#kpopscape Tumblr posts

  • kpopaeipathy
    20.01.2022 - 3 days ago

    B/W VICTON 3rd Single Album

    [Chronograph] Concept Image Graphein, Sejun & Subin

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  • kpopaeipathy
    20.01.2022 - 3 days ago

    B/W VICTON 3rd Single Album

    [Chronograph] Concept Image Graphein, Hanse & Chan

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  • kpopaeipathy
    19.01.2022 - 4 days ago

    B/W VICTON 3rd Single Album

    [Chronograph] Concept Image Graphein, Byungchan & Seungsik

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  • kpopaeipathy
    19.01.2022 - 4 days ago

    B/W VICTON 3rd Single Album

    [Chronograph] Concept Image Chronos, Subin & Sejun

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  • kpopaeipathy
    19.01.2022 - 4 days ago

    B/W VICTON 3rd Single Album

    [Chronograph] Concept Image Chronos, Chan & Hanse

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  • kjmsupremacist
    18.01.2022 - 5 days ago

    baby, you’re my angel (chan/felix)

    Mildly popular TikTok songwriter Felix meets Chan, famous on TikTok for his music and music reviews. They bond over their common ground, friendship blossoming easy and sweet. There’s two problems. One: Felix thinks he likes Chan more than just as friends. Two: Chan is almost fifteen years his senior.

    Chapter 7   |   prev   next   mlist

    Characters: Felix, Chan, the rest of skz

    Genre: college au, romance, fluff, smut, angst

    Pairing: Chan/Felix

    Warnings: swearing, age gap, smut, daddy kink, minor (offscreen) character death mention

    Rating: Explicit

    Length: 5.6k

    just a friendly reminder that i dont condone age gap in real life, this is just fiction, im just having fun, etc :)

    “Ready?” Felix looks up; Chan is fixing one of the lights, facing away from him.

    “Yeah,” Felix replies, zoning back into the screen in front of him, sitting up a little straighter in the chair. It’s Saturday, and they’re  in Chan’s studio. Chan had planned to do a live while he worked, but since he and Felix are putting a song together, they figured it would be nice to do the stream together. 

    Chan sits down in the chair beside him, turning towards him with a grin. “Then we’ll start.”

    He hits the button and the chat fills immediately. Felix sees a lot of hearts, a lot of question marks, and a lot of capslock. He squints to read a few comments.

    “Hey guys!” Chan greets. Felix looks up at camera and waves quickly, smiling. “Felix and I figured we’d sit with you today as we work on our new song. We’ve actually got a couple in the works, but we’ll just be focusing on one today so that we don’t spoil everything.”

    “His idea, not mine,” Felix says cheerfully. “Let’s see… ‘Where are you guys, the background looks different?’ Chan, you haven’t filmed in the studio?”

    Chan shakes his head. “Somehow all my videos have been at home,” he says, shrugging. “But, you know, we’re here now. Welcome to my studio!” He raises his arms up, looking around happily. “I’m renting it while I’m here in Sydney. I have some friends here, and they were able to reserve me a spot, which I’m really grateful for. So yes, hi new studio!” He waves at the empty room before turning back to camera. “What else? Oh, I’m sure some of you have already seen it, but we’ve both been invited to VidCon Australia once again, so for those of you who are attending, we’ll see you this summer.”

    “Someone said, ‘Felix too?’ Excuse me,” Felix says, laughing. “I was there last year, too! I may not be as popular as Chan here, but I get views!”

    “Before Felix gets too excited, why don’t we get to work?” Chan says lightly. Felix gives him a look and Chan laughs. “I know, but I’d like us to get something done today.”

    “Fine, fine.” Felix settles back in his chair, pulling up his notes app so he can start offering up lyrics. 

    They work for a couple of hours, pausing to chat with the viewers. Felix gets to show off how much he’s learned when it’s Chan’s turn to record, consulting them when he’s giving critiques and walking them through some of the basics. By the time they say goodbye and end the live, Felix has a bunch of notifications from new followers.

    “You’re staying tonight, right?” Chan asks as they pack up.

    “Unless that’s inconvenient,” Felix replies.

    “Of course it’s not.” Chan smiles at him. “What do you want for dinner?”

    Felix smiles, too. “I don’t know,” he says honestly.

    “We could cook,” Chan says. “But… I’m feeling lazy, and I kind of want something shitty and unhealthy.”

    “Oh, yes please,” Felix agrees, laughing.

    “Hungry Jack’s?” Chan asks, reaching for his phone. “Or Macca’s?”

    “Mm, I don’t want burgers, though,” Felix says. “Guzman y Gomez?”

    “Ooh, good by me,” Chan says. “Let’s order ahead so we can just pick it up on the way home.”

    A half hour later sees them sat at Chan’s kitchen table, laughing into their burritos. Felix watches Chan fondly, tracing his gaze over the whiskers that form under his eyes when he smiles really big.

    “I have a distinct memory,” Chan says, “of eating this shit when I was a kid, and I made my sister laugh so hard she shot a whole black bean out of her nose. I think the three of us almost died, we thought it was so funny. Like, my little brother cried he was laughing so hard. My parents couldn’t even be mad, even though the bean landed in one of the containers of guac.” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Hannah swears to this day that her left nostril hasn’t been the same since.”

    Felix exhales incredulous laughter. “I thought that only happened in cartoons,” he says.

    “Nope, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,” Chan says. “I can still picture it, arcing perfectly over her plate and the chip bowl.”

    “That’s incredible,” Felix says earnestly. There’s that pang of strange curiosity again. He wants to know more about Chan; he wants to know everything. “What are your siblings like?” he asks.

    Chan grins. “Pain in my ass, both of them,” he says. “But I love ‘em, you know? Hannah is seven years younger than me, Lucas is nine years younger. They were both born a few years after we moved here. I think I used to harbor a certain hatred for them because I’d gotten used to being the only one. But I think I probably would’ve been lonely without them, too.” He shrugs. “I like to say I was the rough draft. Which isn’t to say, like—I’ve got a really great life, you know, I get to make a living doing what I love, and I’ve been quite successful. But like—Hannah works as a choreographer for a big entertainment company in Seoul, and Lucas is actually in his last year of med school right now; he went to the States for university. He’s going into his residency this coming August.” Chan spreads his hands. “My parents have a lot to be proud of.”

    “They definitely do.” Felix nods, thinking about his own siblings. Soon, that’ll be their lives, too—spread out across the world when they used to share a bathroom and fight over the TV remote. “Do you… still talk to them?” he ventures. He imagines little Chan, aged seven, eight, nine, an immigrant and the child of immigrants, watching jealously as his younger siblings steal attention that was once his. He imagines him a little older, walking between two faceless toddlers, holding their hands. It makes his heart wilt with tenderness in his chest.

    “Sometimes,” Chan says, nodding. “It’s hard, because we’re in wildly different time zones, but I did call Hannah a couple days ago, actually.”

    “I bet me and Hannah would get on well,” Felix says, laughing. “Middle child solidarity. She can tell me all your embarrassing secrets.”

    “I’ll just ask Rachel about yours to get you back, then,” Chan says, chuckling.

    Their laughter dies quickly, the reality of it leaving a heavy cloud hanging in the air between them. They won’t meet each other’s families, at least not like that. Felix will never ask Hannah to relay cringey stories from their childhood. That sort of interaction is reserved for significant others; Chan is supposed to be his friend, and maybe his mentor. Nothing else. And if either of their families found out, it would all be ruined. Their families would be furious, Felix’s especially. And the worst part is, they’d be right.

    “Anyway,” Felix says after a moment, “I don’t think you should call yourself a rough draft. Did your siblings get invited to VidCon? I don’t think so.” 

    Chan laughs. “I know. But my life is a little silly, I think, in comparison to theirs.”

    “You’re still making a living, and you’re still happy, right?” Felix asks. Chan nods. “So there’s nothing silly about it.” He takes the last bite of his burrito. “You’re living a lot of people’s dream, I think.”

    Chan nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he says, looking at Felix with an intense and unreadable sort of expression. “Thank you,” he says. “Really.”

    Felix smiles back. “I mean, it’s true,” he replies with a dramatic little hand flourish.

    They’re both a little tired, or maybe just worn down from the mental gymnastics of that conversation, so the rest of dinner is relatively quiet. They shower together once they’re done, exchanging gentle kisses, and then start working their way towards bed. Chan lingers behind in the bathroom to pee, and Felix sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for him while he towels off his hair.

    His gaze falls on the book, lying face-down and open, on Chan’s bedside table. The spine is cracking a little, and Felix sighs. He’s been trying to get Chan to use bookmarks, even if it’s just a random piece of paper or an old receipt. He sees a blank piece of paper on the table beside it and smiles; clearly, Chan was trying, but must have forgotten the last time he put the book down. Felix picks up the book, carefully slotting a finger between the pages to keep Chan’s place, and then plucks up the paper.

    Only it’s not paper. It’s a photograph. Felix lowers the book back down the way he found it, feeling the smooth face of the photograph with his fingertips. He wonders too late if it’s personal; he flips it over, and there is Chan, looking much younger, in a full suit and tie. Next to him is a beautiful woman that Felix doesn’t recognize. She’s wearing a wedding dress. Chan is kissing her cheek.

    Cold fear washes over Felix’s skin and makes it prickle; confusion swirls in his stomach until he feels like he’s on a boat lost at storm. There has to be some explanation—why Chan hasn’t mentioned her, why he still has the photo, why, why, why—right? It can’t be what it looks like, because if it’s what it looks like—Felix feels sick. Fucking a guy so much older than him was one thing, but one who’s married? That’s a different story altogether. 

    “Lix?” Felix realizes he’s just been sitting there, frozen in shock. He feels the bed dip behind him. “What’re y—oh.”

    Felix turns, praying his voice will remain steady, trying to keep his tone quiet and conversational, even though all he wants to do is scream. He holds up the photo. “Who’s this?” he asks. It comes out hoarse, almost a whisper.

    “Ah…” Chan settles onto the mattress, crossing his legs in front of him. “I knew I’d have to bring it up eventually. I just—didn’t know how.”

    “Tell me it’s not what I’m worried it is,” Felix begs.

    “It’s not,” Chan says immediately. He holds his hand out for the photo; Felix gives it to him. He doesn’t miss the way Chan looks at it, warm and full of love, and around that, smothering like a heavy blanket, sadness. “This… this is Sana. My late wife.”

    Felix’s heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach, as his fear and anger dissipates, only to be replaced with guilt and sympathy. “Oh,” he manages. “I—I’m sorry.”

    “It’s alright,” Chan says. He’s still looking at the photograph, at Sana. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you—a while ago.” He sighs, big and deep. “She… she was a year older than me. We met when we were teenagers. We were in the same maths class, and we hated it so much. I asked her out during her last year of school, and we stayed together through university. Once we were out of school and had stable jobs, we moved in together, and then I proposed. She said yes.

    “She passed away when she was twenty-seven, and I was twenty-six. We’d only been married about two years. She… had a genetic blood disorder that increases the chance of clots, and we just—we didn’t know. We didn’t know, and she had a stroke, and that was it.” Chan looks up, and his eyes are glassy with tears. “It happened during the day. I was at work; I had a shitty little desk job back then. She was staying home that day because she’d been feeling under the weather. She was just—she woke up headachy and dizzy. We thought it was just a weird day, or maybe a cold. When I came home, she was already gone.”

    “Chan.” Felix doesn’t know what to say. He offers him his hand, and Chan takes it. “I’m so sorry.”

    Chan shrugs. “I mean, there was nothing we could’ve done. It was just—just bad luck.” He squeezes Felix’s hand. “She was the love of my life, you know? And I miss her, every day. I thought, when she died, that I would never be happy again. I definitely thought I’d never be close to anyone ever again. I thought that was it.”

    He tilts his head. “But then you came along. And you know—the first video of yours I saw was your cover of Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’, which I know you mostly covered because it was popular on TikTok, but—that was her favorite song. And I guess it was like, I don’t know, I felt like she was telling me I had to live again. At first, I thought it was just a sweet coincidence, that someone who had a shared background happened to be the one to cover that song, but now—I don’t know. It means a little more, I guess.”

    Felix’s brows crumple, despite how hard he’s fighting to keep a straight face. It’s Chan’s pain, not his, but it touches him all the same. “That’s really sweet,” he says.

    Chan smiles. He sets the picture aside, and then turns back to Felix. “It’s kind of dumb is what it is,” he says. “It’s been almost ten years. I mean, it took me like five years before I felt like I could smile again and mean it. I even—I mean, it was bad for a while, you know? But I had to stay. Lucas was only seventeen, he was still in high school. It’s just that I was so young. I wish I had been able to move on sooner, but I—I just couldn’t.”

    Felix frowns. “You were so young, and you experienced something no one, especially at that age, should ever experience,” he points out. “It’s not your fault.”

    Chan nods. “Yeah.” He pauses. “Anyway, I think this is all to say, thank you. Because even though I found a way to be happy again, and even though I was content, I didn’t think I’d ever have anyone in my life again in this kind of capacity. No matter how… unconventional or brief. But then there was you. It’s easier now, with you here. And even on nights when I’m alone, it’s easier just knowing that somewhere, you exist. You’ve shown me that I don’t have to spend the rest of my life lonely. So thank you.”

    “I wasn’t doing it on purpose,” Felix mutters, embarrassed, and Chan laughs brightly and pulls him in for a hug.

    “I know,” he says softly. “That’s the best part.” He sighs. “Grief is weird like that. One second, you’re sure that you’ve made all the progress you can make, and the next—something’s changed again, without anyone meaning it to, without your permission. Things get better on their own accord.” He huffs out a small breath of laughter. “I guess that’s why hope exists, right?”

    “Yeah.” Felix holds onto him tight. He feels so stupid now; all his worries are trivial in the face of a heartbreak like this. How could he ever bring up his little troubles to Chan, knowing he’s gone through something like this? Felix doesn’t get to ask Chan to flip his entire life on its head just for him. He doesn’t get to ask Chan for anything. “Sorry for—snooping, I really didn’t mean to. I was—I thought you were using it as a bookmark, only you left your book open…”

    Chan laughs. “Oh, it’s alright. You didn’t do it on purpose. It’s not like you went digging through my drawers or something.” He pulls back, reaching up to push some hair off of Felix’s forehead. “And even if you did, I don’t think it would matter. This was the only big secret I was keeping. I don’t have anything left to hide.”

    Except me, Felix thinks. You don’t have anything left to hide, except for me.

    ☼ ☼ ☼

    Felix wakes first the next morning. He looks over at Chan, limbs flung haphazardly across the bed, hair messy and all curly from drying overnight, outlines of his features barely visible in the low light. He pushes himself up out of bed and pads, shivering, across the hardwood to the bathroom. The weather is getting colder, and even though Chan’s building has heat, it’s like his bones can feel it, even when he’s indoors.

    Maybe I’m getting old, Felix thinks as he flushes the toilet and washes his hands. It makes him giggle.

    When he returns to bed, Chan is stirring. His eyes find Felix as he settles back under the covers. “Hi,” he whispers.

    “Hi,” Felix replies.

    Chan reaches up to cup Felix’s jaw, stroking his thumb over his skin. “Sorry,” he says, “for not telling you about Sana sooner. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

    Felix shakes his head. “It’s alright. It’s hard to talk about.” Chan hums. “I do have a question, though.”


    “If you… if you started dating Sana when you were still a teenager, then did you ever, um, with another guy? Before me?” Felix feels clumsy. It’s not that he’s questioning Chan’s choices or his identity, it’s more just that Chan seems like he knows exactly what he’s doing in bed, and Felix doesn’t think any amount of porn can teach you that. And he’s not really sure how to ask Chan how do you fuck so good without being rude. 

    Chan laughs. “I had a very not-serious boyfriend when I was a little younger,” he says. “And then, I don’t know, a few years ago I tried putting myself back into the dating scene. I dated anyone I was interested in—gender isn’t really a factor for me—but never for long. There was no connection, and always the looming pressure of commitment, you know? Dating over thirty gets scary. Everyone wants a ring, and I was just trying to figure things out. It wasn’t worth it, so I stopped.”

    “Oh,” Felix says, nodding. “I mean—not that it matters to me. I was just curious, ‘cuz, um, you seem like you’ve had practice.”

    Chan laughs again, this time loud and with his whole body. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

    “Mm,” Felix agrees, grinning. He leans close to kiss Chan, quick and chaste. “Hey, do you have all the stuff for your Hard Conversation Breakfast? I think we deserve a reward for the hard conversations we’ve had.”

    “I think I do,” Chan says, nodding. “And I completely agree.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbles. “And so does my tummy,” he adds, giggling. “C’mon, let’s see what we can find.”

    Felix makes their coffee while Chan cooks (near-black for Chan, and lots of sugar and cream for Felix). He watches Chan out of the corner of his eye as he waits for the water to boil. Things make more sense now—why Chan seems so solitary, why it felt like Felix didn’t quite understand him. But he understands him now, or at least he’s pretty sure. There’s an ache sitting heavy in his chest, one he doesn’t know how to name. It’s like wanting, and it’s also like despair. And mixed in, without his permission, is hope.

    Oh god, Felix thinks, the realization hitting him so hard that he nearly stumbles on his way to retrieving their mugs, oh god. I’m in love.

    He clenches his jaw as he pours the coffee, trying to focus on not spilling. But inside, his mind rages. There’s the sweet euphoria that comes with all loves, certainly, but it’s drowned by his fear and the knowing that Chan could never love him back.

    He wishes he’d thought of it later, later today after Chan drops him off, where he can lay it all out and process it in peace. As it is, all he can do is try to hide how bad his hands are shaking as he carries their full coffee mugs to the table, as he pulls out utensils and lays them out in front of their seats, as he turns and asks, “Need any help?”

    Chan flashes him a glance, smiling gratefully. “No, thank you,” he says, and Felix aches.

    As much as he tries to act normal, there’s not much Felix can do against his own heart. I love you, he thinks, watching Chan cut his sausages into bite-sized pieces before handing his plate over. I love you, he thinks as Chan slides into his chair and gives a happy sigh at the sight of his coffee. I love you. Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Chan will understand.

    “This is perfect,” Chan says, gesturing at the coffee cup. “You know me well.”

    Felix smiles. I love you. “I’d hope so,” he says. “I’m glad I got it right.”

    “So what’s our plan for today?” Chan asks.

    Felix shrugs. “Feels like a good day to spend doing nothing.”

    “I agree completely,” Chan says, nodding. “Want to find a shitty drama to watch?”

    “Oh, I meant nothing like go right back to bed after we eat,” Felix says. 

    Chan regards him suspiciously over the rim of his mug. “Sounds like you do have an agenda after all.”

    Felix offers him a sly smile. “Maybe. Or we can just cuddle, I’m flexible.” And he’s not just saying it to be cute—he just wants to be close to Chan. He doesn’t really care in what way.

    But Chan just laughs. “Nah, you know what they say about great minds thinking alike and all that,” he says. “So I say fuck and then cuddle. We can have it all. Hm?”

    “Yeah,” Felix giggles, chasing a piece of egg around his plate with his fork.

    So they leave their dishes in the sink and do exactly that. Felix snuggles down under the blankets as Chan runs to the bathroom and gets a couple other things in order. He flops down into bed beside Felix a few moments later, leaning close and pressing kisses to Felix’s jaw.

    It’s almost unbearable. Felix breathes him in, the earthy vanilla that is Chan to him now, running his fingers over the strong muscles of his arms, tucking his chin in a little so Chan has no choice but to kiss him on the mouth instead. And Chan kisses him. And Felix aches. 

    “Baby, you’re hurting me,” Chan whispers, shaking his arm, and Felix realizes he’s dug his fingers in, so hard he can barely feel his fingertips—clinging, without meaning to, because he doesn’t want to let him go.

    “Sorry,” Felix mumbles, releasing him quickly. “I didn’t realize.”

    “It’s okay,” Chan soothes. “You want me close is all. I can do close.” He kisses Felix’s forehead, wrapping one of his arms around Felix’s waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

    That’s not true, Felix wants to say. But instead he lets Chan smother him in kisses, give him so much affection he’s drowning in it. It doesn’t matter. Felix doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough. He throws an arm over Chan’s shoulder, scratching lightly down his back while Chan bites a hickey into his chest. He’s got one of his legs slung over both of Felix’s.

    “Chan,” Felix says breathlessly. “Oh my god, Chan.”

    Chan untangles their limbs, pushes himself up and on top of Felix, spreading his legs so he can sit between them. He smooths his hands down Felix’s stomach, taking the hem of his t-shirt in his hands and pulling up. Felix helps, sitting up a little so Chan can undress him. Next go his shorts and underwear. Chan makes it fair; he tugs his own shirt off next, along with his sweats and underwear, and then they’re both naked, skin brushing skin. Felix looks at Chan, watches him as he runs a hand down his thigh, watches as he looks up, sees Felix looking, and smiles. 

    “Toss me the lube?” he asks, nodding at the bottle that he left by his pillow.

    Felix scrabbles around for it, tossing it underhand to Chan, who catches it easily. Chan pops the lid, lubing up his fingers and then pressing one to Felix’s entrance. He bends over Felix’s body, pressing gentle kisses to his stomach as he pushes his finger in. He looks up at Felix as he moves his finger, slow so Felix doesn’t get overwhelmed too quickly. Felix runs his hand through Chan’s hair, fingers getting tangled in his soft curls. Chan hums, closing his eyes and leaning into Felix’s touch. 

    Something feels different, and Felix isn’t sure that it’s all in his head. Chan rests his cheek against his stomach and fucks first one finger, then two, then three, in and out of Felix, stretching him with practiced hands. It’s almost the same, but the air feels different. There’s something heavier, more fragile, resting between them. Chan uses his free hand to trace random patterns into Felix’s skin. The intimacy of the mundane seems dizzying.

    Chan rearranges himself, folding in half and mouthing at the head of Felix’s cock. Felix’s grip tightens in Chan’s hair, and Chan takes this as the go-ahead that it is, sinking down on Felix’s cock while he crams his pinky finger in beside the other three. Felix gasps and moans and tries not to buck his hips up into Chan’s mouth, trembling when Chan finds his prostate.

    As soon as he knows he’s loose enough to take Chan’s cock, he’s pushing Chan away. “Fuck, stop, stop, or I’ll come,” he pants. “I don’t wanna come yet, stop.”

    Chan acquiesces, releasing him and sitting back on his heels, searching for the lube bottle, which has gotten lost in the crumpled mound of the duvet. “Could just make you come again,” he points out, but Felix shakes his head.

    “Too sleepy for that,” he replies, and Chan nods. 

    So Chan slicks up his cock instead and eases himself into Felix, all the way until he bottoms out and their bodies are pressed flush to one another. Chan spreads his legs so that he has a knee on either side of Felix’s ass; Felix tucks his knees up and locks his ankles behind Chan’s back as Chan tips forward and settles himself right on top of Felix, nose against his neck and one hand cradling the back of his skull. Felix lets out a soft moan, one of his hands finding Chan’s cheek.

    “Good?” Chan asks.

    “Good,” Felix replies dreamily.

    Chan rolls his hips, one slow, fluid motion and Felix shakes, pleasure washing over his body, making his skin hot and his eyes sting with unshed tears. Chan’s deep inside him, and all Felix can do is stutter out moans as Chan continues to fuck him just like that.

    Chan lifts his head up a little so he can kiss Felix properly, and Felix takes his jaw with both hands and holds him there, kissing hungrily, whining into Chan’s mouth. 

    “Fuck, baby,” Chan murmurs, knocking their foreheads together as they break apart for a moment. “So eager today, what is it?”

    “Want you, daddy,” Felix replies plaintively. “I always want you.”

    “But I’m right here,” Chan says. “You already have me.”

    “I know,” Felix whispers, and kisses him again before he can say something stupid, like it’s not enough, or I want you but not like this, or I want you in ways I’m not supposed to want you, that I never meant to want you, I love you and I want you to love me too—all true, all damning. Because that’s the thing, the instant this becomes anything more than hooking up, it’s over. And Felix doesn’t want it to be over; he doesn’t want it to ever be over, he wants to keep pretending that it’ll last because he doesn’t know what he’ll do when this is gone.

    I love you, he thinks as he kisses Chan fiercely, messy and hot. Chan lets him, just keeps fucking him like that, circling his hips until Felix’s brain slows down, until he doesn’t have to think about any of it any more because he can’t, doesn’t have the space to.

    The sun is rising higher in the sky behind the blackout curtains, casting blinding lines of light across the floor and the bed where there are cracks. The room is warm and full with its quietness. Chan holds Felix close to his body, even when they get sweaty, even when Felix’s cock smears precome across his belly.

    “Baby,” Chan breathes. “So fuckin’ good.”

    “Daddy,” Felix whimpers back. Even just a month or two ago, he would have laughed at the idea that slow, lazy sex would get him like this, would make him feel anything other than a little bored. The Felix from January would have rolled his eyes at the thought.

    But so much has changed since then. 

    Chan gives him another kiss on his jaw, and then pushes himself up a little so that he has more room to move. He reaches down for Felix’s cock; Felix shivers when he takes it in his hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts, and speeding up little by little, then back down again so Felix doesn’t get overstimulated. It’s so good—Chan knows his body so well now, knows the signs that it's starting to turn from pleasure to discomfort, and relents, waiting for him to settle back down into the mattress before picking up the pace again.

    “Beautiful, baby,” Chan says softly, and Felix chokes out a moan. “You’re so beautiful.”

    “I—I’m—” Felix tries, he tries to speak, but it’s hard when Chan is lulling him to a sort of lust-filled stupor. “Daddy, ‘m gonna come.” It comes out unsteady, syllables just barely fitting in around his breath.

    Chan thumbs at his slit in response with a smile. It’s not as sharp as Felix thinks he meant it to be, the only thing that betrays his fatigue. “Gonna come?” he repeats. “Lemme see, baby.”

    Felix gasps, rocking his hips up into Chan’s fist, and comes with a little whimper, watching helplessly as his cock spills his sticky white release over Chan’s pretty fingers, dripping down onto his stomach and mixing with the glistening pool of precome that had gathered there. Chan toys with his slit again, and has the audacity to laugh when the pressure makes some of it shoot up Felix’s chest.

    “Like you’re squirting,” Chan murmurs, clearly pleased. Felix only moans shakily as his orgasm subsides and leaves him feeling weak and punched-out, limbs uncooperative and unstable.

    Now Chan leans in again, even though Felix is messy. He presses his tongue to a drop of come on Felix’s chest, and cleans him up like that while he fucks him, harder now as he chases his own release. His lips and tongue feel so good against Felix’s skin that it almost distracts him from the slight discomfort of overstimulation.

    “Daddy,” Felix slurs, toes curling from the way Chan’s still hitting his prostate. “Daddy, daddy, hurts.”

    “I’ll be quick,” Chan forces out, muffled against Felix’s chest, “I promise—”

    Felix lets out a soft surprised noise as he feels Chan’s cock twitch inside him, flooding him with wet heat. Chan gasps out moans, pumping his cock in and out shallowly as he rides out his orgasm, breath hot on Felix’s skin. 

    Chan pulls out as soon as he’s done, dropping his full body weight onto Felix, which Felix doesn’t really mind. He does mind the fact that he can feel Chan’s come leaking out of him, but that can wait, too, he supposes.

    Still, he says, “Your sheets are gonna stain.”

    Chan huffs. “I have stain remover for a reason.”

    It’s a pretty fair argument, so Felix just hums and wraps his arms around Chan, rubbing his back.

    “You’re right, though,” Chan says after a moment. “This isn’t going to be comfortable for much longer.”

    He pushes himself up and off of Felix, clambering to his feet and offering Felix a hand to help him up, too. They strip the bed; Chan takes it to the laundry machine while Felix goes to clean himself up.

    By the time he’s emerged from the bathroom again, Chan is already almost done putting down fresh sheets. He’s fluffing the pillows, and the crease between his brows betrays him—he’s lost in thought about something. Felix can probably guess what.

    And for one moment, Felix looks at Chan and sees him in a new sort of light: thirty-five year old Teacher Bang, a melancholy widower who makes music because it’s what keeps him alive. Who’s still around looking for a reason to stay because he doesn’t have anything else, because he stayed so his little brother wouldn’t lose him, and then by the time his brother wasn’t so little anymore, it had already become a habit. Who is kind and friendly by nature, but incredibly lonely because he doesn’t know how to do anything about it. 

    But then he turns, and catches sight of Felix, and he becomes Felix’s Chan again, his Channie-hyung. The years melt off of his face at the hint of his smile, growing when Felix smiles back. The hope shines in his eyes, bringing with it a bright warmth. And all those other things are still there, under the surface, but they’re not him. They’re just a part of him. 

    “What?” Chan asks softly, and Felix realizes he’s rooted to the spot, one step out of the bathroom, staring.

    I love you, Felix thinks. “Nothing,” he says instead, forcing himself to move, to walk to the bed and help button up the duvet cover.

    “Okay.” Chan accepts it with a shrug, giving him a kiss on the forehead when he’s close enough to reach. He scoots down under the covers and holds out his arms to Felix. And Felix aches. 

    #straykidsland#stayhavennet#ksmutclub#kpopscape#works#chanlix#bang chan#felix#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #chan x felix fanfic #felix fanfiction#felix fanfic#felix smut#lee felix #lee felix smut #lee felix fanfiction #lee felix fanfic #stray kids felix #stray kids felix fanfic #stray kids felix fanfiction #stray kids felix smut #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan smut #chanlix fanfic#chanlix fanfiction#chanlix smut
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  • kjmsupremacist
    15.01.2022 - 1 week ago

    double exposure (yuta/taeyong)

    During promotions for his first Japanese mini album, k-idol Taeyong meets one of his favorite artists, j-rock star Yuta. Though it starts casual, Taeyong begins to realize he may be in over his head, and struggles to reconcile his affection for Yuta with all the things that keep them apart.

    Chapter 2 |   prev   next   mlist

    Characters: Taeyong, Yuta

    Genre: k-soloist taeyong, jrockstar yuta; romance, smut, angst

    Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, smut, alcohol mentions, homophobia mentions

    Rating: Explicit

    Length: 3.1k

    taglist: @meowniee​

    It’s soft light on Taeyong’s face that wakes him. He blinks, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes as he surfaces from sleep. His gaze lands on Yuta, lying on his back beside him, head propped up by one hand, scrolling through his phone. 

    “Good morning,” Yuta says, glancing sideways and putting his phone down so he can roll over and face him.

    “Morning,” Taeyong whispers. Here, in the early morning sunlight, the gravity of last night hits him, and he reels from it. Oh my god, what would people say if they found out? Scandal is one thing; idols are always revealed to be dating, and though their careers may take a hit, it’s nothing any semi-popular celebrity can’t handle. But to be outed—to not just be found sleeping around, but to be gay—that’s another story entirely. Normally, he wouldn’t be so concerned, because he would have run it by his manager and gotten all the proper forms signed. But he and Yuta had kind of just jumped in headfirst, and now Taeyong has to worry about the consequences. 

    He feels pressure between his eyebrows, and realizes that Yuta is resting his fingers there, smoothing the crease that has appeared. “Let’s take a deep breath,” Yuta murmurs, and Taeyong finds himself obeying. He takes a stuttering breath, eyes flickering over Yuta’s face. “Don’t worry,” Yuta continues softly. “I won’t tell anyone. My manager, my staff, won’t tell anyone.” He runs his fingers up Taeyong’s forehead to his hairline, and then lifts them and places them between his brows again, and repeats the motion. “I promise. My manager sent yours the paperwork last night. I already signed it. You’ll sign it this afternoon. Everything will be fine.”

    Taeyong nods, blowing out another soft breath. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m just always nervous. It feels better—to do things officially.”

    “I know,” Yuta says. “I agree. We were rash. Probably should’ve waited a day to make sure everything went through.” He smiles, drawing his hand back from Taeyong’s face. “I couldn’t help it, though.” He leans in. “I didn’t want to wait. I wanted you.”

    Taeyong feels his worry dissipate. Yuta’s eyes are warm and sincere. “Only wanted?” he asks cheekily. “What about now?”

    Yuta laughs. “What do you think?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for Taeyong to reply. He kisses him, gentle at first, then more insistent when Taeyong kisses back. Taeyong grabs the front of his t-shirt, pulling him closer, and Yuta climbs on top of him with ease, the blanket falling away from their bodies. Cool air brushes across Taeyong’s skin, raising goosebumps as it goes. He melts under Yuta’s touch, remembering now what exactly made him throw caution to the wind last night. 

    “Yuta,” Taeyong mumbles. Yuta laughs, ghosting his fingers down one of Taeyong’s arms. “Yuta, please.”

    “Mm, you’re a bad influence.” Yuta pauses to kiss him. “We really should—” Another kiss. “—get some breakfast first, or something.”

    “We can eat after,” Taeyong wheedles. 

    Yuta buries his face in Taeyong’s neck, pressing his tongue to the tender skin there as he moves down from the point of Taeyong’s jaw to the top of his shoulders. “But if we don’t get going, we’re going to spend all morning in bed, and then we won’t have time to go out before your manager steals you back.”

    “If you’d stop arguing right now and just fuck me, we’d be able to fit sex, breakfast, and a tour of Akiba in before I have to go,” Taeyong replies drily. 

    Yuta laughs again, drawing back and looking down at Taeyong. “You’re very hard to say no to, you know that?”

    “Are you gonna say no?” Taeyong asks, hooking two fingers under the hem of Yuta’s shirt.

    Yuta grins, wide and wicked, and leans in until their noses are only a couple centimeters apart. “No,” he whispers, and kisses Taeyong again. 

    He rolls off to the side, stretching an arm out to retrieve lube and a condom from his bedside table. Taeyong struggles out of his underwear, discarding them and waiting for direction. 

    Yuta coaxes him onto his side, curling up behind him. He presses his lips to Taeyong’s shoulder, reaching down with lube-slick fingers to Taeyong’s entrance, his other hand braced against the small of Taeyong’s back. 

    Taeyong shivers when Yuta pushes his index finger in. He’s still a little loose from the night before, so there isn’t much of a burn to the stretch. Taeyong spreads his ass with one hand, using the other to cup his cock, already growing hard.

    There’s something different about this. It’s like last night didn’t happen; Taeyong almost feels nervous. Maybe it’s that Yuta can see him now, in the morning light, muted by the curtains. Maybe it’s that he thought waking up this morning would feel like waking up from a dream, and now he’s found that it wasn’t a dream at all. He’s keenly aware of Yuta’s lips on his skin—somehow that’s what he’s most focused on, not the way Yuta’s pumping his fingers in and out of his body, stretching him open.

    Or maybe it’s the intimacy of all of this—the morning-after feeling, the answer to the unspoken do you still want me? Yuta pressed up against his back, Taeyong in the palm of his hand. The quiet intensity of choosing the same thing twice. Something like that.

    Yuta’s fingers brush his prostate, and Taeyong gasps out a moan. Yuta hums, pleased. “I’m glad you’re vocal,” he says softly. “Like hearing you.”

    “Yuta,” Taeyong murmurs dreamily as Yuta grazes his fingers across his prostate, back and forth, making Taeyong shiver.

    “So sensitive, too,” Yuta continues. “I’d like to see what a vibrator would do to you. Another time, perhaps.” Taeyong feels teeth against the top of his spine. “Think you’d like that?”

    “Yeah,” Taeyong breaths out.

    “Mm, yeah? Would you let me tie you up, stick a vibrator in you, and watch it make you fall apart?” Yuta asks. He adds a third finger, slowing, letting Taeyong’s body adjust. “You’d look so pretty.”

    “Please.” Taeyong’s skin burns with embarrassment and arousal just thinking about it—lying helpless on the bed while Yuta stands back and laughs, how he’d smile and coo when Taeyong cried, how it would probably make Taeyong come untouched. He whines without meaning to.

    Yuta's voice is low and sweet with delight. “Oh, you’d really like it, wouldn’t you? It’s so naughty, honey,” he adds, like he wasn’t the one who suggested it. But Taeyong doesn’t have the wherewithal to argue.

    Yuta adds a fourth and final finger, and Taeyong draws trembling breaths, trying to keep his head, at least for a little longer. But it’s difficult, in the soft warmth of Yuta’s bed, with Yuta’s lips on his neck, breathing in the scent of Yuta’s shampoo; it’s Yuta, Yuta, Yuta, surrounding him and taking him over, little by little.

    “Ready, baby?” Yuta asks, pulling his fingers out and leaving Taeyong feeling empty.

    “Ready,” Taeyong slurs.

    Yuta takes a moment to roll a condom on and slick up his cock, but soon he’s lining up with Taeyong’s entrance. He pushes in, slow at first and then faster once Taeyong’s body gets over the initial stretch. Yuta rolls his hips experimentally, moaning softly when Taeyong clenches up around him.

    There’s merits to this position. They’re pressed so close that Yuta can’t comfortably fuck him like he was last night, hard and fast. Instead, he grinds into Taeyong, deep and dirty and slow. Pleasure scatters like goosebumps across Taeyong’s skin, electrifying and heady, but it’s not overwhelming this time, just good and right. He sighs as Yuta rocks his hips, patient and even.

    Yuta reaches around with his right hand, running his fingers up Taeyong’s chest until he finds one of his nipples. He rubs his thumb over it, making Taeyong gasp. He circles it with the pad of his finger, making soft sympathetic noises in response to Taeyong’s moans. 

    There’s something about this position, too, that makes Taeyong feel used. He can’t see Yuta, can only feel him as he grinds up into him lazily. It’s like he’s just a doll. He thinks about what Yuta said last night. I like beautiful things. And you are very beautiful. Almost like he’s adding Taeyong to his collection. Somehow, the thought of it makes Taeyong’s skin hot, makes it impossible for him to swallow all the little noises that are bubbling up out of his chest. 

    Taeyong shifts, half-rolling onto his stomach, bending the knee of his upper leg and sliding it out onto the mattress. It’s easier for Yuta to get deeper this way, and more comfortable for the both of them. Yuta moves with him easily, moving his hand from Taeyong’s chest to the mattress beside him to help prop himself up. His thrusts grow a little rougher now that he has the space for it, and Taeyong moans at the feeling of Yuta moving inside him. 

    Yuta dips his head down to kiss along his neck, over his pulse point. “God, honey,” he murmurs. “You feel so good. It’s like you’re made to be fucked.” He nips at Taeyong’s skin, laughing low and dark when Taeyong whines. “But I could’ve guessed that. Something about the way you move.”

    Taeyong lets his eyes roll back, thinking about Yuta thinking about him. He can feel his cock drooling precome onto Yuta’s sheets, and he rocks his hips to get a little friction, to stave off the consuming vortex of pleasure that’s threatening to swallow him whole. 

    He lets Yuta fuck him into the mattress, lets his body go limp under Yuta’s hands. It’s not like he can do much else, anyway; he can only moan and squirm weakly as Yuta’s cock hits his prostate dead-on with every stroke. He’s going to be sore from it, he can already tell; he thinks about how he’ll have to perform later today with the reminder of this morning sitting underneath his skin, how he’ll sit through an interview and do what he’s always done: fight to keep a straight face so he doesn’t ruin his image. 

    He wishes he could be like Yuta, cheeky and open and imperfect, and beloved for it. But instead he must always be cute and sweet and unassuming. And it is frustrating, but it’s also a little thrilling to him—faking it for the world when only a select few know what he’s really like. And now Yuta is one of those people. Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut, letting out another moan as he thinks about Yuta watching his interview later, knowing what they’ve done.

    “What’re you thinking about, honey?” Yuta asks.

    “Just—that later, I’ll, ah, I’ll be performing and stuff,” Taeyong stutters. “And, you know, everyone thinks I’m sweet and innocent. Or mostly. And they—they’ll have no idea. But you’ll know.”

    Yuta’s laughter rumbles in his chest. “I’ll monitor your performance closely,” he promises. “See if I can see the difference.”

    “You’ll watch me?” Taeyong asks.

    Yuta leans in close so he can kiss his jaw. “Yeah, I’ll watch you, honey,” he says. “I always like watching you.”

    Taeyong knows he’ll be thinking about it later, knows the entire time he’s on camera, he won’t really be performing for his fans like he usually is. Instead, he’ll be performing for Yuta. There’s something about that that’s thrilling, too.

    He realizes Yuta’s panting above him, that his movements have grown uneven, that he’s digging his nails into Taeyong’s back where he has him pinned to the mattress. There’s a certain pleasure in knowing that Yuta was thinking about it too, and that he found it just as hot as Taeyong did. Taeyong arches back a little to meet his thrusts, humping against the mattress. It makes him feel desperate, but it only turns him on more. Besides, he knows Yuta will like it. 

    He’s proven right almost immediately. “So good, baby,” Yuta forces out through gritted teeth. “So good, gonna make me come.”

    “Good,” Taeyong murmurs. “‘M close, too.”

    “Yeah?” Yuta punctuates it with a hard thrust, and Taeyong bites back a squeal of surprise.

    “Y-yeah,” he answers shakily, “just don’t stop, please—”

    “I’ve got you, honey,” Yuta says, even as his hips stutter, even as he convulses, but Taeyong knows he means it. He fucks him even as he comes, dutiful to the end, and only a few more seconds is all it takes for Taeyong to come, too.

    They catch their breath as the pleasure ebbs away. Yuta pulls out and drops down onto the bed beside Taeyong with a groan. Taeyong groans too as he rolls onto his back, away from the sticky puddle of his own release. Yuta huffs softly, gathering him into his arms.

    They’re silent for a moment.

    “Sorry about your sheets,” Taeyong says finally, glancing over at the stain that’s forming, then down at his own stomach. “And about your t-shirt.”

    Yuta laughs. “That’s what laundry machines are for,” he says easily. “It’s alright. It means I made you feel good, right? I don’t mind.” 

    “I guess so,” Taeyong agrees, giggling.

    They stay there for a few moments more, but eventually drag themselves out of bed so they can actually start their day. Yuta runs them a quick shower, and they strip his bed together, leaving the sheets in a pile on the floor to be dealt with later. They get new shirts; Yuta throws Taeyong a pair of sweatpants so he doesn’t have to walk around half naked, and Taeyong pulls them on gratefully.

    “Okay,” Yuta says, combing his fingers through his hair. “What do you want for breakfast?”

    “Something quick would probably be best,” Taeyong admits. They are on a timer, after all.

    “I have freezer waffles,” Yuta offers.

    “Honestly?” Taeyong stands, stretching. “That’s just fine with me.”

    “Great,” Yuta says with a grin, and turns to lead Taeyong out of his room and down to the kitchen.

    Taeyong didn’t see Yuta’s kitchen last night, so he takes his time exploring as Yuta pulls the waffles out. His counters are black marble, his fridge and cupboard spaces huge. At risk of sounding like a wannabe housewife, Taeyong finds himself thinking that the kitchen is beautiful. He stops himself from saying something ridiculous like it gets great light in the morning!

    “You okay with strawberries on top?” Yuta asks, holding up the little plastic carton. 

    “Yes, please,” Taeyong chirps. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

    “There’s some cold brew in the fridge,” Yuta says. “Top shelf. You can have a glass, if you’d like. Either way, could you pour me one? The glasses are in the second cabinet from the left along that wall.”

    Taeyong pours them coffee, Yuta plates their waffles and retrieves syrup and whipped cream from the fridge, and they sit down side-by-side at his breakfast bar to eat. Taeyong laughs to himself, watching Yuta devour his waffle in a few swift bites, while Taeyong takes his time cutting his into little pieces and decorating each with a slice of strawberry and a dollop of whipped cream.

    But eventually, Taeyong finishes, too, and they stack their dishes in the sink and head back up to Yuta’s bedroom to find something to wear so they can go out.

    “Your usual street style is pretty casual, right?” Yuta says, rummaging through his closet. He holds up a light blue sweatshirt. “Think this could pass as yours? I don’t think I’ve ever worn it out.”

    “Yeah,” Taeyong agrees, reaching out for it. 

    “How’re jeans for pants?” Yuta asks. “Jeans are pretty universal, anyway.”

    “Jeans are good,” Taeyong agrees, catching the pair that Yuta tosses his way.

    And with that, they’re dressed. Taeyong manages to fit his outfit from last night in the little bag he brought with, and they head down to the garage so Yuta’s manager can pick them up.

    She presents Taeyong with the NDA, which he skims and then signs. He folds his copy and slips it into a small zippered pouch in his bag to give to his manager later. Really, it should be more official, with more company representatives present, but it seems this relationship has a bit of an unspoken good-faith agreement on it, and the paperwork is mostly so that people like Taeyong don’t lose sleep worrying about what-ifs. 

    “Akiba, here we come,” Yuta says, flashing Taeyong a grin as his manager starts the car. Taeyong smiles back, a strange, happy feeling blooming in his chest.

    ϟ ϟ ϟ

    That evening, after his schedules are complete, Taeyong sits down with his phone. He has a text from Yuta from earlier, when they exchanged numbers before they parted ways. 

    “Text me, okay?” Yuta said as Taeyong climbed out of his car. “I wanna see you again before you leave for Korea.”

    “Okay,” Taeyong replied, feeling a shock of excitement run through his entire body.

    He smiles at the little emoticon that Yuta sent, and then swipes out of the window and opens his Instagram. He toggles over to his notification, to follow Yuta back. Their managers agreed it would be fine, since they were already sighted together in public, and would probably bring in some good press, anyway. With that out of the way, he taps over to the search feed. Already, he sees articles with his name: Lee Taeyong spotted out and about in Akiba with J-rock star, Nakamoto Yuta, from Korean news sources, and Yuta, the nation’s pride, spotted giving a tour of Akiba to well-known Korean idol, Lee Taeyong, from Japanese ones. 

    He taps one of the posts and navigates over to the comments, skimming to see what the fans are saying. He smiles at all the little heart emojis as he reads.

    So cute! 

    Didn’t Taeyong mention he was Yuta’s fan? It must be a dream come true.

    I hope they become good friends, it’s always nice to see friendships that cross borders!

    Omg collab? 

    Put them on a show together!

    I wonder how they met?

    He hears a knock on the wall, and looks up to see his manager poking his head in around the corner. “News looks good,” he says, nodding at Taeyong’s phone. “You know how to handle yourself, so I’m not worried. I’m going to head out, okay?”

    “Okay,” Taeyong says. “Thank you for your hard work.”

    His manager grins. “You too,” he replies. “Sleep early today, okay? You have that magazine shoot tomorrow morning. And drink some water so your face isn’t puffy.”

    “I will.” Taeyong’s phone buzzes in his hand, but he doesn’t dare look down. “Goodnight!”

    He waits until he hears the door shut, then gets up and pads over to it to lock it. He checks his phone on the way back to the couch, and sees that it was a text from Yuta.

    Your broadcast looked good. I liked the pants they put you in haha. You performed well. But you’re right. I could tell the difference.

    Taeyong flushes, pleased. I’m glad you watched it, he replies. I was thinking of you.

    Yuta’s response comes only seconds later. I could tell that, too.

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  • solarwonux
    15.01.2022 - 1 week ago

    Epitaph || kth (6/?)

    pairing: Taehyung x f!reader || roommates!au
    w.c: 11.8k (this was supposed to be a short one)
    Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, co-parenting!au, fwb!au, non idol!au
    Warnings: semi-edited :( slow burn 10x, some angst, cursing, fluff, period talk (kinda) mentions of drugs and alcohol, insecurities, hints to an eating disorder, panic attacks, vaping!Tae lolol (once again these two are idiots)
    Synopsis: In memory of the man Kim Taehyung used to be. Caught up and  lost in a continuous cycle searching for something that was already there.
    Reeling you into a mess that you never asked for because all you wanted was to feel complete and happy.

    a/n: enjoy, let me know your thoughts. This one was fun to write lol. I also think there will be one more before chapter after this one. 

    m.list || series m.list

    prev || next


    April 2014 

    “You’re being quiet.” 

    The sound of Taehyung’s voice makes you jump, dropping your teabag. “I’m what?” You question, leaning down to pick it up. Only you’re too slow and Taehyung has taken it upon himself to help you out on your quest. 

    “You, you’re being too quiet. You’re never this quiet.” He hands it to you, while standing up and hoisting himself up on the kitchen counter. Next to where you’re making your tea and sighing. “Is something wrong? The apartment feels weird without you talking about something.” He whispers, looking down at his slacks. 

    That’s when you notice that you’re not home alone anymore. That you haven’t been home alone for a while. That you didn’t even notice Taehyung come in and greet you with the usual forehead kiss. Or that you’ve been running on autopilot for who knows how long and that he’s been watching you. Waiting to get some sort of reaction from you other than the blank far away look you’ve been sporting since he came home. 

    You shake your head. “I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling very good.” You mumble, jumping when the kettle sounds. You’ve been so jumpy all day today. Taehyung first noticed it this morning, but he figured it had to do with the fact that Yoongi made both you and Hoseok watch a scary movie last night. This, though, was different. The after-effects of a scary movie only last roughly eight hours. You seem distant, distracted, and on edge and he hates that he doesn’t know why. 

    Taehyung nods, watching you closely as you prepare your tea. Then he makes a viable conclusion as to why you’re being like this. In his head is the only one that makes sense. “Oh, is it your period again? I thought you had at least a week left until it came?” He’s confused, but you’re somewhat shocked that he more or less knows your cycle. Because he’s right there was still a week left and the way you’re feeling right now has nothing to do with that, or him, or the scary movie. 

    It has everything to do with you. 

    You who keeps overthinking. You who has been stuck in a negative bubble for days now. You who worries too much. You who can’t seem to believe the good things happening around you. You who feels undeserving and unworthy. You who can’t seem to let yourself love yourself and others. You who makes big problems out of small ones. You who pushes everyone away when all they want to do is help.

    Everything has to do with you, you, you, you.

    With a sigh, you shake your head and move past him. “It’s not that, just not feeling very good. I’ll get over it.” You shrug as if it meant nothing. But deep down, you’re screaming, crying out for help. Crying out for someone to hold you close because you’re so scared. Scared of the now. Scared of the past and scared of the future, and whatever is going to happen to you. 

    It’s funny, by twenty-five you thought you’d have at least something figured out. But you don’t. You’re unemployed. Well, you feel unemployed. Being a receptionist at a music school is not where you envisioned you’d be by now. You haven’t been with anyone since you were eighteen. You’re sure you can’t count the online fling you had at nineteen a relationship then sure. And your friends seem to be ten steps ahead of you in life, leaving you behind. Hoseok’s start-up is booming, Yoongi just finished his residency, Namjoon got his first book published, and Jiwoo’s interior designing is booming. 

    Hell, even Taehyung, who was just named CEO to his father’s software company, feels like he’s decades ahead of you. You feel inadequate, rooted in the same spot with no way out, and lonely and in need of just not existing anymore. It seems like nothing you do helps you put at least one foot in front of you. It’s not fair. 

    “Wait,” Taehyung gently grabs a hold of your arm, stopping you from getting any further than two steps. “You’ve been locked up in your room since Friday.” He whispers, walking closer. His warmth engulfs you and you feel the tears well up in the corner of your eyes. You know what’s coming next, and you hate this part the most. His care is the last thing you need right now. Though, you can’t stop it. You’re frozen like ice as his arms land right on top of your shoulders, and his lips right next to your ear. “I’m worried, tell me what’s wrong, I'll help.” He pleads and that’s when you break down. 

    Taehyung holds you as you sink to the floor, clutching your forgotten mug of tea. He reels you into his chest and hugs you tightly. One hand soothingly rubs circles over your back. While the other smooths down your hair. He’s whispering, pleading for you to calm down. But your sobs are so loud and full of pain that you don’t register anything he’s seeing. He notices this because he stops and simply just holds you, with his chin resting on top of your head, gently rocking you back and forth, like a baby. 

    Truly, he’s scared. Hoseok once warned him about how you get when you’re at your breaking point. He tried to prepare him for this moment three months after the two of you moved in together. Hoseok’s warning was so engraved in his head that for a while he walked on eggshells around you. Careful not to step on a crack in the sidewalk because he didn’t want to be dealing with something like this. 

    As the years went by he forgot about Hoseok's warning, and let his guard down because nothing had happened until now. And he feels awful for ever thinking that a breakdown of yours would just be a bother to him. Though, that was before he learned to care for you and possibly love you as more than a friend and a roommate. Now he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it right or if he’s doing enough or if he should say something or if he should simply go away. 

    “P-Please breathe.” He swallows, his lips close to the shell of your ear to make sure you can hear him. “Everything is okay, I’m here, do you feel me here?” He takes a deep breath. “Be here with me please, you’re safe here.” He begs, his arms loosen up in fear that he’s suffocating you, instead of helping you. He brings them down, places one hand over your chest and the other on your lower back. 

    Your sobs have died down, just a little. But he keeps whispering for you to come back to him, even if you’re too far away to listen. He doesn’t stop. It’s the smell of strawberry cheesecake lingering in his breath that somewhat helps you regain your breath. It’s foreign and unfamiliar. Sweet and it doesn’t belong there, but you try your best to match your inhales and exhales with his. It’s when you realize that you’ve just shown Taehyung a side of you that you never wanted him to see. 

    The vulnerable, scared little girl that didn’t grow up from certain traumas that she gained as a child. It’s embarrassing and only makes you want to run and hide and never see him. Yet, he doesn’t let you. The minute you try to escape from his hold he brings you back to him with full force. Your back hitting his chest and the back of your head hitting his chin, sending his head back. The two of you moan in pain, hold onto your sore spots, rubbing them gently. 

    It’s your window for escape, the only one you see open. So you take it. Make it a full five steps into the hallway that leads towards the rooms. Only to be stopped by the loud timber of his smooth voice.

    “You can run away but it won’t stop me from worrying about you or asking what’s wrong.” 

    He stands up quickly, once again closing the distance between the two of you. “Please tell me what’s wrong, I won’t ask you for anything else ever. Don’t leave me out in the dark.” There he goes again, begging, acting like he cares, even if deep down you know he does, and you’re just being unfair. Because you’re also a little jealous that he brought someone home last night without a warning. Everything up until that point. The late-night talks, the laughs, the hangouts, the secret glances, the cuddles, and pet names meant something until last night. 

    To him, you were nothing else but a companion, a friend, a roommate. Nothing more and nothing less. 

    Simply, you weren’t his type and that’s something you just have to live with. Until you find someone who replaces him and helps you forget. 

    “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bother you.” You shrug, taking a detour and placing your now cold mug of tea on top of the kitchen island. Your appetite vanishes when you remember the low whispers shared between the two of them, seeping through the thinness of your wall. Nothing you did helped drown it out. And you did everything you could possibly imagine. 

    Taehyung shakes his head and takes your hand, making you face him. “No, you’re not a bother. And I’ve been told that I’m a great listener.” 

    Everything happens in slow motion. The way he forces a comforting smile to appear on his face. The way he brings your hand up to his lips. The way your knuckles and then makes no effort to let it go. He brings you over to the couch and sits you down on his lap. His chin resting on top of your shoulder. It’s all too much but you’re selfish, so you make yourself believe that this is real. 

    It’s easy. You bear your soul to him, and tell him everything and anything he needs to know to understand that you’re something more than what he first perceived. That you’re not an empty shell, who laughs on command and only talks when spoken to. You don’t run on gasoline, you run with your heart and your emotions. That you have feelings and that right now life was totally hitting you with a curveball, making it harder than it already was. 

    When you finish, both of you are silent. Taehyung is trying to cling onto every single one of your words and savors them like they’re candy. Like they’re his own. He grows furious because you’ve been feeling this way right underneath his nose and he had no idea. That’s why he can’t tell you the truth. As much as his heart begs him to do so every waking moment of the day. You deserve better and unlike you. He has a closet full of skeletons he refuses to touch. 

    You’re much better than him in every sense of the word. That a part of him can’t believe that this was the side you kept hidden from the world. It’s equally as beautiful and heartbreaking because he understands wholeheartedly everything. 

    “I won’t pretend that I know every single solution to the things you’re going through right now. But I will tell you one thing.” He starts, grabbing a hold of your chin and tilting it so you’re facing him. “I’m not happy where I am either.” He confesses, closes his eyes for a brief moment, afraid of your reaction. And he has every right to be because when he opens them again you’re looking at him with eyes full of a mixture of things. Anger, confusion, and compassion. 

    “B-But you have everything you could ever ask for.” You say, shaking your head. It seems impossible in your eyes. Taehyung is literally the heir of his father’s company. He invests in property and stocks in his free time. He’s good-looking. Confident. Women and men kiss the ground he walks on. He’s rich and the only reason he’s still paying for this shitty apartment is because he feels sorry for you. It’s the only thing that makes sense to you. 

    Taehyung sighs. “Not everything.” He grins, sadly before shaking his head and smiling his wide boxy smile. “It’s not important.” He brushes it off and sinks into the couch, tapping his fingers over your hips. “Right now, it’s not about me. Don’t keep things bottled up. Whenever you’re not feeling well, come tell me please.” 

    “Tae if yo-” 

    “Stop, we can talk about it later.” He says sternly, pushing you off his lap, standing up. “Will you promise to tell me if something is wrong from now on?” He questions, towering a few inches above you, looking down at you with hopeful eyes. 

    He’s deflecting again, pushing aside your curiosity of his life before you. You know later will never come. You’ve become so accustomed to his deviations that you know not to push the subject, because it will just lead him further away from you. You want him close for as long as you can have him. Before hel discovers your inferiority complex and runs far away from you. 

    Just like everyone before him did. 

    “I will, I promise.” You nod. 

    Taehyung bites his lip to keep himself from smiling and brings you into a hug. “Good, I don’t like seeing you suffer.” He mumbles, placing a gentle kiss against your temple. The way your heart jumps at the action is embarrassing. It does that, whenever Taehyung is around, it’s almost exhausting. 

    “Thank you.” You say, hugging him back and squeezing him tight. This won’t last long and you aren’t sure if you’ll truly let him in like you just told him you would. But a little white lie never hurt anyone, especially if the outcome is him.

    He pulls away, taps your nose gently, letting his arms fall to his side. He feels all giddy inside, like a child in a toy store for the first time. You trust him, at least that’s what he hopes. And he has to turn away quickly, cupping his ears so you don’t see how red they’re turning. Even if he is aware that he is attracting your attention by doing this and literally running away into the dining room. Leaving you behind stranded and confused. At a loss for words. 

    Nothing about Taehyung ever made sense. He was worse than a mystery novel. Each page that you turn, you’re faced with a new plot twist. It’s how it’s been for the past three years, and you don’t see it changing any time soon. 

    “Oh, I forgot to ask.” Taehyung rushes out, walking back into the living room balancing his open laptop in his hand. “There’s a gala next week. Dad wants me to go and do the usual networking rounds. Do you want to go with me?” He pauses for a second, scratching the back of his neck. “As my date?” 

    Date, date, date?

    This is the first time Taehyung ever refers to you and hanging out with you as a date. Before it’s just been hangouts. Now, it’s a date and at a gala, with all the rich people he seems to know. A world different from your own. A world that you have no business parading in. You should say no. It won’t hurt him because all he has to do is step foot outside the front door and he’ll have someone kissing his toes begging for him to take them. Just take last night for example, and the night before, and the night before that night. They’re all different, their whines are the biggest giveaway. Why can’t he take one of them? Why take you? 

    You should say no, for the betterment of your heart and mental health. 

    You don’t, because once again you’re selfish and love to fill your head with more delusional moments. Moments in which you’re sure you feel more than he does. One day, you’ll wake up and it will hurt a lot, but for now, you’ll play pretend again for one more night. 

    Just. One. More. Night. That’s. All. 

    “Tae I’d love to be your date.” 

    In hindsight, it seemed like a good idea to ask Hoseok and Jiwoo to help you pick a dress for the gala. It’s your big break as Taehyung’s arm candy (Hoseok’s joke) so you need to look your best. That was before you stepped foot into your first store. The excitement of going shopping with your best friend’s quickly dissipated into nothing when you tried on your first dress. Then your second, and your third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and so on. 

    Now, you regret asking them, but you also regret saying yes to Taehyung. 

    “I don’t know guys, I think I still like the emerald green one more.” You’re practically whining as you look at yourself in the full-length mirror. 

    The dress this time is satin red, off the shoulder to show off the little cleavage you have, and has a giant slit up the right side of your leg. It would make wearing underwear impossible. It’s one of the reasons why you’re feeling so insecure wearing it. The other reason is that the store lighting is horrendous, therefore makes the dress look horrendous on you. Therefore this is not the one. Again. 

    “I mean I don’t like this one either, but emerald green was so last season. What about the black one from store number four.” Jiwoo chimes in, holding her chin up as she lets her eyes travel over your figure. 

    Hoseok stands up clapping his hands in front of him. “Ladies, I know you two hate listening to my advice but I really think the nude sequin one was the winner five stores ago.” 

    “The long one?” You tilt your head. You’ve seen sequence, you’ve seen satin, you’ve seen velvet, and every other textile material today that they’ve all started to blur into one big whole mess. 

    If you’re being honest right now, the only thing you want is to go home and possibly not eat for the next two days. 

    “No, the short one, with the high neckline and beaded sleeves.” He rolls his eyes, and stands behind you, cringing at the displeasure written all over your face. He understands that the dress was an immediate no, but not because it looked bad on you. In fact, it looked good on you that he made the ‘if I wasn’t so gay and in love, I’d fall for you in a heartbeat’ joke. The dress was so out of comfort zone that he could visibly see you shrink because of how uncomfortable you felt. But he saw the smile on your face when you first stood in front of the full-length mirror. He could see you visibly putting the outfit together. Makeup, heals, and all. He could see you imagining Taehyung’s reaction and the whole night. Until you started overthinking everything. As quickly as the dress was put on it was taken off. 

    “Come on bubs, we’re trying to woo Tae and his rich friends. That dress is perfect, everyone’s eyes will be on you and they’ll forget why they were even there in the first place.” 

    Jiwoo snaps her fingers in agreement, throws her right leg up, crosses them dramatically, and flips her hair. “I agree, we’re in operation to get Kim Taehyung to fall in love with you, and that dress, plus your beauty, combined with your charm will do the job.” She says pointedly. 

    You roll your eyes at their theatrics. Never once did you say this was the night in which Taehyung would worship the ground you walked on like a Greek goddess. That was all they’re doing. All you wanted was to find a dress that will help you fit in. Something tells you that sequence or a giant slit showing off the skin of your vagina was not it. 

    “But the emerald green one is not that bad. I think it looks good on me and it’s safe.” 

    “Yeah cause it’s something a mom with three kids. on her third divorce would wear,” Jiwoo mutters, rolling her eyes before standing up. “Listen to us for once, get the other one. I can even do your makeup and Hobi can do your hair. We promise to make you look like a Princess from some faraway country that no one knows about.” She clasps her hands in front of her, pouting like her malicious fourteen-year-old cousin. 

    Yes, unfortunately you’ve had the privilege in meeting them. Winter break in the alps with Jiwoo’s family circa 2011 was a nightmare. One you will never forget.

    “Wouldn’t that just defeat the purpose of, if I’m a Princess for some faraway land?” You say dramatically, stepping down from the platform, careful to hold the slit of the dress closed. They’ve seen you naked far too many times than you’d like to admit. Every single one of them starts and ends with at-home bikini waxes. But that didn’t mean the entire store needed to be flashed. 

    “Nah, that just adds to the mystery. Everyone will be dying to know who you are.” Hoseok adds, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

    “You’re giving me too much credit, I’m average at most.” You sit down, fully feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once. “But I’ll think about it.” You finish, smiling down at your lap, ignoring their pointed glares, and dances of victory. 

    It’s rare. You never admit to anything, but Hoseok was right about the dress. You really liked the way it looked on you. Even if it was pricey, and extremely out of your comfort zone. You felt sexy, unstoppable, and maybe like a Princess from some faraway land. 

    The three of you would have been done hours ago, munching on some pretzels and donuts as a form of celebration if you hadn’t started to overthink and pick yourself apart as soon as you saw yourself in the mirror. 

    It was the dress. You just needed extra reinforcements to tell you what you already knew. Hence Hoseok and Jiwoo. 

    You giggle, holding your hand up. “Now hold on.” They’re still reeling underneath the victory blanket. “I didn’t say yes, I said I would think about it.” 

    They both roll their eyes. “We know that’s code for yes, so hurry the fuck up, change out of that god awful dress. Your horse-driven carriage awaits the perfect one.” Jiwoo pulls you up and literally pushes you into the dressing room. Violently closing the curtains. 

    “You got me a pumpkin, like Cinderella?” You tug down the zipper, happy to be out of that number. Listening to both Hoseok and Jiwoo’s laughter. 

    “Hell no, we’re talking about the churro truck right in front of the store.” Hoseok rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall. His stomach has been begging for some kind of food for hours. Yoongi did tell him to eat before leaving but he’s never been one to listen. 

    “Oh, then say less and lead the way fairy god mother’s” you open up the curtain back in your everyday clothes, leaving the dress hanging behind you. Already forgotten, because the excitement of the other one was everything. “I’m eating all the churros before I go on a two-day hunger strike.” 

    Hoseok sighs, shaking his head. “I won’t lecture you right now bubs I’m too hungry, but when I get food in me I’m gonna give you a piece of my mind. And Jiwoo is going to help me right Ji?” 

    The girl nods, crossing her arms in front of her. They’re both serious and it’s nothing you haven’t heard before. But you’re grateful, they keep trying to drill it into you. It's some weird way it helps. “That’s right Hobi, now let’s go please, this lighting washes me out.” She grabs onto your hand and Hoseok grabs onto your other one. They practically drag you past the endless racks of tacky dresses and accessories, until you’re out and immediately heading back to store number two. Determined because there’s no time to waste. The dresses are selling and the churros are getting colder. 

    Taehyung has been waiting outside in the living room for thirty minutes now. You’ve sent Hoseok out every few minutes to scope out the situation. Expecting for him to come back and tell you to pick up your fucking balls from the floor and just go. Instead, he comes back, once with a full charcuterie board that apparently Taehyung made, and twice with three cans of lemon-flavored La Croix. 

    “I forgot there’s no alcohol in this house.” He cringes taking a sip of the sparkling water before setting it down, on top of a coaster, on your dresser. 

    You shrug, blinking fast as Jiwoo adds the finishing touches to your makeup. Tiny pearl stickers lining your winged eyeliner. The two of them truly outdid themselves tonight. You almost look unrecognizable. With your hair slicked back to perfection, a dress that hugs you in all the right places, and a make-up look like that came out straight of a Marc Jacobs fashion show. 

    If circumstances were different, and you were a model in the ’90s doing crack while simultaneously starving yourself. You’d be on a runway. Thankfully you aren’t one and you don’t engage in any of those adulterated habits. Well, just one and only sometimes. But you look like a new person. One that screams money. 

    “Tae doesn’t like buying alcohol so I just don’t.” You say, playing with the can topper of your can, saying the ABC's in your head to see which letter it breaks on. To find out your soulmate's first initial. 

    Childish habits are hard to break. 

    “So he hasn’t had alcohol since the two of you started living together?” He masks his concern by tilting his head to the side, surveying you, while Jiwoo leans back, holding your chin and turning your face gently. Inspecting her hard work. 

    “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ the can topper snaps on the letter ‘J.’ Disappointed it’s not the ‘T’ you push the thought aside. “Now that you mention it, Hobi. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink or come home drunk.” 

    “That’s good, that’s good.” 

    You’re about to ask why he’s so curious about your roommate's drinking habits, until Jiwoo pipes up, exclaiming proudly. “You’re done,” She smirks, handing you a small handheld mirror. You take it, and it almost slips from your grasp when you finally look at yourself and their finished product. Forget what you said earlier because the person that is looking back at you is a completely different you. A you reincarnated into a better version of you. One that’s worthy of being next to the CEO of a huge software empire. 

    “Babygirl you’re going to have everyone at your feet tonight,” Jiwoo says and you feel your stomach sink just a little bit. If this was the version of you that everyone would prefer tonight, including Taehyung then you didn’t want it. This was a lie, a beautiful lie, and for some reason that made you feel a lot more insecure than what you already felt. 

    You hand back the mirror to Jiwoo before standing up. “Yeah, can’t wait.” You grin, sitting on the edge of your bed, dreading the strappy nude heels that for the better part of your life lived in a box in the back of your closet. Hoseok went through hell and back trying to convince you to wear them and not the satin chunky black platform heels you had originally planned. Apparently, they didn’t match. You thought otherwise and that’s why you started getting ready so late. Almost thirty minutes then what you had originally planned. 

    Hoseok sighs and kneels in front of you. “Don’t be so in your head about it.” He lifts up your chin. “You look hot and you should feel it too.” 

    “I do, and that’s the problem. I like what I see in the mirror and if I like it then that means that everyone else will like it too. And that means that if anyone were to see the real me and what I look like without all the glitz and glam. They won’t like it.” You nervously ramble.

    “I bet that made a lot more sense in your head than it did out loud.” Jiwoo smiles softly, while you nod in agreement. 

    She sits down next to you, placing an arm around your shoulders. “Who cares what they think, the chances of you seeing them again are very very very low.” She kisses your temple gently. “If it makes you feel any better I like all versions of you, even first period day you.” Jiwoo pinches your cheek gently before standing up. 

    “I agree and that’s the scariest version of you.” Hoseok chimes, making both you and Jiwoo laugh. 

    “Shut up.” You roll your eyes, flicking them off. “It’s not my fault my body is literally trying to kill me.” You mutter, picking up one of your heels. Wearing these tonight was going to be a nightmare. You’ll be damned if you end the night with Taehyung carrying you to the car because your feet have literally given up on you. But beauty is pain, just ask your scalp from the numerous times Hoseok yanked your hair back earlier. Unfortunately, this is the price you had to pay. 

    “Whatever, I'm going to go check up on Mr. Lover Boy again. Last time I checked he was on level 137 of candy crush.” Hoseok walks out, taking his unfinished can of sparkling water. You’re very well aware it’s going to end up in the fridge for weeks until you and Taehyung decide to throw it away. 

    He shuts the door behind him and you sigh working on getting the first heel on. “He likes all versions of you too.” Your head flips to Jiwoo as she gathers all the makeup on your dresser, carefully placing it into perfectly curated piles. Hers, yours, and Hoseok’s.

    “Who?” You buckle the first strap and move on to the next one. You wish you could go back to the day you bought the shoes to tell yourself not to do it. They had no business having so many straps and buckles. 

    Jiwoo rolls her eyes before shaking her head. “Tae.” She shrugs and turns to face you, crossing her arms in front of her chest, slightly pushing up her boobs. If Namjoon were here, he’d stop breathing. It’s her very own superpower. “I’m sure if you walked out in a trash bag, he’d look at you like you’ve just gifted him the actual moon.” 

    “That’s ridiculous, he doesn’t see me that way.” You let out a sigh of relief when you finish buckling the last strap of your shoe. Only for the little sense of calm to vanish when you realize you have the other shoe to go. 

    “Are you blind? Everyone in the world sees it except you and him.” 

    “See what?” Maybe a part of you knows, but you want to hear it from someone else. That way you know that it’s not all up in your head. 

    “That he loves you and you love him.” She drops her arms in defeat. The day you and Taehyung finally stop being idiots and just cross the fucking line. She knows she’s going to run down the block screaming out of joy. In all honesty, she’s never rooted for two people so hard in her life. Not even for the Bachelor’s very own Juan Pablo and Nikki Ferrell. 

    That was one hell of a season. 

    “Well I know I love him.” You yell, whispering. The walls are so thin that much is known from Taehyung’s latest conquest. If he by some odd miracle happens to hear you admit that out loud. You’d move out in a heartbeat. “But I can guarantee you that he doesn’t feel that way for me. It’s impossible.” You shake your head, doing up the last buckle and falling back on your bed. 

    The night hasn’t even started and you were already wishing you were back home. 

    “Why do you always bring yourself down?” Jiwoo’s tone has you sitting up again. She looks down at you sadly before signing and turning around. Her focus is away from you and on the piles of makeup. “You’re probably the best person I know in this world, but for some reason, you can’t see that. Why?” 

    That’s a hard question, probably harder than ninth-grade algebra. It’s one you don’t seem to ever find a concrete answer for. Or it’s an answer depending on where you are in life. You can answer one way right now only for it to change in a few month's time. It’s frustrating. 

    “I guess, because if I get my hopes up and in the end, it ends up failing. It will hurt too much. But if I just expect disappointment, then it will still hurt but not as much.” You look down at your fingers, to avoid her staring at you through the mirror. You’ve never said that out loud, only thought about it, and you don’t feel relieved like you thought you would if you just admitted it. 

    No, you feel worse than before. 

    Jiwoo drops her things and comes to stand in front of you, extending her hands for you to take. “Come on, you got a hot date waiting patiently for you.” She grins, holding your hands tight when you finally place yours in hers. She pulls you up and hugs you tightly, squeezing you enough to restrict the airflow in your lungs. “The best part of life is that no matter how many times you get knocked down, you always have the choice to get back up. Don’t live without hope, it’s the next best thing other than love.” She whispers, placing a gentle kiss against your cheek. 

    She’s right and the worst part is that you know this, but you can’t seem to make yourself believe it. At least not right now, but you know that slowly you will come back again. You always do. 

    “Thank you Ji, I don’t tell you this enough but I’m thankful that you’re in my life.” 

    “You better be, it’s like working overtime when it comes to you and Hobi.” 

    Hoseok comes back a third time to tell you that Taehyung is on level 155 of candy crush and that he’s ignoring his father's calls. That’s your cue to get this show on the road.

    When you walk out with Jiwoo and Hoseok trailing behind you, after panicking for a total of five minutes, you have to stop the second you enter the living room. Taehyung is sitting on the couch playing on his phone, dressed in a burgundy three-piece suit. With his hair slicked back except for a single strand that falls over his eyes kissing his eyelashes.

    He looks perfect, sculpted by the hands of a Renaissance sculptor. Probably Michelangelo or Donatello or Ghiberti. 

    Your heart is beating against your throat. Words are usually your forte but right now you’re at a loss. Forgotten are all the definitions, synonyms, and antonyms. All replaced by Taehyung on the couch, deeply concentrating on his game. The deep game voice announces ‘game over’ and Taehyung locks his phone, dropping it on his lap. His protests die in the back of his throat when he looks up and meets your eyes.

    The world stops. Exactly how it’s always described in those trashy romance novels you sometimes read out loud to him on the couch. Or like how it’s depicted in those romantic comedies he secretly watches. All this time he thought those were just exaggerations. He didn’t believe it when his dad told him how the world came to a halt the night he realized he loved his mother. And he didn’t believe Hoseok when he told him it happened to him the day he met Yoongi for the first time. He always thought it was too good to be true because it had never happened to him. 

    Until tonight, and he doesn’t know what to say. Should he start with hey? Or tell you that you look beautiful? No, drop-dead gorgeous? But he also doesn’t want you to think that you don’t look beautiful every day because you do. So should he start with let’s go? Or finally what took you so long? Even if he doesn’t actually care. He’s in no rush to see his dad and everyone else he despises. But he needs to say something because staring at you with his jaw about to hit the floor isn’t cutting it. 

    “Hey.” Taehyung is an idiot who doesn’t know how to correctly make viable judgments. 

    Out of all the possibilities, he’s chosen the worst one. Hey. 

    This is a moment he will remember vividly on his deathbed before he takes his final breath. “I mean, um, hi, um…are you ready to go?” He stands up, stuffing his phone in his pocket, ignoring the fifth call from his dad. If he continues acting this way he won’t even make it to the elevator at the end of the hall. 

    “Yeah, I just need to get my purse.” You point behind you before turning around, running straight into your best friends. Both of which are trying their hardest to not burst out laughing. Jiwoo is the first to regain her composure, placing her hands on top of your shoulders and turning you around. Hoseok has turned the other way, distracted by the cheap art prints you bought at some thrift store years ago. Suddenly, they’re not as ugly as he first thought. 

    “This dress doesn’t go with a purse,” Jiwoo says, pushing you closer to Taehyung. He doesn’t know what to do. Too enamored with the way you look. He thinks you deserve an entire exhibition on just you. One he will have no problem frequently visiting because he’ll never get tired of looking at you. 

    “Ji, where the hell am I going to put my stuff?” You exclaim, protesting like a stubborn child. You look so cute. He just wants to kiss the pout off of your mouth and then kiss you again and again and again until he coerces a sweet giggle out of you, while you’re pushing him away. Pleading for him to stop but secretly not wanting him to. 

    What the hell was wrong with him? 

    Taehyung raises his hand before he can stop himself, grabbing everyone’s attention. “I have pockets, you can put your stuff in my pockets.” He offers, brings his hand back down, realizing how awkward he must look because this wasn’t a fucking school. He didn’t need to raise his hand to speak or make a statement, but he already did. He adds this to the list of things he’s going to vividly remember on his deathbed. 

    “Great.” Jiwoo claps. She takes your phone and lip gloss from your hands and shoves them into Taehyung’s chest. His reflexes are fast because without a word he takes them and puts them in his coat pocket. “It’s settled, don’t worry we’ll see each other out.” She brushes you off and opens the front door, standing aside holding it open for the two of you. “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

    All you and Taehyung can do is stare at her wide-eyed, while slowly walking out. You make a full five steps out into the hallway before Hoseok calls out your name. His hand grabs yours and he pulls you to the side. Away from Jiwoo and Taehyung. Your questioning look meets his worried one. A look that you’re all too familiar with because it’s always there when he comes over, and you’ve never been able to pinpoint it because it simply didn’t make sense. 

    He leans into your ear, cupping his hand over his mouth, letting out a big sigh and saying. “Make sure he doesn’t drink please.” He sounds like he’s pleading and a little choked up. Like he wants to give something away but at the same time, he doesn’t. 

    “Why?” You’re taken aback. This is the same concern you saw earlier while Jiwoo was finishing your makeup. It was only a flash then, quickly masked by the excitement. But now it’s fully there and it makes your inside turn with curiosity. 

    “Just please, make sure he doesn’t.” He nods, standing up straight, and just like that his face turns back into it’s usual happy self. Wide smile and calm eyes. “Have fun, call when you get back home.” He nods before saluting at Taehyung, who is a fidgety mess waiting for the elevator before closing your front door in your face. 

    What the fuck. 

    The gala is well underway when the two of you pull up to the entrance of the mansion. The front steps are decorated to the nines. Wreaths of laurel leaves and pink roses run down the railings. Paired up with a sparkly baby pink carpet covering the steps. There are people, decked in Versace, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, stumbling down the steps, putting your entire look to shame. 

    The longer you stay seated in Taehyung’s passenger seat, the more you realize that you aren’t fit for this. That this was a mistake despite how excited you were in the days leading up to this moment. If Taehyung seems to notice the waves of anxiety flowing through you, he doesn’t make it obvious because without saying anything he’s getting out of the car. Slamming the door behind him and rounding the front of it, then opening the door. 

    “Tae,” You swallow, playing with the seat belt buckle. “I-I don’t think I can do this.” You press the button, wait for the belt to retract, and turn to face him. “I don’t belong here. I’ve never been to a gala before and the only thing I know about galas is whatever Access Hollywood says about the Met Gala.” Taehyung offers you a grin and takes a tentative step closer to you. He puts his hands on top of your shoulders, smoothing down the beads, forcing you to look up at him. 

    “No one here knows a thing about gala’s, they’re just better at hiding it.” His hand moves up your neck, and settles on top of your chin, smoothing down the faint frown lines on the corner of your lips. “We can go home, but I think it’d be a shame to not be able to show you off to these assholes.” He pauses, letting his hand fall to his side. “You look beautiful tonight…I-I mean I’m not saying you look ugly every day, you always look beautiful it’s just that wow, y-you lo–” 

    “Thank you, Tae.” You may look all calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, you’re screaming. “Y-You look pretty too…I mean handsome, you look really handsome tonight.” You look down at your hands again, hiding the heat trailing up your spine. 

    Taehyung usually thinks things through. Afraid to lead with his heart because the few times he has. The hurt was unbearable. 

    Putting his arms around you, hugging you tightly is not one of those times. His heart has completely taken over and he likes it. More when he feels you hug him back. This is the most physical touch he’s initiated after months of not doing so. The last time that he did, he found himself with his head on your lap and your hands gently playing with his hair. His heart was beating against his chest, threatening to fall out of his body. 

    That night he decided to distance himself from you. He was getting too close, borderlining dangerous territory, and he could not have that. 

    Tonight he doesn’t care, and he squeezes you tight. “Are you ready to go? I think we’re holding up the line.” He chuckles, pulling away, churning his head to the side. Signaling to the line of cars behind his that had started to form. 

    “Shit,” You curse, making Taehyung’s smile grow. 

    He shakes his head, smoothing his hands down your arms. “It’s your call, if you don’t want to do this then I don’t either.” He’s giving you a choice and a way out. An encounter you’ve never experienced, and it’s comforting. So, you take a brief moment to think about, pushing aside your nerves and fears, because realistically after tonight you aren’t sure where you will stand with Taehyung. 

    The line between the two of you was starting to blur and it could go either way. This moment could very well be a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you plan to milk it for everything it’s worth. 

    “Fuck it let’s do it.” 

    Taehyung, smirks, holding onto your hands tightly as you hop out of his Range Rover. He laces his fingers with yours and tugs you into his side, throwing his car keys to the valet guy. There’s a slight adrenaline rush coursing through him, his chest puffing up with pride. It’s a rare feeling. One he never feels whenever he’s forced to attend these things for the sake of not hearing his father’s disappointment. And he knows it has everything to do with the fact that you’re with him by his side. 

    One day, he’ll tell you that he loves you. Maybe that day will be today. 

    “Let’s give these one percent assholes hell.” 

    “Oh, so like you?” You tilt your head, sending him a smirk. 

    Taehyung clicks his tongue, “Yeah, but I’m a nice one percent asshole.” He winks, subsequently shutting you right up when he brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles softly. He loops your arm with his, reeling you in closer. The action sends a shiver up your spine, and it gets worse when he’s intently staring at you, walking slower than before trying to derail your arrival. You have a hard time finding a point of focus, if you continue looking at him he will notice your flustered state. But if you look down at the floor you can either trip and then he will really notice how flustered you are. It’s impossible to escape so you settle on the column of baby pink and white balloons behind his head. Maybe then he won’t notice the hold he has on you. 

    He does. If he wasn’t feeling on top of the world before. He is now. He’s still having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that you’re his date tonight. When he asked you earlier in the week he was fully ready to face rejection head-on. When you said yes, he escaped to his room, locked the door behind him, and did a tiny victory dance like the loser he is. 

    Now, you’re by his side, looking radiant, letting him guide you through the halls and into the entrance hall. His stomach turns in the most amazing way when he hears the tiny gasp leave your mouth. 

    Sure, the place looks like it was taken straight out of The Great Gatsby. Fountain’s of champagne, acrobats hanging from silks, bending like pretzels over the guests. A live big band well into their set on a stage surrounded by sparkly silver columns. It’s the usual gala he attends every year. Decorations and color pallets being the only things that change. But the guests are the same, the atmosphere of people trying to one-up one another is the same. The old men, with a few sex scandals under their belts attempting to munch off the success of others is the same. Everything he’s been accustomed to since the age of fourteen when his father finally let him attend his first gala is the same.

    Yet, tonight, he feels like that awed fourteen-year-old, experiencing this for the first time. Solely because he is with you. Your excitement transfers over to him and the adrenaline rushes through his veins at a faster rate than before. He knows that for the first time in years he won’t want the night to end. 

    “Holy shit, this is fucking amazing.” You squeeze his arm. Your eyes sparkle underneath the golden lights, making the pearls lining the top of your eyelids twinkle like little stars. 

    “Eh, it’s alright.” 

    In the last hour and a half that you’ve been here, you’ve come to find out that the Taehyung you spent the last three years living with. Is not the Taehyung presented before the businessmen and nepotism babies. The moment he led you past the partying and drinking into the main hall, where all the networking and drinking was taking place. Taehyung stopped being your roommate Tae, who doesn’t fold his laundry for days on end; and became Kim Taehyung the heir and CEO of Magic Shop Enterprises. The largest software company in the world.

    All hints of vulnerability and underlying nerves vanish into thin air. Only to be replaced with an aura of confidence and power as he maneuvers from circle to circle, making his usual rounds of small talk. A simple champagne flute in his large hands, remains untouched, while you’re likely on your second one. He exudes self-control, keeping you at arm's length, never once touching you as he offers handshakes, hugs, and kisses on cheeks to anyone that approaches him. All you do is watch in complete awe. Not an ounce of jealousy to be found.

    You’re so impressed, watching as he talks shop when he needs to, congratulates strangers on new family members, offers a fake laugh when terrible jokes are thrown his way, and introduces you as his friend when he deems the timing to be right; that you don’t care or linger on his choice of words. Because what the hell was he supposed to say when introducing you to all his rich acquaintances? 

    “Hey, this is my roommate, and yeah I know I don’t need one because I can afford at least five of these mansions but I still live with her cause she’s cool I guess, and sometimes she folds my laundry.” 

    No, friend, though it stings just a little is the only acceptable choice. It doesn’t give too much away and leaves room for interpretation. Especially with the hungry stares you’ve been collecting since the moment you entered. Let them think what they want. After tonight they won’t ever see you again, and forget you ever even existed. A figment of their imagination that will have them questioning your presence for years on end. 

    Well, at least that’s what you hope. It’s likely that the outcome you have conjured up in your head is entirely wrong, and that right now you’re floating on a high full of confidence and the fake persona you Jiwoo, and Hoseok carefully constructed for tonight’s occasion. But it still feels nice to imagine. 

    “...and I told Marina countless times to not accept the deal with them because she’d end up bankrupt and look at where she is now. Barely a cent to her name, living in a two-story townhouse.” 

    You hadn’t realized they were talking. Actually, you hadn’t realized that Taehyung had successfully led you to another group. Maybe two flutes of champagne were enough for tonight. 

    “Word of advice dearie.” You think her name is Charlotte? Cassandra? Constance? starts, pointing her flute in your direction. “If a man comes to you promising you the world, send him packing in a heartbeat. They’ll take everything they can from you and leave with barely half a million dollars to your name.” She side-eyes Taehyung, huffing, and walks away. Leaving you by Taehyung’s side wondering what prompted her to make such a comment. 

    Just wait until she finds out that you can barely afford to pay your share of the rent this month. 

    The reality hits you hard. 

    Pretending to be something you’re not is only easy when you can put yourself in someone else’s shoes. It becomes increasingly harder when someone else shows how out of touch they are with a world that doesn’t involve all of this. Living in a two-story townhouse is not bad when there are people that can’t afford a place to live, or a simple meal to get them through the day. 

    Depleted, you sigh, forcing a smile in Taehyung’s direction when he places his hand on your lower back. He gives you an odd look, one you can’t decipher but it makes you shrink. You turn to the waiter next to you, placing your empty flute on the tray before grabbing another one, attempting to hide your discomfort and insecurities from him. 

    “Is something wrong?” He furrows his brows, stuffing a hand inside his pants and fishing out a small rectangular stick. It looks like a weird-looking USB, only when he places it in between his lips and sucks do you realize what it is. 

    A vape. 

    You have to keep yourself from slapping your forehead. For months the apartment has been attracting all sorts of smells. Blueberry, bubblegum, and recently strawberry cheesecake. You thought it was room spray because it always came from Taehyung’s room. But as he blows the smoke out to the side and you get a whiff of sugar cookie? Everything becomes clear. And you finally find out who the culprit of the weird smells was. 

    Taehyung and his fucking vape. You know you shouldn’t think this with the entire forefront of your brain, but he looks hot, and that has you downing your flute of champagne in seconds. 

    So much for stopping. 

    “Nope, everything is fine, everyone is so nice.” You emphasize, hoping he picks up on your sarcasm. 

    Thankfully he does. “You should meet Mrs. Gertrude. She wins the ‘nicest person ever’ award every year.” He sucks on his vape again, blows out the smoke, and smirks down at you. 

    Nope, nope, nope. This was not happening. You will not allow yourself to think any rated r thoughts about your roommate in the middle of a socialite event. No.

    “Son, nice of you to finally join us.” 

    Taehyung scrambles, attempting to hide the exhale of smoke and stuffing the vape into his pocket faster than anyone can blink. He smoothes out his coat, morphing his face into an unfamiliar scowl. He doesn’t acknowledge you any further before turning around, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in annoyance as the firm grip he had on his untouched champagne flute gets tighter. Caving underneath his strength, threatening to break. 

    This is a new site. In the hour and half that you’ve been here, you’ve become accustomed to businessman Taehyung. You’ve never experienced son Taehyung and something tells you with the rapid change of demeanor that it’s not a favorable sight. 

    “I could say the same to you.” Taehyung’s entire demeanor changes. The man you’re partially hiding behind is more of a stranger than the Taehyung you lived with and the Taehyung you met tonight. This Taehyung is cold, rigid, and full of peril. His eyes turn into daggers shooting poisoned arrows towards the man he calls father. 

    The entire situation makes you shrink behind him as his father closes the distance between them. He’s a much older version of Taehyung with a much more muted sense of style, a full head of silver, and a voice that will make anyone crumble at his feet. But other than those small differences, Taehyung is basically a carbon copy of his father. It’s a little off-putting, and you’re sure that if you look just a little bit closer you’ll find the same freckle on the tip of his nose too. 

    On his arm, a tall young woman presses herself against him, wearing a long silk golden gown with a high slit up the right leg. A gold wreath with diamonds lining her forehead. She’s light years younger than him. Shining bright like the chandeliers hanging from the roof. It makes her look ethereal and you like a joke compared to her. 

    Her snake-like eyes find yours, smirking, judging you silently as she takes a small sip from her champagne. They linger long enough to scrutinize you without saying anything. You humor her, that much you can tell by her trying to stifle her laugh behind her champagne flute. 

    “You remember Eunbi right, Taehyung?” 

    “Oh please, honey it’s barely been three years.” She–Eunbi fake laughs, hitting his father’s arm and untangles her arm from his, and takes a step forward to Taehyung. “It’s nice to see you again babe, next time you want to leave Italy without a word give a girl a warning.” She bites, hugging him tightly, and he doesn’t return it. She kisses his cheek, proud of the residue of her burgundy lipstick she’s left behind, and pulls away from him. 

    Eunbi takes a tentative step in your direction, stalking you like you’re her prey, making you shrink further into Taehyung’s side. “You must be his little roomie.” She tilts her head, extending her hand for you to shake. “Tell me, sweetheart, does he still fold his laundry three days after he does it.” Your breath hitches and there’s a slight churn in the pit of your stomach. 

    Who is this? Where did she come from? Who is she to Taehyung? 

    Why are you hurt? 

    “Eunbi,” Taehyung practically growls as he pushes her hand down. Eunbi pouts, lifting her hands in defeat, shrugging and walking back to his father’s side. “What are you doing here?” He practically trembles. The need to escape; the need to take a hit from his vape; the need to down the lukewarm champagne he’s been holding for the past hour; is strong. He’s afraid he won’t have enough willpower to hold himself back. 

    “I invited her. She’s my date.” Taehyung’s father speaks, taking a sip from his drink, wrapping a protective arm around Eunbi’s waist. 

    Taehyung visibly sucks in a breath, digging his nails into his thighs. “You’re drinking again?” 

    “Only to keep up with appearances.” His father shrugs, taking another sip, sucking in his teeth, winking at Eunbi who fakely giggles at his actions. 

    “So much for staying sober.” Taehyung huffs, looking past his father’s gaze, landing on a couple, hidden behind a column making out. It’s gross and messy but he’d rather experience unsatisfying live porn than get into it with his father again. 

    “Live a little Tae. It’s just one drink.” Eunbi pipes up, smoothing down the lapels of his father’s suit. “You’re familiar with that aren’t you baby?” The tone she uses makes you comfortable. It’s high and mocking with hostility making you wince. 

    Taehyung bites his tongue. He’s really close to breaking. He knows that he is. He can feel the gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach. He can feel it come up his throat. He can’t do it anymore, he’s sure that if he stays another second in front of his father and ex-fiancé he will relapse. And he can’t do that, not when you’re in the room. Not when he’s been sober for years and finally feels like he isn’t suffocating like now. 

    So, he walks away, dropping his flute of champagne, ignoring  the sound it makes as the glass hits the floor. 

    He is upset that he let his guard down. Thinking this night would go differently than all the other nights, only because you were here with him. It’s hot, the sweat starts to form across his hairline. Right now everything is overwhelming. The music is overwhelming. The people around him trying to get his attention is overwhelming. The clickity-clack of your heels, chasing him while you’re calling out your name is overwhelming. Taehyung picks up his pace when he spots the front entrance. He practically runs outside and drops, sitting down when he reaches the final step, putting his head in his head, letting out the choking sob he tried to suppress throughout the entire interaction with Eunbi and his father. 

    “Tae,” Your tiny whisper, makes him jump and he lifts his head. Your face is full of worry and fear as you take a seat next to him. You hug him tightly just like he did with you a few days ago. “I get it now, they’re fucking assholes.” You say, bringing his head into your chest. He doesn’t say anything and just cries. Holding onto you tight. You let him because honestly, you don’t know what else you can do but hold him as he breaks. 

    A year ago, you were drunk with Jiwoo and joked that Taehyung was incapable of crying. He barely gets upset. Tonight, you take those immature thoughts back. Tonight, he’s shown you many of his faces, some more pleasant than others. Tonight, he’s dropped all those faces, unmasked himself in seconds, and finally lets you in. 

    You almost wish he hadn’t. 

    “I-I almost fucked up tonight.” He says through choked sobs. “I-I almost let them get to m-me.” He lifts up his head, tears running down his cheeks fast. Without a second thought, you cup his face, wiping them away with your fingers. “I’m s-sorry Angel, this is the last thing I wanted tonight.” 

    He apologizes, revealing a little part of him to you, but not everything. Scared that if this version of himself hasn’t sent you running yet, then the other one, the drunk, the addict, the man he hates more than his father; will. That’s something he’s terrified to face. He hopes that you didn’t pick up on anything Eunbi was insinuating, because he’s already hurt his friends. He knows Namjoon and Hoseok walk on eggshells around him. That much he can tell by all the times alcohol isn’t present during dinners at either of their places. The last person he wants to hurt is you, because you don’t deserve that at all. You’ve been so good to him for the past three years. You’ve been patient with him as he tries to silently navigate this weird dynamic the two of you have created. And you don’t push him to talk about him like everyone else does. You give him time, and time is something no one has ever given him. Starting with his mother. 

    “You don’t have to apologize, Tae.” You gently knock your forehead against his. “Being in a room full of people pretending to be happy just because they have money is exhausting after a while.” You say lightheartedly, earning a tiny grin from the latter. 

    He’s very much aware, sharing a similar sentiment as you, and it hurts more to know that he’s one of them. He appreciates everything he’s been given in this world, but he learned very early on in life that money doesn’t equate happiness. The room behind him is only proof, especially when it holds the two people he despises most in the world. 

    “Can we go home?” Taehyung sounds small. No, he feels small. The mere thought of you witnessing this makes him cringe, but he knows that with you he’s free of judgment. Your eyes are the biggest indicator, and right now they’re telling him that underneath their gentle gaze he is safe. 

    “Of course, I’ll call us a cab.” 

    Taehyung sleeps soundly with his head in your chest. Light snores escape his parted lips, probably a side effect of his smoking habit that you recently found out about. He looks peaceful, nosing the valley between your breasts as he pulls you closer to his body. 

    Throughout the cab ride home, he didn’t let you go. He had to be touching you in some way. Whether his arm was around your waist, keeping you close to his side. Or his hand in yours as he wordlessly paid the cab driver, and pulled you along to your shared apartment. You have to practically peel him off of you as you try to get ready for bed. He gives you your space. Only a safe distance, watching you take off your make before he offers to do it himself. 

    Taehyung’s touch is gentle against your face. His calloused fingertips tickle your cheeks, massaging the cleanser balm into them. He then peels off your false eyelashes, slightly disgusted, making you laugh. He smiles, it’s the first genuine smile that appears on his face since you left the gala, and it makes the dormant butterflies in your stomach erupt. Once he’s done and you’re free of make-up, moisturized, and sporting a few pimple patches along your chin, he leaves to change. Giving you room to do so as well. 

    Once you’re fully sporting an old t-shirt with a few holes, pajama pants with tiny puppies printed all over them, and lying comfortably in your bed; Taehyung walks in, wearing a navy blue silk pajama set, fidgeting with the drawstrings of his bottoms. 

    “Can I sleep here tonight, I don’t want to be alone.” He swallows, looking down at the floor. “I don’t trust myself to be alone right now.” 

    In seconds you push off the many throw pillows, lying haphazardly on the empty side of your bed. “Yeah, I don’t mind.” You offer, sinking underneath your duvet to hide the heat forming along your neck. 

    He hums, slowly making his way to the side, carefully not to move things out of their respectful place as he encounters them, and lays down. The two of you are staring at the ceiling. A comfortable yet, simultaneously awkward tension flows between the two of you in the air. You hate it so much that you decide to break it. 


    “Eunbi lived with me in Italy, we dated and then I asked her to marry me a year later.” He confesses, keeping his gaze at the popcorn molding of your ceiling. 

    “Oh,” You clear your throat, hoping it hides the slight tear in your heart. Though, you don’t know why you feel this way. This was Taehyung’s life long before you were even in the picture. So, why does it hurt to hear him say that he once promised his life to someone else? 

    You don’t know the answer and you aren’t sure if you want to know the answer to that question. “I’m sorry.” Is all you can offer. 

    Taehyung scoffs, turning his body to face yours, resting his head on the palm of his hand. “Don’t be, she’s a liar, a manipulator, and cheated on me countless times. She was only with me for my money, and whatever fame I could bring her.” He walks his fingers over your bed slowly. Stops when they’re inches away from your body. “Seeing her tonight, especially with my dad, was infuriating. I might not be his biggest fan, but my dad, he’s…he’s not well and I know she will only make things worse for him.” His fingers ghost over the material of your t-shirt, scooting closer to you that you can smell the hint of mint and sugar cookies coming from his breath. It’s somewhat comforting. 

    “I don’t think I have the right words to tell you Tae.” You start, swallowing when he hooks his arm around your waist and tugs you closer to his body. What the two of you are doing is selfish, but it seems like either of you could care less, so you continue. “My parents aren’t angels either, I had to grow up hearing them constantly argue. I resented them for a long time because they’re the reason I don’t trust people easily, and it took me a long time to realize that.” Your arm finds its way around his waist, up to his back until your fingers sink into his hair, causing him to instantly melt against your touch. “And that whatever they were going through wasn’t my fault or my brothers’…” You pause, “Whatever is going on with your father and Evelyn–

    “Eunbi,” He corrects, chuckling. 

    You huff, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, who cares…” You let out a powerful, very obviously annoyed side, before continuing. “Whatever is going on between them, whatever happens to your father because of her and vice versa is not your fault Taehyung. They’re grown-ass adults, responsible for their actions, not you.”  

    The look he’s giving you is unreadable. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, dropping his eyes to your lips. He leans close and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he doesn’t instead he kisses your forehead before dropping his head down and resting it on top of your chest. 

    “You’re amazing, Angel.” He whispers, closing his eyes. His fingers draw abstract patterns along your clothed hip. “Sometimes you feel like a dream…and if you are, please don’t ever wake me up, because facing reality without my best friend by my side would be a nightmare.” He finishes, closing his eyes. 

    The pang in your chest catches you off guard. Best friend? Really? You almost want to scoff, because he sure knows how to make a girl feel insignificant. 

    The implications of a best friend in this scenario are a little belittling. It indicated that anything between the two of you will never be more than just that. The realization hits you hard and you want to get away from him sooner than you would’ve liked. But that was hours ago, he’s been floating in his dreamland since the second he shut his eyes. 

    You’ve been lying awake, eyes adjusted to the darkness of your room as you count the rounds your ceiling fan makes. You’re on the 200th round when he shifts in your arms, lifts his head slightly, and kisses your collarbone before dropping his head back down. It catches you off guard until it settles into a small fire inside of you. Not the good kind. You’re annoyed and you should push him away but you’re afraid that if you do, you won’t ever feel the comfort his embrace provides. 

    It’s complicated, everything about this is so fucking complicated you’re close to having a pop star meltdown. Shaved head and all. It’s so annoying. He’s so annoying. You’re so annoying. But what can you do when you’re in love, other than ignoring all the blaring warning signs appearing all around you? 

    You sink into your bed further, pulling him close, leaving a gentle kiss against his temple. “You’re so stupid Kim Taehyung, why can’t you tell that I love you?” You whisper, sighing and closing your eyes. 

    If this wasn’t your forever, you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. 

    Something inside of you tells you that it won’t last very long.

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  • baekhyyun
    14.01.2022 - 1 week ago

    Never Trust A Meteorologist

    » pairing: bang chan x reader 

    » genre: established relationship, fluff

    » rating: g

    » word count: 412

    » warnings: none

    a/n: damn after a year of saying i’m going to start writing about skz we finally started. 

    Never trust a metrologist, they are never certain about the weather. Chan had the perfect date planned out for you. A picnic at a nearby park with a beautiful garden surrounding the area, endless rows of colorful flowers of different smells all next to each other. Chan was expecting clear skies with the sun shining bright, not dark clouds being accompanied by rain. He checked the weather several times before asking you out, he should have known better. 

    After a year of dating and hearing you talk about the unstable weather from your hometown, he should have figured that the weather would find a way to ruin your plans. Here you are both now standing in the middle of your childhood kitchen looking out the window of the so-called clear sky that you were supposed to have today. 

    “Cheer up babe, we can have a picnic in the living room,” you broke the silence.

    All you heard was a defeating sigh beside you, he knew better to sulk more than there needs to be.

    “Just wanted to give you a nice date, dammit weather,” Chan mumbled under his breath.

    You just laughed at his childish behavior, you tried to make the most of the situation and you appreciated the effort that he put in for this date. Your love always grew each day by the simple acts of love Chan demonstrated to you. You never met someone so self-less, placing someone else's happiness before his own.

    He was truly one of a kind person and you wanted to cherish this man and show him that if plans don’t go as he had hoped for you would still be the happiest no matter what. Grabbing your sulky boyfriend by hand you pulled him into the living room, where you had a few candles lit up. 

    “You know this date is for you and not for me,” Chan pouted even more.

    “I know, but you went through all the trouble in preparing the picnic,” you giggled, “we can’t let all the food you bought us go to waste babe, let's make the most of it.”

    Just by that simple statement, Chan knew that no matter what the weather threw at him, you would always be smiling at him. He knew that needed to see you smile at the end of day to make sure that it never disappeared, you were the serotonin boost that he needed to push himself when he planned future dates. 

    Copyright © 2022 baekhyyun. All rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

    #straykidsland#kdiarynet#kpopscape#kpopsociety#kvanity#ultkpopnetwork#wkcnet#stray kids#skz #stray kids chan #stray kids chris #stray kids fluff #skz chan #skz chan fluff #skz chris#skz drabbles #stray kids drabbles #stray kids chan fluff #skz fluff #stray kids imagines #skz imagines
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