down to your mound and begins teasing his fingers around your slit before slipping his index finger partially into your heat. You whimper and shudder at the way your core is desperate for him, and he begins sucking on your nipple more vigorously as he works his finger around your entrance and back up to your clit, where he begins stroking it and pressing his palm against your mound.  

You play with your other breast and buck your hips up toward him as he teases you into a frenzy. His deep chuckle makes you growl at him as he releases your swollen nipple from his mouth. He laughs even more, and you sigh happily as he looks up at you with the flush of arousal in his cheeks and glassy eyes from desire and wine. He looks at you with the sweetest amusement, and his precious face only annoys you more because you know he isn’t as innocent as he looks. 

You shimmy your hips to get him to lift up over you, and, to his surprise, you roll out of the bed and reach out to grab his hand. Hwa laughs softly in confusion as you pull him out of this perfect bedroom and back into the living room, where you notice a soft rug in front of the fireplace in the living room. When Hwa sees the fluffy rug, he says, “Ahhh,” in recognition of your idea. You turn back to rise up on your tiptoes and pull him into your arms for a deep, passionate kiss as he ruts up against you and holds you tight. You let him have his fun for a moment before pushing him back and grinning at him slyly as you turn and walk, still on your tiptoes, over to the rug, where you look back at him before lowering yourself down onto all fours.  

Hwa sees you there on the rug naked, in front of the fire, and grinning back at him devilishly, and the sight of you there causes him to release a feral groan as he swiftly moves to join you there on the rug—his desperate cock leading the way. You spread your legs a little to ease his way between them, and he growls as he spreads your ass with his hands to easily locate your pussy. You whimper at the attention over such a personal area, but when you glance back at him, he is deeply entranced and looks almost feral with desire as he brings his dusky cock up to align it with your entrance. You fight the urge to press yourself back onto his dick as soon as you feel the velvety head touching your pussy; he grips your ass hard on either side with both hands, and you’re practically shaking as he holds you there.  

You nearly lose the battle with your self-control to not forcefully impale yourself on his excruciating erection when he begins pushing it into you. The relief and pleasure that radiates through your body is overwhelming as you enjoy the sensation of finally having him inside of you. You moan, low and desperately, as he presses himself all the way inside of you. You can hear him softly moaning, too, and you drop your head forward as you close your eyes and enjoy the sensation of the heat from the fireplace and the warmth of this total connection with your dear Hwa.  

He pulls back and begins thrusting into you at a controlled pace; you are now panting and encouraging him with your vocalizations, as there is no concern about bothering anyone nearby. The arousal is electrifying, and your wanton pussy is becoming increasingly slick for him. You begin to smell the scent of yourself as his thrusting brings your wetness out into the warm air of the room each time he withdraws. You arch your ass further up toward him, and he takes this as an invitation to increase his speed and intensity. He keeps his solid grasp on your full hips with his strong hands, and you give him louder vocalizations of appreciation when he pulls your ass back to meet his thrust. The combination increases the building electricity radiating from your core exponentially. He moans softly, and you glance back to see that his head is tilted back in ecstasy as he enjoys this moment to the fullest. You see the way he seems ready to surrender to the novelty of being alone in a living room, stark naked with you, and fucking you any way he likes in this space, so you carefully reach back to flick your clit and ensure you can keep up to cum whenever he does.  

You enjoy bouncing your ass back against him and following the rhythm of his thrusting and the grip of his hands; when he suddenly becomes quieter, you know you’d better prepare yourself, as he is more than likely about to cum hard inside of you. You feel another rush of wetness released in response to the very idea, and you begin to moan in earnest as he increases his speed. As you predicted, he thrusts a few more times before beginning to moan and pant louder and tug your hips sharper as he pounds his shuddering cock into you. You buck your hips and gasp at the feeling of his shaking, throbbing orgasm and the full load you know he has just left inside of you. 

Your pussy spasms around him, and he gasps as he fights to remain inside of you while your core grips his sensitive cock desperately in the throes of your orgasm. He chuckles lightly as you smile back at him and shiver in the waves of aftershocks that run down your spine. He pats the small of your back, and you slowly lower yourself onto the rug as he follows you with his body and lies on top of you without withdrawing his cock. You moan happily and rest your head on your arms as you turn to gaze at the flames in the fireplace and enjoy the feeling of this precious man lying naked and sweaty on top of your voluptuous body, which pads every angle of his lean form. He sighs happily, rests his head just above your shoulder blades, and reaches up to rest his palms on your forearms beside your head. You shake your ass lightly beneath him and enjoy the sudden gasp it elicits from him as his sensitive cock is unprepared for the surprising reminder that it is being kept warm in a pool of his cum inside you. 

You giggle as he grumbles against your back, and the rumble of his deep voice makes you shiver with delight. He slides his hands down your sides until he reaches your ample hips, where he squeezes your love handles before slipping his hands around under your belly to rest on the sides of your mound, where your pelvis curves inward and creates a little space for his hands as you lie on your stomach.  

You sigh and hum to yourself as you enjoy the weight of Seonghwa on top of you, along with the full-body connection of your bare skin to his. When the timer of the fireplace clicks off, the room is in almost complete darkness. Hwa yawns behind you, slides his hands back out from under your hip, and pats you on the side, “Come on. We should go to bed.” You mumble agreement and roll over to allow him to help you up. He tenderly guides you back into the bedroom before closing the door and joining you under the covers. You look toward the window and notice a break in the cloudy night sky, revealing a small ray of moonlight.  

“Hwa?” you whisper quietly. He mumbles into your hair, “Hmm?” “Do you see the moon?” He shifts, and you feel him lift his head slightly before lying back down beside you, “No, I just see you, Little Star.” You roll back to face him and cluck your tongue, “No, silly. Outside. The window.” He lifts his head again to glance out the window before he turns his beautiful face back toward you, and you marvel at the power of his stunning features even in this dim, moonlit room. He nuzzles your nose with his before whispering again, “I only see you.” You stare up at him, speechless, and he takes the opportunity to lean down and press another deep, searching kiss to your lips for the longest time. You gasp for air when he finally pulls back from you, and you feel his cock twitching back to life against your thigh.  

You reach up to gently cradle the back of his neck with your palm and pull him back for more kisses. He readily meets your lips with his, and his tongue caresses yours expertly. Clearly, he has spent plenty of time taking notes on which techniques get the best response from you when he kisses you. You whimper at the physical and emotional intensity of his devotion while also feeling pretty exhausted after all of the surprises of the day. For as much as you may want to be greedy for more sex with Hwa, you are feeling pretty tired. You sigh a little, unintentionally, when there is a break in Hwa’s passionate kisses, and he pauses there to try to see your face in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” He asks cautiously, and you cringe a little as you wish he didn’t know you to be such a fragile creature. You shimmy lightly to show your current happy mood before explaining, “I’m just getting sleepy, Hwa. We had so much fun today. It was amazing. I’m just tired.” He tuts, as though frustrated with himself, and apologizes, “You’re right. It has been a busy day, Little Star.” He gently cups the side of your face with his hand. Accidentally, his rebellious cock thumps you in the thigh again, and you feel him cringe slightly at the realization that it has gone rogue at this point. You giggle and press against it lightly before coming up with a compromise, “Dear One? Could you hold me and be inside me for sleep?” He looks down at you curiously, as it seems he hasn’t had this idea with you before. “I think so,” he says before shifting his weight back to the side of you and patting your hip for you to roll toward the window.

He gently slips his hand between your legs and lifts to indicate that you should raise your top leg. You lift your leg as he shifts behind you to align his cock with your heat. You rock your hips and arch your ass back toward his member as he works to gently press it against your quivering entrance. You gasp lightly as he presses past the resistance and slowly slips himself into the warmth of your perfect pussy. He moans with relief as he sinks deep inside of you. You sigh happily and gratefully grab his hands as he wraps his elegant arms around you. You entwine your arms with his and slowly drift off to sleep in a haze of slightly naughty but completely delicious dreams. 

Chapter Text

Bright rays of unexpected sunshine warm the room through the wide window since neither you nor Hwa thought to close the curtains before you went to bed last night. The weather is unseasonably beautiful, especially for the coastline, and you squirm happily back against Hwa at the unfamiliar feeling of complete peace in your chest. He reflexively pulls you closer and holds you tight, and you find yourself beaming like a fool at the happiness you feel in this unspoiled moment. You check in with the rest of your body to feel the security of his bare skin against yours, and your nerves awaken with electricity when you think about the lack of barriers between his perfect cock and your core. You don’t know when it slipped out of you last night, but falling asleep with him inside of you was one of the best feelings you’ve ever experienced. His protection and love for you are a very close second to the deep, erotic connection of purposely remaining in that position.  

He shifts slightly and moans into your hair as you watch the rays of the sun breaking through the clouds out over the ocean. You are captivated by the simplicity of all of these things around you that are making this the perfect morning. Yet, it’s hard to appreciate all of it without thinking of how impossible it would be to have all of this on a regular basis. Perhaps it is that rarity that makes it so meaningful. 

You moan lightly against him and pull his arms to wrap tighter around you. He responds by flexing his abs and pressing his body against you until he shakes slightly, and you giggle at the pressure because you know what comes next. Seonghwa kisses the top of your head before rolling back away from you and over the side of the bed.  

Wait.  

“No,” you whine, and as you hear him walking out of the room, his deep chuckle recedes with him. When you flip the covers out of your way to peer at the door curiously, you realize he’s headed to the bathroom, and you giggle at your own excessive neediness. Hwa returns only a moment later, grinning at your eyes, peeking at him over the mountain of blankets you somehow managed to burrow under during the night. You can’t even guess what your hair looks like over the top of this hoard. You poke your small hand out, clap your fingers against your palm, and whine for him to come back to you even though he is already doing exactly that. You cluck your tongue when you see his cock is already halfway hard from the morning and, hopefully, some of his thoughts about you being there, naked in his bed. 

He crawls over to you and lays his perfect body on top of the mountains of blankets. The squish of the weight of him and the immense pile of fabric makes you giggle hysterically as you are completely helpless now. Your one arm flails pathetically out of the top, but the angle of it is useless, as he has you trapped beneath the blankets in such a way that forces your arm up toward your ear. You shriek and wiggle your body to try to get free, though you both know there’s nowhere you’d rather be. Hwa grins and laughs at you before looking at you with his sparkling, boba eyes and says, “No. You are mine. I have caught you.” You freeze dramatically and look at him with big eyes before sticking out your lip and pretending to be afraid. 

You force your words to quiver a little as you ask in a tiny voice, “What are you going to do with me? Am I your prisoner?” He laughs heartily at this and leans down to peck your lips, “I am going to keep you forever. And I am going to make you so happy.” His playfully growling voice gives you goosebumps, and you shimmy down into the mass of blankets to attempt to hide from him, “Oh no. Please don’t make me happy! That’s terrible! Please let me go!” You whine as your face disappears into the tunnel of blankets beneath his lithe body. 

Seonghwa responds by squeezing his strong thighs together, which stops your ability to make any progress in your attempts to burrow out from beneath him. He laughs exaggeratedly like a cartoon villain, and you squeal in mock alarm. His arms, too, are squeezing you, though he’s thought of this tactic a little late as the only thing he can reach is your head, and thankfully, he isn’t going to try to catch you by squashing your head between his arms. You continue to squirm, taking advantage of the fact that you have more width and can shift his center of gravity above you if you work your body right. He grumbles and attempts to stop you a little too late as you are already making your way out of the bottom of the bed.  

Your face is now just below his navel, and you grab his pecs with your one free hand that is still extended straight up from your shoulder and poking out of the blanket only slightly as you’re nearly free. He gives a devilish laugh and presses his pelvis down against your face causing you to let out a muffled yell of alarm as you now feel his hard cock pressing against your cheek even though the massive pile of blankets should cushion you from such a keen outline of his enthusiasm. He laughs as you double your efforts to break free from the blanket. After humping your head a few times and cackling like a power-hungry maniac, he finally rolls aside to let you slip out of the blankets and off the bottom of the bed.  

You tumble out of the bed clumsily and glare up at him with a big, pouty lip as if he is the one who has just tossed you out of bed onto the floor. He laughs and tuts in faux sympathy as though you are a child who has just found out that there was a reason you were being told to stop goofing around, but you needed the life lesson of seeing the ice cream cone on the ground to understand why you were being told that. You fight the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as he makes his way over to you, cooing and fawning over you as though preparing to check you for scraped knees or other minor booboos.  

You turn away from him with a sulky huff, but he catches you in his arms and practically tackles you over onto your side, causing you to squeal with delight as he wrestles you onto your back. Seonghwa holds both of your wrists up over your head and has forced your naked legs apart as he somehow maneuvered his powerful body between them. You whine, but the sound is choked off by the delirious sensory overload of his plump lips pressing hard against yours and his hard cock grinding against your pelvis. You see stars and moan reflexively as the air leaving your lungs releases a sound that is not formed by any conscious thought. You let out a guttural moan at the desire that now suddenly rages inside of you; you meet his kisses with desperate strokes of your tongue and as much pressure back to match his energy. Your hips grind up toward him, though you flinch when his cock leaves your clit buzzing as it has nowhere to escape his erection grinding it against your pelvis and sending electricity all the way up your spine to the back of your throat.  

You gasp against his swollen lips and arch your back, allowing him to press his lean chest against your breasts as he ruts against you. Your legs slide up and down his, enjoying the warming friction of your skin sliding against his. He moans into your mouth and presses his kisses deeper, his long tongue threatening to reach obscene depths in your mouth. Whimpers escape from your mouth around his plush lips, and you begin rutting your clit against his hardness with a desperate need that consumes all of your conscious thought. Hwa releases your mouth to kiss your jaw and down your neck as he works his way down to your breast. 

He releases your arms when he has your nipple held firmly in his mouth as he sucks hard on as much of your breast as he can get his lips around. You arch your back and continue to press your heat toward him rhythmically as he shifts his weight to one elbow and uses his other hand to massage your other breast vigorously. You are whining and pulling on his hair tenderly as your hands can’t reach any other part of him. Hwa presses the heel of his hand hard against the lower half of your breast before stroking it up toward your arm, maintaining the pressure as he moves his hand up toward your shoulder and presses your arm back upward until he can clasp your small hand in his.  

You entwine your fingers with his and gasp when he pulls back to look at your face, which is now ruddy with desire. You know your pupils must be completely blown as he looks like he has a halo and the perfect, slightly blurry visage of a Snapchat filter. He glances up at the window where the rays of sunlight have entered to land on his head and create this celestial look. “Oh, no, don’t close it. I love it,” you moan as you continue to excite your clit against him. He chuckles and kisses your cheeks and nose tenderly before planting a long, supple kiss on your lips. When he pulls back, he shakes the hair back from his eyes and says hoarsely, “No, I love it too. I was thinking,” he licks his lips unconsciously as he glances around the room.  

You hold still, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but instead, he pushes up over you and reaches out a slim hand to help you up. You suppress a whine of protest at the loss of the comfort of his bare skin, and he stands with you before leading you over toward the window with gentle pressure at the small of your back. You lean back against him as he holds you there in front of the wide-open view of the ocean, and you sigh happily as his naked body reconnects against yours. “It’s so beautiful,” you say quietly as he begins to gently sway you back and forth until a sudden pressure of his dusky cock protesting the perfection of this tender moment brings you both back to the other ways this moment could be romantic.  

He groans into your hair and chuckles deeply until you press your ass back against his hard cock and moan. Seonghwa pulls back from you before turning to go across the room, and you enjoy the sight of him walking away in the morning sunlight on his naturally golden skin. You are just admiring his sacral dimples when he picks up a small lounge chair from the side of the room and brings it over toward the window. You raise a skeptical eyebrow at the narrow-seated chair with its wide back and rolled, fabric-covered arms. If he’s hoping you can somehow straddle him on that thing, he’s going to have a reality check. You watch as his lean muscles work to carry the chair close to the window before glancing around to locate one of your towels from the bath last night. When he finds one on the rack by the tub, he pulls it free and folds it in half before carefully laying it over the chair.  

Hwa turns back and smiles when he sees you watching him with amused curiosity. He moves around the chair to seat himself with the full view of the stunning ocean beyond; you follow his gaze to watch the sparkling ripples of sunlight along the small angular waves that texture the surface as far as you can see from your little private overlook. You startle when Hwa reaches out a hand to you, which you take hesitantly before he pats his thighs, and you walk around in front of him and gasp at his gorgeous erection waiting there for you. Your body shivers at the sight, but you look at him questioningly before he reaches out to guide your fleshy hips and turn you toward the window. You gasp lightly when he begins to pull you back to sit on his lap, and your body responds to this tantalizing idea immediately.  

You carefully back up and lower yourself over his beautiful cock as he guides you with his hands confidently on your hips. When you feel the head of his cock lined up with your entrance, you gingerly lower yourself onto him. You are both gasping and shuddering at the intensity of this position, the beautiful view, and the depth of his cock inside of you. You hold this position and flex your core around him as you both savor this novel sensation. Seonghwa gently guides you to begin rocking your hips back and forth as you brace your hands on the arms of the chair. You moan at the perfect amount of friction and pressure this provides, and the trembling of his thighs beneath your ass is the best compliment. 

You moan and work him back and forth, experimenting with different angles of your pelvis as you easily rock back and forth. He releases your hips to glide his slender hands up to your breasts, which he begins groping and massaging as you ride his cock. He moans when his fingertips find your erect nipples, and you gasp as you feel him suddenly pressing himself somehow further inside of you as his pleasure increases. The forbidden idea of fucking in front of a wide-open window is exciting, and you find yourself fantasizing that a small watercraft would pass by and somehow spot your naked bodies there in the throes of lovemaking. You shudder and pant at the very thought of being seen here like this, and you feel a rush of pleasure and wetness from your core as Hwa moans in surprise and releases your breasts to return his hands to the control of your hips.  

You tip your head back while doing your best to hold your back arched for him to help you continue to ride him, though your thighs are burning with the effort now, and your climax is rapidly approaching. You have no idea whether he, too, is close because the unfamiliar position, along with the naughty thoughts, has clouded your awareness at this point. You reach down to stroke your clit as you feel yourself nearly there. He sees you moving your hands there and begins thrusting up to meet your hips as he pulls you back and forth on his throbbing cock. You are panting now and moaning as you do your best to assist him by arching your ass back and bouncing with the rhythm of his hands on your hips.  

You hear him suddenly suck air through his teeth and grip your hips hard, which brings a powerful wave of pleasure crashing over you as you pant and gasp along with him. You hold fast on his spasming cock as he presses himself deep inside of you. You moan gratefully at your incredible release, and he murmurs in agreement. You relax your body back against his chest and whine when he starts to place his hands on the armrests. You reach out and pull his hands up to cup your breasts, and you sigh happily as his deep chuckle tickles against your spine. You clench your core around his spent dick briefly, and his hands squeeze reflexively on your breasts as he gasps at the sensitivity. With another deeply contented sigh, you rest there with his loving arms around you and watch the shimmering waves that extend far into the distance, broken up by the islands that dot the horizon.  

You sit there together, watching the sea for some time before his stomach rumbles beneath you, and you laugh so hard at the sudden, growling vibration that you force his cock out of you, along with an impressive load of his cum. He gasps in embarrassment at the suddenly unflattering complaints of his empty stomach as well as the startling sensation of the cool air hitting his wet cock. You are laughing hysterically now despite the cum running down your leg and the complete lack of nearby options to address it. You look around in panic for another towel but can’t see one other than the one Hwa is currently sitting on. You make the split-second decision to jump into the empty bathtub to buy time while you think of a solution and prevent yourself from leaving any of your combined DNA on the carpet.  

Seonghwa looks at you as he is now laughing at your laughter, but he is at a loss to explain why you just jumped up to stand in the dry jacuzzi tub. You clamp your legs together and clutch your aching sides as you watch the realization dawn on his stunning face. He rushes to the rescue, grabbing the towel from the chair. He swipes it quickly over his pelvic region and then carefully hands you a dry section to address your unique situation. As you stuff the towel between your thick thighs, you look up at him with the tears of laughter in your eyes. He is looking around for something to put on before he realizes that this is largely unnecessary in the current location. 

He turns back to you with a devious grin, and you watch him cease his search at the conclusion of this sexy mental math. Seonghwa looks at you there with the towel between your legs and suddenly snaps into focus and dashes to the bathroom to bring you a warm, damp washcloth to clean yourself up with. While you do this, he busies himself, looking out at the sunlit view. You wish you could have a photograph of his amazing body in front of such a perfect ocean view. But you suddenly recall the reason for your departure from the enjoyment of the scenery from the comfortable chair, “Dear One? What do you want for breakfast?”  

He turns back to you, and his loving gaze takes your breath away. He walks over to offer his hand in stepping back out of the tub, and he hums softly as he considers your question. When you’re back safely on the carpet, he is still processing, so you suggest, “We should go see what there is, and I’ll tell you what I can make.” He kisses your forehead at this brilliant idea and grabs your hand to saunter back out to the kitchen despite the fact that the two of you are naked as the day you were born. 

You busy yourself looking through the cupboards at the items labeled for guests’ use. When you notice that there are enough of the ingredients for souffle pancakes, you squeal a little with excitement. Hwa returns from starting the fireplace and some music in the background to see what you want to do about breakfast. You shush him and grin mischievously, refusing to answer him but taking the time to relish the opportunity to surprise him for once on this trip. He chuckles at your playful power move and sways you with his hands on your hips as he leans down to kiss you passionately. You moan at his desperately wanton kisses; this man seems to have an unending reservoir for desire. 

After several long, electrifying moments, you push him away and tut at him as you move about the kitchen assembling the proper ingredients and tools you’ll need to make the Japanese delicacy that are souffle pancakes. He watches you and busies himself, playing grab-ass before you whine at him for some form of caffeine. He jumps to action and returns with two hands held behind his back and a sly smirk, “Which one?” he asks as you regard his silly expression. You bounce your ass off of his right hip to indicate the right hand, and his elegant palm returns to offer you one of your favorite zero-sugar sodas. You sigh happily and look longingly at it before he holds up a finger and says, “I’ll go get your medicine, okay?” Your knees practically buckle at the thoughtfulness of this gorgeous human, and you nod, speechless, as you watch the rippling muscles of his beautiful body as he dashes back toward the bedroom. 

Seonghwa returns a moment later with your little zippered pill case and hands it to you before stepping behind you to wrap his arms tenderly around your rounded waist and holding his body against you while you slug down enough soda to allow the pills to glide down your throat without any embarrassing gagging incidents. You lean back against him and sigh happily before pressing yourself away from him and returning to the search for all of the items you need to make a delicious breakfast. Hwa continues to dance around you and tickle, touch, or fondle you as you move about the kitchen. You exchange moony looks and gingerly take advantage of his nakedness as well, enjoying the opportunities to intentionally brush up against or grope his unfettered cock. You still manage to focus on the task at hand long enough to successfully get your pancakes cooking. When they are safely on the stove and covered, you drop to your knees and pull Hwa’s dick into your mouth ravenously. He gasps and grips the edge of the countertop to steady himself as you lick and suck on it with no regard for appearances or daintiness. His thighs shudder with the sudden pleasure, and you moan as he begins pressing it further into your throat. You pull back as quickly as you’d started when you know you need to get up to check the pancakes. He whines a little, so you turn and ask him to set the table. He gingerly strokes his cock as he turns and limps out to go see about setting the table. 

When the souffle pancakes are nearly finished, and Hwa’s dick is about halfway back to normal size, you begin carrying the other items you’ve assembled out to the table. Some leftover meats from last night are reheated to add to the nutritious value of the breakfast, and you notice that Hwa has graciously placed several folded towels on the chairs for the two of you to enjoy your meal without feeling obligated to get dressed. The two of you dissolve into naughty giggles as you alternate sharing the airy, sweet pancakes and groping and playing with each other’s nakedness shamelessly. 

A quiet chime sounds from Seonghwa’s distant phone, causing you both to startle. He looks apologetic as he jumps up and dashes to the bedroom to retrieve it. You suddenly realize you haven’t even wondered if there has been a response from Hongjoong, and you feel cooly comfortable with the fact that you’ve just been enjoying this intimate retreat with Hwa. A tiny flicker of longing kindles within you, and you watch anxiously for Hwa to return as you attempt to smother this unwanted feeling. 

Hwa laughs awkwardly as he sets his phone on the table and turns to you, “I forgot what time we are supposed to check out. I guess they have another guest coming in later today.” He looks sheepish as he strokes your thigh and watches your face. You smile at him and kiss his bare shoulder, just because you can, before asking, “What time do we need to be out?” He chuckles nervously, “In about twenty minutes.” You snort with laughter as you press a kiss to his lips and jump up from the table, “Okay then!” The two of you quickly dash around to clean up all of the items from the table and retrieve your clothing from various areas of the living room and bedroom.  

In just fifteen minutes, the two of you have managed to repack your suitcases and become reasonably presentable—at least to anyone who is unfamiliar with the level the two of you generally prefer, which usually involves quite a bit more sophisticated hygiene and beauty routines. You both don your coats and make your way out to his mother’s car, still laughing at the unromantic exit you’re making from this little paradise. Hwa loads all of the items into the car and walks around to the passenger side to embrace you where you’ve been leaning against the car enjoying the unseasonably warm sunlight on your face. He presses against you and kisses you deeply, moaning into your neck as he whispers, “Saranghae, Squishmallow.” You giggle at the surprising silliness in this unbelievably romantic moment. You pout playfully in protest and say, “I love you too, Park Seonghwa.” He groans at your use of his given name, and you smack his ass hard when he pulls back and turns to open your door for you. You stop and pull him back for another attempt at a meaningful kiss before getting into the car, and he meets your mouth with utter devotion as he holds you close one more time. You whine a little when he pulls away, and he laughs as he says, “One minute left.” You choke a little at the idea of being forced to interact with anyone after this beautiful experience of solitude, and you quickly slide into the car and buckle yourself in obediently. 

Hwa is still chuckling as he gets into the driver’s seat and starts up the car. You look at him tenderly as you stroke his thigh and say, “Thank you, Dear One. This was amazing.” You sigh happily as you watch the oceanside hideaway disappear into the bright sunlight and rocky cliffs along the coastal highway. The two of you are quietly content as he drives back to his mother’s house; when you arrive there, he steals a quick kiss before you get out of the car to return all of your things to his room. He insists that you take your time to shower and get dressed, stating that his mother has asked for his help with several tasks, so he jumps out as soon as he’s adequately washed himself. You sigh at the unfairness of having to finish your shower alone, but you enjoy the butterflies in your stomach at this knowledge that you get to see Hwa being such a dutiful, loving son.  He playfully informs you, as he slips out of the bathroom, that he has another surprise activity for the two of you planned today after he finishes his mother’s ‘honey-do’ list.  

You step out of the shower and fumble for the towel to capture your hair before you drip all over the lovely floor when you hear Seonghwa’s deep voice rumble by the bathroom door as he must be going into his room. You wait for a moment, expecting to hear his door shut, but when no sound comes, you are fascinated to listen to him talking casually on the phone. Between the door of the bathroom being closed and his words being in Korean, though, you really can’t understand any of it. Until you swear you hear him loudly say “Hongjoong” and then laugh a lot more than you’ve heard him consecutively laugh in some time. The hairs on the back of your neck bristle, and your blood runs a little cold, as this seems out of character for your dear Hwa.  

You can’t explain why, nor do you stop to really think about it, but you obey as your body moves to grab your phone and set the translation app to [Record] as you carefully set your phone down on the bathroom floor with the mic near the door. It’s probably a shitty thing to do, but he’s making no effort to conceal his conversation, and he knows you have the app. If he’d really been concerned about privacy, he could have easily closed his door or gone elsewhere.  

Yeah. That would hold up in court.   

You stand, uneasy and dripping on the floor as you watch the app work through the words it is able to pick up from the sound drifting under the bathroom door. You quickly wrap your hair in the towel you’ve been clutching limply in your hand and lean over to look at the phone as you try to make sense of the words that are obviously only one side of the conversation: 

“ Oh. Wow, Bumjoong-hyung. That’s harsh.”  

“Yeah. I wish our families didn’t do this sort of thing to us. But she wasn’t too upset?”  

“I don’t care if he cried. I just need to know how hurt she was. I’m the one here trying to help, after all.”  

*Translation Not Available*  

“No, I know. I know. I’m used to it, hyung. I’m always picking up the pieces for him.”  

“Yeah, I’m not really sure what that means is wrong with me.”  

“I’m glad she held her own. I’m not surprised, actually.”  

“You better watch out when it’s your turn because she seems to be very, um, creative about holding grudges.”  

*laughs* 

“No. I’m lucky. My mother says she isn’t worried about me because I’m her second son.”   

“It sounds like you got your revenge, though. I bet it wasn’t easy growing up with him. Were your parents satisfied with the visit?”  

“Yeah. She is amazing. I hope he is up to the responsibility.”  

*chuckles*  

“Yeah. It is a weird situation, isn’t it? But no, my mother doesn’t really seem terribly concerned about what I do. But we don’t really need their financial blessing anyway, so it’s only about being good sons.”  

“I am. I mean, still have my childhood anger, and sometimes that causes me pain. But I think that I have shown my stability, so she respects my choices. We’ve already seen how it works out when people are forced to make choices against their hearts and nature. Of course, everyone tries to prevent that, or so they say, but they honestly just seem to think that if they dictate what will happen, their children will be too tired once they become unhappy adults to actually act to change it or go against the family.”  

*laughs heartily*  

“I better go. She might be out of the shower soon. I still can’t believe you said that to him.”   

*hoots cheerily*  

“I would have paid good money to have seen that.”  

“No, I know. He needed to hear it. You’re just lucky you’ve got some time to make it up to her so she doesn’t put fire ants in your future wife’s bed or something.”  

*laughs* 

“No, of course not.”  

You quickly clear the translation app and stare blankly at your phone. 

Was that all some sort of a test? What the hell??  

And why the hell was Hwa talking to Bumjoong about it? Did he know about it? Why didn’t he warn you? That seems like a pretty fucked up thing to omit if he knew it was coming. Does this have anything to do with the jealousy thing? For fuck’s sake, you literally told him you’re always here for him if he wants you. Good lord. That’s enough of that for a bit. This is too much. You really should find some time to spend with the other guys and get a little distance from all of this. It’s too confusing. Good thing you have your date with Jongho when you get back. You also remind yourself to keep an eye out for ribbons for sale in the shops during your sightseeing with Seonghwa.  

You switch your phone back to the streaming service. You jam your earbuds back in and start up your music again before taking several deep breaths, checking your hair, and leaving the bathroom. When you reenter Hwa’s room, he is scrolling on his phone and looks up at you, breaking into a wide, appreciative grin when he sees you all cleaned up and ready to go for his surprise date. You feel yourself starting to blush, and you hope that you can easily forget all the questions you now have about your whole experience with Hongjoong’s family. He stands and walks toward you, tucking his phone away as he wraps one long arm around you and pulls you close with gentle pressure on the small of your back. You relax your body against his and allow him to hold you tight as he presses a tender, lingering kiss on your lips.  

You giggle and try to worm your way out of his embrace as he smiles and slides his tongue across his sumptuous lips absently. He catches you with his other arm and given his reach versus your short stature, he barely has to shift his weight to capture you again. As he swings you back into his arms, he laughs, “Where are you going in such a hurry?” You melt against him and look into his smiling eyes as you stammer, “I thought we were going to do something special today. I thought you wanted to get going?” He hums and leans down to kiss the divot where your shoulder and neck meet before kissing up toward your ear and exhaling hungrily, causing you to fight back a squeal at the ticklish intensity.  

“I think this is something very special. I think we should do something special right here.” He holds you with his arms looped behind your back and rocks your balance back and forth as his legs subtly press you backward, step by step, toward his bed. He laughs as he lets you go just as you fall backward onto his bed, and he lowers himself over top of you. He slides one elegant palm firmly up your thigh and rubs his fingertips against your heat, pressing hard against the crotch of your pants to ensure you can feel his dedication to the idea through the dense fabric of your corduroys. 

You shift aside from him as you stare at his face, amazed. “What has gotten into you?” you sputter at him, looking for some explanation for his sudden, unbridled lust. “You were smiling at your phone when I came in. Did someone send you a naughty message?” You hope the amount of blood that is currently diverted to his dick is sufficient to prevent him from registering the meaning behind your obviously loaded question.  

Okay, you said you didn’t care, but you clearly can’t leave it alone.  

He laughs and cups his palm hard against your mound while squeezing his fingers against your slit, causing you to gasp, “What?” He releases his hand from your crotch and moves to straddle himself over your pelvis as he slides his hands up your sides, over your breasts, and pulls your arms up by your head. He presses himself on top of your hips and holds your arms pinned up with one hand as the other hand slides down your arm to squeeze your breast again and comes to rest across your throat as he leans in for an aggressive kiss.  

You gasp and moan at the intensity of his dominating kiss and the delirious sensation of his hand resting across your throat, where the slightest squeeze would send your adrenaline off in uncontrollable bursts. As though reading your mind, he gives your throat the smallest momentary increase in pressure where his hand lays before relaxing his hand, and you start to cry out pathetically but are silenced by his engorged lips covering your mouth and his tongue filling the space around yours. His tongue massages yours powerfully, and you feel tears at the corners of your eyes at the intensity of the unexpected sensations and the feeling of helplessness that makes you feel dizzy and vaguely alarmed but mostly really, really curious about what he is going to do next.  

Seonghwa slips one knee between your thighs and uses the advantage of the length of his powerful legs to slide yours apart enough to get his other knee beside it before lowering himself over top of you, where his aching cock can press against your buzzing clit. He lightly presses on your throat again, and you find your traitorous hips bucking up against his hardness desperately as you whine and beg into his mouth. He smiles devilishly before glancing over his shoulder to verify that you closed his door when you reentered. When he sees that you didn’t close the door, having no other expectation other than to be heading out to the car next, he walks confidently over and closes it, turning to reveal where his cock has impressively altered the silhouette of his pants. The shameless gleam in his eye fascinates you, and you almost protest when he shuts off some of the lights of his room, leaving only the color-shifting lighted shelving behind his collection of Legos and Star Wars memorabilia, illuminating the room gently.  

He pauses there at the door, looking at you as though possessed, and you are starting to feel almost nervous by this sudden change in demeanor. If it were anyone but Hwa, you might be legitimately terrified. But this powerful side of him has you enraptured and fascinated, so you’re not about to do anything that might deprive you of the chance to let things play out and see what he’s up to. He reaches over to his computer desk and flips on a couple of speakers before setting some interesting electronic ambient music with a dark mood in the background.  

As he walks back toward you, you stare at the strange creature that seems to be inhabiting your darling Hwa's body. You see his jaw tense as he returns to the bed, and you reflexively scoot back on your elbows nervously. "Hwa?" you hate the way your voice quivers, "Who were you talking to on the phone? Why were you talking about Hongjoong and Bumjoong?" You decide not to play completely coy, but you also would rather he explain what he was talking about rather than tipping your hand to let him know exactly how much you know. His strong face startles you as he stops walking toward you and just looks deep into your eyes. His voice is deep and quiet as he says, "I was speaking to Bumjoong. Why?" You force yourself to hold his gaze despite the slick, roiling feeling growing in your stomach, "I heard some of what you said." You force yourself to add, "I had my translation app on." His eyebrows flick upward in recognition, but he doesn't shy away. "I was checking with Bumjoong to make sure I understood the whole story. You said you didn't want to talk about it, but I was so worried about you that I wanted to know what happened so I would understand why you were so hurt by it. I didn't want to push you to tell me." You watch his face as he seems confident, but you can practically see the words burned into your mind's eye, and he clearly doesn't remember as much of what he said. "Why did you say you didn't care about Hongjoong? Why did you say that your parents 'do these things'?" His unfaltering expression makes you feel as though the blood supply to your stomach has been unexpectedly cut off. He casually responds, "Because I don't care if his own behavior hurts his feelings. I only care if he hurts you. He can deal with his own feelings if he deserves that." You stare at this alien in front of you, who used to be your darling Hwa. "I thought he was your best friend? I don't understand this side of you, Hwa. I'm so confused. You've never expressed anger toward him for anything. What is this?"

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t fight for you? That I’m soft because I like pretty things? That I’m weak because I can sit quietly and look beautiful? Do you really believe that I would just accept being pushed aside by someone who doesn’t know how to appreciate you? I don’t want to watch him make you cry anymore. I hate seeing what it does to you.” You stare at his perfect face that has clouded over with an anger you didn’t anticipate. The change is like watching an unexpected incoming storm block out the sun on a perfect spring day but makes your stomach drop, as it is also a bit like waiting for a tornado warning. 

“I’m sick of second place. I can take it most of the time, but I can’t let you go. You deserve so much, and I don’t think even you know that. It hurts to watch. It’s one thing for him to treat me like that, but you... you didn’t sign up for that.”  

“I never said you were second place. I don’t have a list ranking my affection from top to bottom. You are all so different; that is why I love you all for different reasons.” You stare at him, confused as to where he is getting these ideas, “I even told you that you would be my choice, didn’t I?” You stare at him, standing in front of you with those tears in his eyes, wondering why you have to keep telling him this. “No, you said if he made you choose between us, that he’d be surprised by your choice. I don’t know who you would choose. Maybe you would choose neither of us.” He looks at you with tears now streaming down his beautiful face. You stare back in absolute disbelief. 

How in the actual fuck can someone be so tuned in and so oblivious?  

“I told you that he is my air and you are my water,” you look unflinchingly into his eyes, willing him to understand. “If he was gone, I would die a quick and intense death. If you were gone, I would suffer for days until I finally died. It is the same, but it is very different.” He blinks, sending more tears down the channels that are becoming well-established down his face. “I refuse to choose. Why do you even think I would? I don’t understand. I can’t feel this intensity with both of you? I have even had the incredible joy of having both of you at once. That was one of the peak moments of my entire life, Hwa. I can’t imagine a world in which I can’t be with you both. I know that it can’t last forever. Someday, you will both want different things. I can’t give you what your families will expect from you. I can’t choose to accept less and still pretend that it’s enough. I won’t. I won’t do it, Hwa.” You whimper as your throat is finally overwhelmed by the clenching pain there, and you are reduced to sobs. You start to cover your mouth but give up trying to stifle the sounds of heartbreak. 

“I don’t understand, Hwa. Help me,” you grab his hand and squeeze it hard, pulling and hoping he will come closer. He feels like he is miles away now. “Why is this not enough for now? Can’t we just exist in this moment together? Give me as many good memories as I can have, and you and Hongjoong as well? No one wins, and no one loses. That is my dream.” He looks up at you as you pull his palm to your chest. “What is your dream, Hwa?" He sniffles and scoots over to wrap his long arms around you but keeps his body beside yours instead of embracing you. You feel the deep emptiness of his distance and can’t suppress a pathetic wail. “Why?” 

He is shaking now, and you feel him take a deep inhale. “No one needs to win or lose. You’re right. I don’t know what has come over me. Everything just feels like life or death. Why?” His breath shudders, and he finally wipes his tears and smooths his hair back from his face. You lean your head against his chest and turn to curl your legs up across his lap. His arm wraps around your knees and holds your fleshy hip tightly.  

Chapter Text

You remain curled up in Hwa’s embrace as his breath shudders and gradually returns to its usual rhythm. Your tears, however, continue to silently stream down your face. This injury is just one more in what feels like an assembly line of brutal betrayals and unnecessary rebukes. You accepted the agreement with the belief that it was exactly what was presented. How incredibly naive of you to think that there wouldn’t be nearly eight years of history between everyone but you, and you’d never have the whole story of what hidden explosives lurk just beneath the surface of something that felt more like a fun way for eight confident guys to get their rocks off on a regular basis.  

Of course it’s more complicated than that. And now, you’ve been thrown right into the middle of it with nothing but a big, unguarded heart and blind optimism. You fight to keep your tears silent so that he doesn’t attempt to talk more. Nothing he’s said has made anything better, and you’re devastated to the point that you don’t even want to know what the hell is going on. Hwa has always been your shelter in the storm; it never occurred to you that he is just as capable of being the storm itself. Even if his inner hurricane is only called up to defend your tender heart, being caught in the middle has multiplied your pain rather than soothing it. It would be much better to be left to deal with the pain on your own. 

You can feel the swelling of your exhausted eyes returning with a vengeance, and you shudder with disgust at the idea that you will return home just as pathetic and weepy-eyed as you were when you left Hongjoong’s parents’ house. You really don’t want him to see you like that, despite the rising panic at the lack of communication from him following your insane rollercoaster of a visit with his family. Whether he would assume your tear-stained face was due to that or some other emotional injury, it doesn’t really matter. You are starting to think you’ll need a vacation from all of them after this.  

Holy shit.  

You shift to look at the misery mirrored back at you all over his face in his surprisingly puffy eyes and red nose. “Why did you say that about what your parents do to you?” He looks at you with pain in his eyes as he regards the clear tracks of your tears, which are still wet, “Traditionally, all parents test the woman their son brings home.” He gingerly caresses your jaw to wipe away several droplets of tears that remain hanging there tremulously. You sniffle lightly and turn your face away from his hand a little. He pulls back as if stung by the reminder of who put those tears there and the guilt at the obvious contrast in his typical role as your champion and tear soother—never the cause of your pain. 

You forcefully push away the temptation to become distracted by the confusion you still feel toward Hwa. You need to know more about what happened with Hongjoong, so you press him more directly: “Do you think Hongjoong’s parents were testing me?” He drops his hands to his lap to prevent unwelcome attempts to return to his cherished role as your comfort. He seems to ponder your question thoroughly before saying softly, “I know they were observing you; I am not sure that they would purposely test you. But it seems like he was trying to ensure you would be perfect.” “By keeping me in silence?” You blurt stupidly, “That’s fucked up, Hwa.” Your anger is palpable, and he now seems to realize that he has centered himself in your own storm more than he could have predicted. You want to slap him for the lie-by-omission of not warning you about any of this horseshit.  

He continues to look down shamefully before finally sighing.  “I know,” he says as he rubs his forehead, “I don’t think he meant for it to be. I think it matches his desperation for you.” You stare at him in shock, and he noticeably jumps as he looks up to meet your fierce eyes as you question him, Hongjoong, the universe, and everything now. “From what he told me, you were perfect if that’s what his parents truly were looking for. You were respectful, patient, and submissive in public. You were strong-minded, brave, and intelligent in private. You did everything right.” 

Is it too late to run screaming into the ocean? It sounds pretty good right about now. Jeebus fuck.  

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Your glare finally overpowers your tenderhearted Hwa, and he is fighting to answer you and not look away. He nervously twists a portion of his shirt hem that had become untucked when he pressed himself over top of you in a fit of passion that now seems strange to envision. His breath shudders, and he forces himself to look into your eyes with a deep sigh, “I am not sure.” He quickly looks back down where his fingers continue to mercilessly stretch and twist his shirt hem to the point of ruining it. You tenderly place your hand over his to stop him, and he shivers at your touch. “Thank you,” you say softly. Still, he startles as he is so surprised by these words. 

Seonghwa looks up at you with his dark eyes, somehow hopeful and fearful at the same time, as he waits for you to explain what on earth you’d be thanking him for just now. You smile sadly at his confusion, “Thank you for being honest with me now, Dear One. I know that wasn’t easy.” He looks back down, ashamed at the realization that the only thing worse than what he had done in lying by omission would have been to lie outright after the fact. You watch him struggling with the weight of his own conscience and decide that while you hate to cause him any pain or internal turmoil, you can’t get past this if you don’t set some clear expectations for the future. 

“Hwa?” You wait for him to meet your eyes again, and you continue, “Why does it feel like everything is falling apart when it was finally all coming together?” You sigh and look blankly at the lights phasing through the colors of the rainbow across the room. He squeezes your hand cautiously as though expecting you to pull away in disgust or become angered by his touch. You look down at the regal arrangement of the bones in his perfect hand before forcing yourself to continue, “I can’t bear the weight of your regret, Hwa. I can’t burden you with my pain anymore, either. I am sorry that I made so many mistakes and that I then put those mistakes on you when I asked you to help me figure things out. That wasn’t fair to you.” He whimpers slightly in fear at what he believes must be coming next. 

You turn a little to better face him, and you can see him steeling himself as he searches your face for some indication of just how badly he’s messed things up with you. You shake your head and smile gently, “I’m so sorry, Hwa. I don’t want to do that to you anymore. I need to be strong and handle my own messes. I don’t need you getting angry on my behalf. I can’t—” you stammer slightly; “I can’t do it, Hwa. I won’t do that to you anymore. I will work hard in the future to keep you from getting hauled into things that are between Hongjoong and me—or me and the other members,” you add, in case, gods forbid, you find yourself in a similar sort of shitshow with someone other than MATZ.  

With any luck, there won’t be more drama.  

“You love me because that’s what you do: you are a lover. But you and I both admitted we don’t have that chemistry, right? Did you lie?” You watch his face carefully as he shakes his head; the effort looks painful, as though he has whiplash and his neck is in pain from just this small motion. You cluck your tongue at him lovingly but forge on, “You will always have me, Dear One, but I have bigger dreams for you. There is someone out there who will set your heart on fire in the best way. And I will be here to make sure they treasure it.” His brow is creased with regret as though he still believes that the chemistry could be hidden somewhere between the two of you, “I don’t need fireworks—” he starts to argue, but you cut him off, “No? But you deserve them, Hwa. We both do.” You gently stroke his forearm and smile at his beautifully conflicted face. 

“I’ve found fireworks. You say you love me, but would you really ask me to walk away from that? I honestly can’t believe that you would ask that of me, Hwa. I don’t think you really mean it like that. I think you’re just hurting on my behalf, and you don’t know what else to do.” He sighs heavily at this and stares down at your hand on his forearm. “I know you would protect my heart if you could, Dear One. I’m asking you not to.”  

He starts to protest, his voice betraying his frustration, “It’s not even about me; it’s about you. I hate that you’re drawn to his flame that keeps burning you and could eventually burn out. I’m so afraid you’ll be left devastated and cold.” You can barely watch as another round of tears fall freely from his sorrowful eyes, “I don’t know much about chemistry from my own experience, but I know that the comfort that exists when I am with you is always going to last.” He looks at you earnestly, “I love you in a way that could last forever.” You stare at him, dumbstruck. 

Why is he talking like this? What does he mean, ‘forever’?  

You never imagined anything that would exist past their career other than, perhaps, very fond memories and friendships. 

Has he lost his mind?  

He’s going to have a wife and kids someday because that is what is expected of him, and then what?  

It’s sad, but it’s okay. It’s a foregone conclusion.   

“Hwa, stop. Please. I can’t.” You are crying again, and it’s so fucking absurd it makes you actually laugh. He startles at the sudden inappropriate sound, and you realize maybe you’re the one whose mind is gone. “I’m sorry. It’s just all too much. I don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it is. Please. Can we just be together and not make it so drastic? It feels like everything becomes cheap the more we talk about it. Let’s just be together as we are now, okay?” 

You feel him shiver again, and you find yourself reaching to pull his precious arms around you in hopes that he will feel better when they are no longer empty. You know you’ll feel better, at any rate. You sigh heavily against him, and he kisses the top of your hair in between sniffles. You tilt your face up to his, and he meets you for a gentle kiss. You whimper slightly at his restraint; you can’t help but feel he may be holding back more than is necessary to try to prove you wrong. You pull back and beg him, “Please?” You reach up and thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down to kiss you properly; he shakes and wraps his arms more tightly around you as his resistance melts away.  

Your kisses are sloppy and desperate with raw, emotional turmoil rather than the fiery passion of lust. You wrap your other hand up in his shirt and refuse to let go as you kiss him so hard it hurts. The tears that continue to stream down both of your faces are no longer easily identifiable as sadness, pain, loss, fear, or anger; these tears now seem to just represent the intense feelings of overwhelm that exceed either of your ability to restrain them. You now cling to each other for dear life and express your love and need for each other in the only way you can right now: the relentless physical connection of your bodies.   

He gently turns to lower you onto your back as you slip your shirt off and scoot back toward the center of his bed. He quickly slides his own shirt over his head, and you are working your pants off as he kicks his free from his ankles before crawling back up over your now naked body. You wrap your arms and legs around him tightly as he lowers himself over you; you whine desperately between passionate kisses, and you nip at his jaw and lips. He slides his arms beneath your shoulders and holds you so tightly that you feel a slight pinch in one of your breasts as his lean body has caught it unevenly in the sudden press of your bodies together. He pulls back with concern at your sudden yelp, and you laugh awkwardly as you lift your breast back into place between you before pulling him back down into this devoted embrace. 

“Neomu salanghae. Jeongmal mianhae,” he whispers against your cheek. “I love you so much, too, Dear One. I’m so sorry, too.” You kiss his cheek and nip at his earlobe before you add, “Make love to me?” He shudders and drops his knees between yours before pressing your legs apart and bringing his knees up below your ass. The angle of his knees drives your pelvis upward, and he easily aims his hard cock into your elevated pussy. As he slowly slides himself inside of you, he presses his cheek against yours. You are both panting into each other’s ears as the rush of this electrifying position sends shockwaves through your nerves. You nibble gently at his cheekbone and moan as he licks your neck and sucks on your earlobe. Seonghwa turns his face to envelope your lips with his own as your hands caress his defined shoulders and perfect biceps.  

He kisses you powerfully as he works his throbbing cock in and out of you. You gasp around his strong tongue and full lips as they press their claim over yours. You fight to hold your hips in this tilted position to allow for the deepest penetration possible. You feel your arousal rapidly exceeding your control, and your shuddering, erratic breaths are replaced by desperate panting as your pussy seizes up around him. He practically chokes at the sudden intensity of the sensation, and he fights to continue thrusting past the crushing grip of your core as you reach your climax. He kisses you sensually and thrusts a few times vigorously, causing you to shiver and fight the urge to push him away with your knees. He sucks hard on your lower lip before pulling his cock out and stroking it quickly in his palm until hot semen is covering your pussy and mound. You quiver and moan in delighted surprise as you watch his stunning face. He leans back over you for a tender kiss.  

You moan gratefully for the release of all of the pain and stress of the day, as well as the relief of reestablishing your deep connection to this wonderful man. You sigh against his temple as he rests on top of you and kisses up your neck and jawline absently. You yawn without warning, and he pulls back to regard your tired eyes and puffy face. “You should get some rest, little star,” he says gently as he pulls the sheets and blankets up over the two of you. You nod and smile at him affectionately, “Don’t you dare leave me, Park Seonghwa.” He lets out a sharp laugh at your unexpected tone, “Okay. Okay. Geez. I will stay.” He lays down beside you and pulls you close into his arms as you relax and try to ride this endorphin high that currently blocks out all of your conscious thoughts. You fall into a black dream. 

You startle awake as you hear a faint clicking sound from across the room near Hwa’s desk. When you roll over and push his comforter down under your arms so that you can see over it, you see Hwa sitting at his desk. At the sound of you stirring, he turns and looks at you with a sheepish smile; you can tell by the pile of multicolored blocks on his desk that he has started messing with one of his Lego projects because you were clearly sleeping for too long, and he got bored. He quickly gets up from the chair and moves to slip under the covers beside you, and you snuggle against his chest as soon as he has managed to get his arms back around you. He kisses the top of your head as you murmur happily into his pecs. 

You wiggle against him and wrap your leg over his hip, using your knee to pull his lower body closer to you. When he is holding you snugly in his embrace, you sigh happily and ask, “Did I sleep too long, Hwa?” He clucks his tongue at you and presses his cheek against your forehead, “No, you must have needed the sleep, little star. You were sleeping so well. It hurt my heart to think about waking you.” You hum and kiss the underside of his jaw as he hugs you tight, “Okay. But didn’t you want to do something special today? Did I ruin it?”  

He tuts at you in immediate disagreement, and you suddenly flash back to the bizarre argument you had with him before he fucked you back to sleep.  

If you can even call it an argument.  

He pulls back to look down at your face and kisses you reverently on the forehead. The phantom sensation of the warmth of his voluptuous lips remains long after he removes them from your skin. For emphasis, he says, “ You didn’t ruin anything. I am glad that we had time to really talk about what is important to us. I am thankful that I am able to tell you I love you and to have you as my best friend. I am sorry that I sometimes forget that it is not my job to protect you.” You kiss his chin again and whisper, “I love you too, Hwa. I am so very thankful that you are my best friend, too. I know you want me to be protected, and I love that about you. I’m so very lucky.” He rubs your shoulders with his palms and clucks his tongue again in agreement. You add, for good measure, “I would give you the world if I could, Hwa. But I am glad to get to cheer you on while you go out there and conquer it.” He chuckles, and his breath tickles your hair, sending tingles down your scalp and neck.  

“So, what time is it, Hwa?” you ask, though you’re no longer sure you care at all if you can just stay right here with him. “It is nearly dinnertime,” Seonghwa says softly, and you exclaim in shocked concern, causing him to chuckle. “It is okay,” he says, patting your upper arms with his elegant palms. “Dinnertime is a good time.” You crack up as his face breaks into a cheesy grin. He’s not quite mastered the “dad jokes” in your language, but he is definitely getting closer to hitting the mark. “Oh? Why is it a good time?” you tease him, as you both know that your shared appreciation for good food is one of your favorite commonalities. He glances down and kisses the bridge of your nose before he says, “Because we will take my mother to her favorite restaurant, and then we will enjoy a quiet evening at home.” You let out a relieved exhale before suddenly wondering what restaurant is his mother’s favorite. “Do we need to go soon? What restaurant is it?” He clucks his tongue and groans as he pushes away from you to allow you to sit up in the bed before you suddenly realize you’re not only topless but completely naked. Hwa must have gotten his clothing back on when you were fast asleep. 

“Yes, you should probably, um,” he cocks his head to the side and attempts to cup your breasts as though evaluating whether his hands could function as a bra, “You should cover these, I guess.” He shrugs as he allows your breasts to slide from his hands before lightly tweaking your nipples with a self-satisfied smile. “My mother’s favorite is the Italian restaurant near the airport.” He chuckles under his breath, though you aren’t sure why. “It is, um, very Korean Italian food.” You smirk knowingly but also cringe at the awareness that plenty of fantastic, sophisticated cuisines have been bastardized in the hands of your own countrymen. “That sounds very nice,” you say supportively, and he hums as he kisses your forehead again before sliding off of the bed back toward his desk while gingerly slipping his hand down his pants to adjust himself.  

You chuckle lightly as you move to locate the discarded articles of clothing you had only worn for a few minutes out of the shower. You freeze when you round the end of the bed to see them all perfectly piled up there, neatly folded. Your brain is completely at a loss as to whether this is a positive or negative flashback, and you stand there gaping as your cognitive faculties perform a hard restart. Hwa stops putting his Legos away to watch you curiously as he, too, is unsure what conclusions you are drawing from the carefully stacked clothes. A slight flush creeping up his neck suggests that he is filtering the possible meanings through more recent events than you are; you are suddenly transported back to your first night in Hongjoong’s bed. 

The night you should have died but instead kicked off on the craziest adventure of your life with the agreement and all of the accompanying insanity.  

Hwa waits patiently for you to close your mouth or speak; when you reach a shaky hand out to pick up your clothes, he steps forward instinctively to assist you. Your suddenly weak legs drop you into a seated position beside the pile, and Seonghwa wordlessly guides you through the process of getting dressed again. You are feeling raw again at the touch of his hands—the absolutely gentlest, kindest, most thoughtful hands you have ever known. Before Hwa, if someone had told you to imagine the most loving hands in the universe, you’d have fallen immeasurably short of the reality of this precious human. “Thank you, Hwa,” you manage to choke out as hot tears are spilling from your eyes despite the overall feeling of numbness that has overtaken your emotions. It is like how people in elementary school used to tell you that black wasn’t a color but all of the colors at the same time; maybe you don’t feel just sad or just happy—you're feeling absolutely all of the emotions at once and thereby none of them.  

He pats your thighs gently to indicate that you should stand so that he can raise your underwear and pants up over your ass. The absurdity of needing his help for this jars you back to your senses enough to gently touch his cheek and brush his hand from your waist to allow you to complete the job you, yourself, are more than capable of doing if you would just keep your wits about you. You are starting to think you’re going to need a vacation after your vacation. A sudden shot of adrenaline brings you back to the intense realization that you have plans with Jongho the day after tomorrow and should probably take it easy until then, at least where intimacy is concerned.  

Shit. A good night’s sleep wouldn’t be a bad idea either.  

You and Hwa head out of the bedroom to collect his mother to go to her favorite Italian restaurant in Sacheon. You manage to get through the meal with only a couple of painfully stifled snickers and meaningful looks at Hwa—his mother seemed to greatly enjoy being taken out by her precious son, as well as the chance to dine at her favorite place. She kindly attempts to quiz you about your favorite dishes to cook, and you fight to mask the cringe you always feel when people ask you this; if you only had a handful of favorite things to make, you’d have had no business going into professional cooking. You’d have been either terrible at it for lack of passion or bored to the point of homicidal rage if you only enjoyed cooking a couple of dishes. 

You explain to her that your favorite things change often, and you greatly enjoy taking special requests or dietary needs into consideration because of the skills you must possess to truly remove the ego from cooking. Too many cooks and chefs you knew would become personally offended if someone made a request—even those related to health needs—and you only slightly mourn the self-control you exhibited for not kicking them in the balls for being neurotic, narcissistic chuckle-fucks who couldn’t modify a recipe with finesse to save their miserable lives. You prided yourself on finding ways to make limited ingredients delicious and interesting.  

Seonghwa’s mother seems satisfied with this answer, and you fight to finish the confusing fusion of Korean and Italian in your Pasta Puttanesca entree. While Pasta Puttanesca is a dish famous for being “everything but the kitchen sink” with seafood, pasta, and whatever vegetables were handy, you shudder slightly at the familiar tang of the kimchi, which must have been thrown in to add interest to the tomato-based sauce. As much as you love kimchi, it is not going to enhance the “Pasta of the Whore” which was always explained to you as the dish thrown together by unfaithful wives so that their hardworking cuckolded husbands wouldn’t know that they’d spent a beautiful Tuscan afternoon sun-tanning the bottoms of their feet in the olive orchard rather than working hard on cooking the evening meal.  

The three of you split a small sampler of house-made gelatos, which offer a single saving grace to this unique dining experience. When the bill is paid, and the plates are cleared, Seonghwa stands to escort the two of you back to the car. You happily ride in the backseat to allow his mother a little more time in close company with her precious, younger son. He steals glances back at you and you watch the two of them with fascination at their similar demeanor and bearing. Your heart flutters as you see the way she gazes at him with pride and affection.  

When he pulls back into the driveway, his mother comments something in Korean that startles Hwa. He simply asks, “Why?” as he gapes at her with his big boba eyes and raised eyebrows. She explains something almost inaudibly, as though she has forgotten that you cannot understand her when she is speaking Korean. You quickly take the cue for privacy, however, and let yourself out of the car just as Hwa is shutting it off. You dash to the house, planning to make a beeline for Hwa’s room before realizing your mistake in the simple fact that Hwa is holding the keys.  

You meander around the path leading up to the front door and pretend to be fascinated by some of the slumbering plants which are now dormant and muted while they wait for the warmer rays of the spring sun to begin to restore them to life. You jump and nearly shriek when he is suddenly behind you, wrapping his arm around your back to guide you back toward the front door. He starts laughing heartily because he knows what you were up to, and he had no idea you had fully tuned them out so effectively that you wouldn’t hear him coming up behind you. You smack his shoulder and narrow your eyes at him playfully as he walks you into the house. When you reach the stairs, you turn to ask him about his mother since you’re now aware that she is probably already in the house.  

Seonghwa laughs again and explains that she actually told him she was going to walk over to her friend’s house for a nightcap and that we should go in and enjoy the evening however we wanted. You choke and sputter a bit, as this was a fairly awkward encouragement for the two of you to do what you’ve practically been doing nonstop for the past two and a half days. He sees you doing the mental math and begins groaning as though you’ve broken his heart and found him utterly unappealing. You growl at him and exclaim, “You know that’s not what I mean! I’m not invincible, Hwa! You’re going to break me!” He pouts and tilts his head from right to left as though evaluating whether or not he could do such a thing. You squeal and dash into his room, diving into the bed and fighting to get the covers up to protect yourself before he jumps playfully up next to you and lays his knee across your abdomen as he sighs and then begins to pretend to snore in exhaustion. 

“You are too much for me, little star. Ahhhh—” he groans dramatically. “I am going to need some time to recover.” You hold your breath as you know he’s lining up for a punchline. “I am needing... ahhh... shit.” His sudden profanity in your language and the lack of resolution to his joke is killing you now. You wiggle beneath the covers to laugh like that prevents him from seeing or hearing you. “Shhhhhh... what!?” He laughs awkwardly, “I forgot the time. I want to say a little time, but uh, too much food.” He groans and tuts at himself as he presses his forehead against the mattress in embarrassment.  

You poke your head back out of the blanket to see him and offer helpfully, “A month or two?” He growls and leans over to pretend to bite your head, “NO!” You giggle maniacally, “Oh. You mean like two weeks?” He bites your shoulder now, “No!” With a peal of laughter, you whine, “An hour?” He nods and bites you again for good measure, causing you to shriek and pretend to bawl. He pats your head clumsily with his hand, “Oh, there. Don’t cry. You are such a baby.” You squeal indignantly, “What!? You bit me! You big meanie!” He laughs throatily and nods, “That’s what you get. I did. Yes. Think on that.” You roll your eyes in fake annoyance and then bring them back to focus on his perfect face. 

“Okay. I’m thinking. Now, what do you want to do?” You bite your lower lip before adding, for clarification, “For an hour?” 

Chapter Text

Somehow, you and Hwa decide it is a better idea to cuddle up and watch a movie together rather than be physical again. You have missed the nights on the couch with all of your boys and the quiet cuddles in Hwa’s bed, talking into the wee hours about nothing or everything. When Seonghwa returns from the kitchen carrying an armload of goodies with a bowl of frozen grapes balanced on the very top, you practically cry, and your moved whimpering makes him laugh at your poor little sentimental heart. The very fact that he thought to put the grapes you bought into the freezer when the two of you arrived freshly flays your raw heart open again. You can’t fathom how he manages to be so loving, thoughtful, and easygoing without becoming bitter when consistently confronted by the reality that the rest of us mere mortals are not nearly so caring. How does he tolerate us having our heads up our own asses ninety percent of the time?