@darling-aries​ requested: Hey! I saw that you are wanting some request? I was wondering if I could request a singer MC who has been put on vocal rest (with possible vocal damage) because of overuse? I have done something very similar to this recently and it is awful. My speaking voice is really hoarse/non-existent if I speak for to long. I also have a cough that won’t go away. I just want some RFA boi comfort… :’( You can decide what RFA character you want to write for. Im not picky!

A/N: hi @darling-aries im so sorry that this request took so long and it’s only two characters T-T my summer has been surprisingly busy but i hope your vocal rest is going well & you’re feeling better!!! this is my fist time writing for these characters so I hope they aren’t ooc ;-; sending good vibes your way and i hope you’re having a wonderful day <3 

Summary:Scenarios of how Zen and Jumin would react with MC on vocal rest!

Warnings: vocal rest but nothing else i don’t think ;3

- Zen - 

- this man knows the struggle

- overused his voice a couple of times after doing too many intense performances in a row

- is willing to have a one-sided conversation while you text him and he talks to you

- whenever you try to talk to him, he’ll scold you just a lil bit

- “I want you to get better, jagiya. Can’t do that if you keep talking.”

- gives you excessive amounts of physical affection to make up for it

- lots of kisses on your throat all in the name of making you feel better

- “This is where it hurts right? I’ll kiss it better!”

-honestly just a cutie i love him T-T

~~~~~

As much as you hated the whole “vocal rest” thing, this was pretty amazing. Zen had decided that, because you couldn’t sing or speak, this would be the perfect time to give you a private performance of his own creation. A medley of all of your favorite songs along with songs you performed before. Your round of applause sounded throughout the apartment. Zen took a deep and over dramatic bow, waving to an imaginary audience. “Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week!” Zen half-shouted, blowing kisses at you. Grabbing a water bottle and plopping himself on the couch next to you, he dragged you on his lap and took out his phone. “How’d I do babe? As amazing as you’d hoped?” he asked, expectantly waiting for your response. Typing out a flurry of praises, a handful of pings came from Zen’s phone. “I see,” he said, drawing out the “e”. “Your favorite part was when I had the least amount of clothes on, hmm?” he teased, pulling you closer to him. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you only like me for my body,” he joked. At your pouting face he let out a loud laugh, the sound of your fast typing in the background. Another ping, your indignance showing clearly through your expression and text message. “Sorry jagiya, you’re just too cute to tease,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he planted a kiss on your neck. 

- Jumin -

- probably more concerned than anything else

- also the silence in the apartment is a little unsettling for him

- you have unlocked “concerned husband”

- has a little furrow in between his brows whenever he hears you cough 

- unintentionally makes you laugh with his bluntness of how rough you sound

- “Your laugh sounds like a dog toy, darling.” 

- buys you all the fancy teas and remedies

- definitely takes off work at least the first day just so he can make sure you’re ok

- just a lil overbearing but it’s only because he wants you to make a full recovery!!!

~~~~~

“Jumin-“

“No darling, you have to drink the tea.”

You love your husband, you promise, but this is ridiculous. The third cup of tea you’ve had today and Jumin is insistent that you drink another. Letting out another painful cough, you grab the pen and paper Jumin had given you and write a quick response and hold out the paper. Reading your refusal to drink the tea, Jumin sighs. “You know I won’t force you, but please take care of yourself.” You nod at him, turning your attention back to the show you were watching. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Jumin typing on his laptop, and check to see what he’s doing. Stifling a laugh, you read the name of the article he’s reading, “Top 10 Best Remedies for Vocal Rest.” Gently tapping on his hand to get his attention, you slowly close his laptop and Jumin looks at you questioningly. Writing out a quick response, you tell him how much you appreciate him taking care of you, but assure him that you’ll be fine. Once Jumin reads your response, he heaves a sigh and grasps your hand in his. “I have been a bit overbearing haven’t I?” he asks you, his brows furrowing a bit in consideration. As you nod, Jumin releases a deep breath and kisses your knuckles. “I just want you to feel better darling. I feel useless not being able to take this pain away.” He looks so sad and dejected, you give him a kiss between his brows to get him to relax. Grasping your hand, he kisses your ring finger once more before asking again, “Can I get anything else for you?”

“Just cuddles,” you wrote, and without another word, Jumin picked you up bridal style and carried you to bed, at peace knowing he’s helping you heal through his warmth and love.

as always feedback is always appreciated!!!

Unsure of what to get Jumin for the holiday season, you seek out advice from V to help solve your problem.

Word Count: 1,583

Happy holidays to everyone – no matter what you’re celebrating I hope today is absolutely amazing for you! Life has been absolutely hectic for me but I’m glad to say I’ve made it to this point and I’m ready for the future, whatever that might bring! Thank you all endlessly for your patience and I hope this little prompt might make up for my constant absence.  (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

———————————————————————————————————–

The holidays were quickly approaching – from one second to the next it was November and December came bursting through your door.  

Usually, that wasn’t a problem for you; you adored seeing the seasons change from the warmth of orange, red, and yellow trees to the coverings of snow over their once lumbering branches, and the holiday lights that would brighten up the world around you more than the very stars in the sky.  

The only issue was Jumin – just what to give him, that is. After all, what could you give to the man who had everything?  

You spent many nights creeping from your husband’s arms in bed to pace nervously about in his office over the topic; plenty of notes scribbled with writing only to be crumpled and tossed away at your dismissal.  

It wasn’t that you weren’t trying – you were. Desperately so. You wanted nothing more than to bring the light in his eyes that he so often brought to you – to give him something heartfelt and touching and new in his life of riches.  

But what on earth could that thing be?  

“I… I want this to be special!” You exclaimed over the phone. Somehow, in the midst of V’s constant travels and supposed work, you’d managed to catch him in a moment of free time. You spent the first few minutes of that free time, thanking him, though, V seemed a tad bit lonely himself – more than happy to accept your earnest, friendly company. “But I… I just don’t know what I could do! Whatever I get him – he could just as easily buy!”  

“You’re right.” V hummed, a tinge of gentle amusement in his voice. “But I think he’d love anything so long as it’s from you.”  

You folded your lips and sighed with a drop of your shoulders. “I know, but I don’t want it to be just anything. Jumin has changed my life in so many wonderful, amazing ways – I found my best friend, my husband – I just want to show him how thankful I am for everything… for him.”  

Red crept onto your cheeks as you fiddled with your wedding ring, a smile spreading across your face in such a way that was easier than breathing.  

“I love him so, so much, and I know he knows that, but I want to show him!”  

V chuckled. “You mean other than the fact that you married him?”  

“Well, I’d marry him all over again if I could!”  

A bright wave of laughter poured in from the other line, and though you couldn’t see V, you could perfectly envision the grin painting his expression.  

“Jumin may not believe in soulmates but the two of you are as close as it comes. In spite of what you may believe, Jumin didn’t always have everything – he only truly gained it when he met you.”  

At your pause he continued, sincerity etched in him like the finest needlework. “He told me that. He does often.”

“Really?”  

V simpered. “Of course.” He thought for a moment, his mind traveling far beyond the phone or where he was. “When we were growing up, the first gift I ever gave Jumin was a painting of where we first met – he was the first person I ever showed my artwork to and… he’d always been supportive.”  

You’d never heard V open up in such a way to you before and you nearly forgot to breathe in your surprise, listening intently.  

“The painting wasn’t encrusted with diamonds or lined with gold but he hugged the canvas so tightly when I gave it to him I worried it’d snap in half!”  

He laughed, and you believed for a moment it might’ve sounded wistful, yearning for a past he could no longer grasp. He was quick to hide it away in an instant, taking in a slow, quiet breath. “The gifts that matter the most to Jumin aren’t the ones that are the most expensive or extraordinary – but the ones that come from your heart. It’s truly the thought that counts most for him.”  

“Thank you, V… that was wonderful.” You spoke softly as if any louder and you might frighten him away. Truthfully, never having seen him so vulnerable might’ve left you a bit clueless, but you tried. “I really do appreciate your help.”  

“I’m more than happy to help. Do you think you have an idea?”  

You nodded, a glimmer of excitement brimming to life inside your chest.  

“Yes, I think I do.”  

And with that, your work began.  

You wrote as if your life depended on it, a never-ending whirlwind of scribbles on paper that left your hand sore and aching like you’d never known.  

But you would’ve done it all over again in a heartbeat. It was worth it. Jumin was utterly worth it.

You just simply couldn’t wait for the holidays to finally arrive.  

And when it did, you were practically bouncing in your excitement.  

Jumin too, took to the festivities with an odd bit of delight anyone else would rarely see. His tie was dotted with snowflakes and he might’ve worn a pair of reindeer antlers on his head – only upon your asking, however.  

“Are you sure it doesn’t look… silly?”  

You pressed a quick kiss to his nose, a few giggles slipping through your voice. “It looks perfect!”  

“You’re too kind, love.”  

“No, I’m just honest.” You took a few steps back and tapped your feet in anticipation, practically antsy. “Are you ready for your present?”  

Jumin had woken you up that morning with his own gifts for you, his expression lighting up with pure joy each time you opened something up. His gifts were surprisingly small and personal – little things he‘d notice your gaze holding or reminded him of you – a new turnaround that he admitted he’d needed a helping hand from the RFA to accomplish.  

You weren’t afraid to admit your heart absolutely melted at the sight of it all.  

And now, it was your turn to do the same for Jumin.  

You scrambled for the box and gave it to your husband hurriedly, a simple box made up of festive stripes and a bright bow settled atop.  

“Go on, go ahead!” You beamed warmly, Jumin chuckling at your eagerness. “I think you’ll like it!”  

“I’m sure I will dear.” 

He fiddled with the box curiously before opening it up, lifting up a leather-bound book, his brows raising intently at the sight of a note written on the very first page. 

“To all the chapters that have yet to be written. I can’t wait to experience them all with you.” 

“When I stayed with you – when you began opening up to me – you told me how much you loved stories, and you read me your favorite,” You reminisced on that time with a fond, wide smile that brought those familiar butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “So I wanted to write my favorite story.” 

Jumin’s lips parted with a gentle, hesitant breath, almost afraid he’d somehow be wrong as he spoke. 

“Is this…?” 

You nodded, biting back a small, sheepish laugh. “It’s our story.” 

As if you hung the very stars themselves, Jumin stared at you in utter and absolute awe. 

Of all the gifts Jumin had received, in all their shapes and sizes, only a few had truly taken his breath away. Even fewer presents had managed to cause his heart to swell. 

Your present, brought his heart to a melting point. 

Jumin began to read the pages in bits and pieces – glimpses of your view of him in the beginning of your days in the RFA  to your wedding night – each word of how your feelings grew and your bond deepened etching that much further inside of him. 

He hadn’t even realized the tears brimming in his eyes until your hands wrapped around his cheeks, your thumbs gingerly wiping away at the teardrops.

“Oh no, no what’s wrong?” Curls of Jumin’s hair became entangled around your fingertips as you brought his expression to you. A sudden wave of panic coursed through you only to mellow at the sight of the warm smile on his face. 

“Nothing is wrong, love, nothing at all.” He chuckled. “I’d even say things are as close to perfect as such a thing can be.” 

“They’re the good kind of tears?” 

“The very good kind.” Jumin mused.”I just remembered how incredibly lucky I am… how incredibly lucky and irrevocably happy I am.” 

He pulled you close, the book kept to his chest as if it’d be a tragedy to ever let go. Your husband’s forehead rested against your own and steadied himself in spite of the slightest tremors in his voice. 

“Thank you… not just for this… but for everything. I truly don’t want to imagine what my life would be without you – I don’t want to imagine any sort of life without you.” 

“You don’t have to! I’m not going anywhere!” You grinned. “We still have all those extra pages to fill up after all!” 

“We might need another book, you know.” 

“And why’s that?” 

Jumin pressed a tender kiss between your brows and eased you into an embrace that like a blanket, you simply enveloped yourself in. There wasn’t a single other place in the world, you’d rather be than right there in his arms, listening as he whispered the answer into your ear. 

“Because I don’t think I ever want our story to end.” 

mystictober day 5: jumin’s birthday / cat

jumin’s birthday + cat

words: 2917

wanna be tagged? dm me/comment!

! the main idea for this piece was given to me by my very epic friend, @galaxytastes! there is an amazing jumin birthday fic my friend also wrote so please check it out ♡

Jumin had been making weird faces at you all morning.

It’s taken almost everything in you to suppress the urge to laugh.

Admittedly, your fiancé was right- you had been acting suspicious. But hey, who could blame you for being excited?

Jumin knew it was his birthday today. That was for sure. If the chatroom flooded with edits of him and Elizabeth along with greetings from the rest of the RFA weren’t enough to remind him, the tender kisses you had woken him up with did the trick. Ever since he had mentioned in passing that he had forgotten his birthday twice, you’ve silently made it your mission to prevent it from ever happening again.

Starting with today.

To be fair, it wasn’t Jumin’s fault that he was always so busy. Busy is good, he remembers his father telling him. What else is a business, if not busy?

Flash forward to several years later, where the CEO-in-line who had been hiding sleep deprivation and fatigue under the guise of good grooming was ambushed by the entire C&R conglomerate standing in his office. The moment he walked in, his body had flinched against his will in response to the chorused greeting of Happy Birthday, Director Han!

Needless to say, Jaehee Kang was promptly given an explicit order never to let anyone in his office, unless it was his father or V.

Today, he stands in the kitchen, watching you make breakfast. The fact that he’s here past 8 in the morning on a Tuesday is a gift in itself- literally. Once you had told Jaehee about your plan, she took it upon herself to clear his schedule for you.

“Think of it as a gift,” she smiles shyly, shrugging a little. “I’ve never known what to give him, nor have I actually wanted to. Not until now.”

That’s what you had told Jumin as he was waking up- that Jaehee had cleared the day for him. Your routine pleas for him to stay were met with indulgence this morning, the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms for as long as you wanted. The rest of Seoul could go on without you.

“Jumin, dear, is there something wrong with the food?” You ask from across the breakfast table, tilting your head a little to sell the act.

“The food is… perfect,” he says slowly, cautiously, as if it were a prelude to something he wasn’t sure of how to say.

“But what do you have in mind for the rest of the day… ?” Jumin asks, neatly setting his utensils down. You smile at him and reach over, offering your hand which he gently takes in his.

“Have you planned anything? I’ve never had much days off, I’m not exactly sure what one should do…” he admits, staring at your joined hands. It’s not just him wanting to know if you had something up your sleeve, no- he didn’t actually know what it is that he wanted to do today. Jumin had planned on going to work today as usual, but all of a sudden he was freed from that obligation. Touched by his small act of vulnerability, your thumb brushes against his knuckles in reassurance.

“You’re lucky you have me then, right?” The corner of your mouth lifts fondly. To that, a little smile of his comes through- the one you’ve fallen in love with. He finally meets your eyes.

“I’ve always been lucky with you, my love,” he says with a little squeeze of your hand. You feel the squeeze in your heart, too.

His knuckles meet your lips one by one as you lean over to kiss his hand. He always took you by surprise, this beautiful man of yours. You never knew how to react to it.

You put the dishes away and return to sit in his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck.

“So what’s gonna happen now is, you and I will get ready, because Driver Kim will be taking us somewhere in an hour.” You explain, absentmindedly fiddling with the hairs on the back of his neck.

He kisses your cheek and sighs. He hated surprises, and he made sure you were well aware of this. Your behavior almost perfectly lined up with the nature of the texts in the chatroom from everyone today.

“Darling, you wouldn’t happen to be taking me to some big party, would you?”

You only giggle and shake your head, hopping out of his lap and making your way towards the bathroom.

“You’ve gotta trust me on this one, okay?” You call out over your shoulder, hand leaning against the doorframe.

“Now, are you going to shower with me or not?”

After the events of the shower, you now find yourself dressed in comfy clothing, Jumin in the same. It was always unusual to see him in anything but a suit, but never unwelcome. Clad in a dark blue sweater and khaki slacks, the sight of him so cozy brings a warmth to your heart. You can’t help it when you lean up and kiss his cheek before holding out his white tennis shoes.

“Sneakers?” he asks, accepting them and sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on.

“I’m sure you can give up your Oxfords for one day, Jumin,” you chuckle, pulling on your own shoes. They looked exactly like his.

With laced fingers, the two of you walk towards the elevator. As you make it inside, your phone pings with a text from Driver Kim, signalling that he was waiting out front.

“Happy Birthday, Mr. Han,” the driver says in greeting, reaching out with both hands to shake Jumin’s. This makes the celebrant laugh softly, his hand happily being squeezed by Driver Kim, his very favorite employee.

“Thank you, Driver Kim,” he says sincerely at the man, who now holds the car door open. Jumin nods once more before climbing into the vehicle after you, a very thoughtful smile on his face. If there was one thing he always appreciated, it was authenticity.

As Driver Kim starts the car and leads you into the city, Jumin speaks to him.

“Where are we headed?” he tries to ask as nonchalantly as he could, disliking the fact that he was clueless at the moment. But all Driver Kim does is shrug helplessly and flash an apologetic smile at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid your fianceé has given me instructions not to reveal our destination.“

He sighs at this, and you only giggle, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t worry, love. We’re almost there,” you offer him a reassuring smile. Before he can make another face, you lean up to kiss his jaw. So Jumin resigns, and instead, settles on combing his fingers through your hair. You secretly wonder if this was a habit he had carried over from showing affection to his cat, but you weren’t complaining. Not at all.

And true enough to your words, within a few minutes, the car slows to a stop somewhere in the Yongsan district. Jumin is visibly confused, unable to guess where exactly you’ve taken him.

“We’ve arrived,” Driver Kim nods curtly at both of you. He goes to escort you out of the vehicle, but you stop him- and you stop Jumin, too, letting yourself out. You smile through the opened door and make a gesture with your hand, giggling.

Jumin feels his eyes grow fond as he looks at you, climbing out of the car. You were so happy. Perhaps… perhaps this was going to be a good surprise.

He doesn’t want to risk ruining your mood by asking if you were at the right place, so he doesn’t. Taking your hand, he chooses to stay silent and follow your lead instead. The exterior of the building didn’t give him any clues as to what was inside, but he spots a few furry felines in one of the windows above, and his suspicion is confirmed the moment you both walk through the doors of the establishment.

Nabiya Cat Shelter, the sign inside reads. He turns to you with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I don’t understand…” he says with furrowed brows. “We already have a cat?”

You only shake your head and approach the employee on duty.

“Hi! Mr. and Mrs. Han, we’re here to view the…” You trail off, not wanting to ruin the surprise but hoping that they understood what you meant. Earlier, you were able to sneak a phone call while Jumin was fixing his hair, so everything should have been in order.

“Ah, yes! Right this way,” they say, leading you and Jumin through the corridors. You smile at him and squeeze his hand in encouragement, gently tugging him along as you walk. Mentally, the man was still stuck replaying the words you said.

“Mr. and Mrs. Han?” his voice is hushed, just for you to hear. You haven’t reached the room yet, but he was already fighting a smile.

“It was easier to explain to them,” you smile sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before you confess. “I like saying it, too.”

His thumb gently brushes against the back of your hand. He couldn’t wait to make you his.

“Here we are!” the employee chirps, bursting the little bubble you were in. “Everything we discussed has been put in place. We hope you find it satisfactory. On behalf of Nabiya, thank you, again.” They say, heartfelt. You smile and shake the employee’s hand, before Jumin does the same- albeit a little unsurely. It isn’t felt in his handshake, no, but you can see it in his face.

When the employee leaves, you turn with your back against the door, obscuring the label from Jumin.

“Okay, so I was figuring out what to give you for your birthday. But then came the question, what do you give a man who can buy anything?” you laugh, and he interrupts your little speech.

“I told you, you didn’t-”

“Ah ah ah!” you tut, holding your palm up in a motion that tells him to stop. “I already did this. I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” you say softly, lovestruck eyes gazing into his.

This is the moment you move away from the door, revealing a sign that says ELIZABETH on it in fancy cursive lettering, a little paw print beside it. To anyone else, it might have looked like any regular paw, but this was Jumin Han- and Jumin Han knew his cat better than anyone else did.

“For your birthday, I made a little donation to this cat shelter in your name…” you begin to explain. The donation was not little by any means, not to this shelter, but you knew that if Jumin himself had made it, he would’ve given way more.

“…and they used the money to build this room and fix it. As you can see, they’ve named the room after our dear Elizabeth the Third,” you gesture to the writing before blindly opening the door behind you, stepping backwards and letting you two inside.

Immediately, Jumin is met with an abundance of cats; a few of them lounging on a cat tree, some sleeping on cat beds in the corner. One lifts its paw and begins to lick it, grooming itself, as if knowing that it should be presentable to the people who just walked into the room.

His previously scrunched brows are now raised in surprised and delight, and now, the smile he’d been fighting had finally made it to his face. The grin only grew wider as he took in his surroundings.

“These are all rescue cats, and here, they get cared for until someone fosters or adopts them!” You say excitedly, closely observing your fiancé’s face.

One of the cats that had been on top of the cat tree jumped down, grabbing your attention. In true catlike fashion, it sauntered over to Jumin curiously, surveying the man with its glowing green eyes. It turns up its nose and blinks at him, as if waiting expectantly. Ever the master of cat language, Jumin crouches down and offers his closed fist, which the black kitten sniffs and rubs its nose against, before proceeding to lick at his knuckles.

“… I think this one likes you,” you sigh happily, bending down with your hands on your knees. He’s still silent, but you don’t mind. This place probably seemed like heaven to him, after all.

Which it was- but not just for the reasons you assumed. To see all these cats in a safe place, knowing it was your doing, your gift, your tribute not only to him but to Elizabeth as well-

He feels like he’s about to burst of love.

Jumin turns to you with a look in his eyes, and with his free hand, he cups your face and carefully pulls you in for a kiss.

“This is absolutely wonderful,” he whispers against your lips before kissing them again. “My love… thank you.”

With his forehead against yours, you take a deep breath, eyes closed as you take it all in.

“Wasn’t just me, you know?” you say knowingly.

“And… Miss Kang?”

“Not just Jaehee either.”

“Tell me,” Jumin sits down and you follow suit, watching him as he lets the cat jump into his lap, his hand now making the same motions that it had been doing to your hair earlier in the car. You chuckle.

“Saeyoung suggested the whole cat thing… but Yoosung helped me find this place, he told me that his friend volunteered here during the weekends. Zen took me here to check up on the progress every now and then while you were out with Driver Kim,” you bite your lip, knowing how he wasn’t partial to the idea of you riding on a motorcycle, but you carry on. “And Jaehee made sure you wouldn’t find out, plus, she’s the reason you’re actually here today.”

There is a strange feeling in Jumin’s chest, one that doesn’t appear very often, but he was familiar enough with it to identify its source. He leans against the wall and looks at you.

“How about… V?”

This is when you reach for his hand, interlocking your fingers with his.

“He helped me with the donation. We split it in two,” you explain before remembering to pull up your phone and look for your conversation with the mint-haired man. Standing up, you follow the instructions in his text message, approaching a curtain and wrapping your hands around the neck of an expensive bottle which you hand to Jumin.

Pour this one out with me tonight?

It reads on the note attached above the label, signed by V himself. Jumin feels warm without having consumed the wine yet, but the message on the bottle makes him look to you for a little help.

You scratch the back of your neck.

“Do you want to come over to V’s house later tonight? Everyone will be there… Only if you want to go though! But I probably should have asked you earlier because Saeran and Vanderwood were already getting all the stuff…” you ramble on worriedly, a little disappointed in yourself that you ended up asking later in fear of ruining the surprise.

He didn’t actually think you’d pay this much attention to how he wanted to spend his birthday. He was aware that you knew he would be content, alone with you, but here you were- giving him the most thoughtful gift he’s ever received, going through all the trouble of organizing him a party, but still giving him the choice whether or not he would attend. The donation alone was special enough, but the fact that you had somehow roped everyone into playing a part…

Jumin’s hand on your thigh cuts you out of your spiraling.

“We can go,” he smiles softly, leaning in yet again to kiss you. The cat in his lap purrs, now asleep. It seems to have grown attached to him already.

And so, later tonight,the bottle of wine that Jumin received from V will be emptied to its very last drop, and everyone will get to see how much of a lightweight Yoosung really is. But right now, he’s surrounded by cats in a room that was built in his honor, sitting right next to the person he loves the most- you.

He’s frozen in his place, watching as you beckon the other cats closer to scratch their chins one by one. When you laugh, he almost swears he sees the light glow around you. Like the brightest, rarest white aura was radiating from you.

“I love you,” he breathes, soft and sure and true. Like it’s the one thing in the world that made sense no matter what.

You grin from ear to ear, blushing.

“I love you too, my Jumin. Happy Birthday,” you say solemnly, content as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“Huh, a happy birthday…” he muses, mumbling into your hair as he presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. He wraps an arm around you and holds you tight, realizing that he was actually happy this year- and there was no doubt about it.

The sound of your giggle makes his stomach erupt with butterflies all over again. You nod against him.

“Mhm. A happy, happy birthday to you, my one and only love.”

divider:@firefly-graphics

NOTE: Nabiya Cat Shelter is an actual shelter in Seoul, you can find their Linktree for PayPal donations and adoptions/applications here, and their Instagram is here. If any of you are feeling the Jumin Han spirit and have a few change to spare, consider donating to them!!

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 3/7 – prev. – next.
pairing: jumin han x f!reader
warnings:n/a
series summary: in the months following the incident with his father’s most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind.
ao3 link

note: it’s been a hot minute. that’s my b. work sux

He takes you to a restaurant.

Not he— actually, his driver does. You sit in the backseat next to Jumin and make contented, jittery small talk about the weather and how each of your days have been. It’s the first conversation you’ve ever had with him past noon.

He’s dressed as he usually is, three piece pinstripe suit and groomed to magazine cover perfection, but there’s something else. You haven’t actually spent that much time looking at him— really looking, not past the brush of your fingers on the sleeve of a coffee cup and morning greetings past the elevator. He holds the door open for you when you leave the car, when you enter the restaurant.

You take a moment to stare— to indulge. He takes the seat opposite you after pulling out your chair, and as he settles himself into that ramrod straight posture he looks like he’s some bygone marvel, set in amber and unknowing for all to see. The lights are yellow and dimmed, they bear down on him and for some reason you can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed by it all.

Jumin acts the perfect gentleman through the drinks and the appetizers and it isn’t until your meal is laid in front of you that you notice him finally start to loosen. He’s attractive, sure, but he’s a lot softer than what the papers say. The magazine opinions and the TV interviews.

“Something on your mind?” He asks finally, and it makes you freeze.

You’ve started loosening too, eased by the good food and expensive wine and the way he sometimes smiles at you like sunlight, if only by the faintest curve of his lips. “Nothing much,” you reply, and his eyes are like the calm before a storm, the darkening of rain clouds and maybe you are a little tipsy. Can’t let him know you’re waxing poetic about him. “You know, I wonder why we haven’t gone out before.”

“I have a very busy schedule,” Jumin interjects, and he leans a little further towards the table. Towards you.

You let out something of a laugh, half exhale and half chuckle. “I wasn’t aware that petting your cat in the darkness of your penthouse warranted a time slot.”

“Well. Do you plan on earning one of your own?”

“I’m very competitive.” You tell him, “And I’d hate to have to compete with a cat.”

“I’d say she’s worth it.” Jumin says, and it’s with such fondness that you almost forget he’s talking about his cat. It’s one of those oddly endearing things about him. Like the small talk he sometimes struggles to make and the way he still glances at his phone wearily as if expecting periodic advice from it.

Maybe that’s where he gets his ideas.

-

The next idea is yours, of course, and it’s three hours of conversation at a coffee shop. The atmosphere is softer here, softer in the way he holds himself and the way he talks. He still shows up in a dress shirt and slacks, but it’s less than usual and that’s enough for you.

Here he tells you about his family. About his cat and his friends, about the RFA, the advice that he does actually get from his phone. The way that admittedly he doesn’t drive much, nor does he cook very often. He likes embroidery, which is something that comes up sometime during the iced Americano and after a second blueberry scone. It isn’t something that he’d inherited or taken up out of desperation, something all his own. He seems very proud of it.

In turn, you tell him about your family and your friends, where you went to school and where you grew up. The way your hobbies have grown over the years and the way you’d never really expected to be having this— thing between you, much less this conversation.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, in reference to ‘this thing.’ It’s a plain statement but there’s something deeper in his tone that says maybe he was expecting to hate it. You don’t question it any further.

“I don’t hate it either,” you say. “I’m still expecting you to slam that door in my face one of these days.”

“It will look like the perfect accident,” he quips, and then you laugh and there’s a returning smile on his face that makes you think you really, really don’t hate this.

“Really though, how long did you hold that door open before you realized I work with C&R? It’s your company, damnit.”

Jumin shakes his head a little, as if warding off the memory. “That’s all my fault, I suppose. I make it a point not to pay too close attention to that… end.”

“I’m offended. Ouch. Look, you’ve wounded me.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.” He smiles a little, hesitates before resuming. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, if that’s your implication.”

You wave it off with a shrug. It still kinda stings, but curiosity bites at you more fervently than any kind of insecurity about your day job. “What’s it got to do with, then? Or who, I guess.”

Jumin scoffs. “Women.”

“Yeouch.”

“That isn’t— you aren’t—”

“Jumin. I know.” You’re ready to laugh it off, but there’s a deeper kind of trouble in his eyes. It makes the grin at your lips ebb, and you reach a hand out across the table, an olive branch.

He stares at it, as if worried. “I didn’t mean that you—”

“Would you tell me about it?”

He reaches out then. You think— you hope— it’s the first of many where he’ll do this, in all confidence and uncertainty. It makes you wonder how many times he’s been given the opportunity to reach out, to reach back to a hand willing to listen.

His hand is kind of cold, not quite so calloused and probably moisturized regularly with some luxury brand lotion. There’s a joke dying at the back of your throat about that, but you figure that isn’t really important right. Jumin looks down at your hands, one on the other, and then he talks.

His relationship with his father from what you’ve seen and what you’ve heard is mostly good, but it makes him so worried. There’s this crease between his brows that you want to press flat with your fingers, borne out of a concoction of worry and love for his father and it permeates him like an ominous cloud as he talks over the incident that had happened earlier that year.

Every gay rumor you’ve ever heard about him is starting to come together like some sad, convoluted tabloid puzzle.

Jumin finishes his story, falling action, and he almost sounds insecure about it all, about being manipulated and forced into his father’s impulses— overt in some hindered tone that he takes like he’s trying to defend himself with it.

“I’ve— I am not a relationship person.” Jumin says. “I don’t believe I am.” He squeezes your fingers just slightly, trying to cement the feeling as he looks back at you. “I hadn’t wanted to be.”

This is also the longest you’ve ever had any kind of physical contact with him. It’s soft and mundane, easy like another routine you wouldn’t mind committing to memory. “Well, what now?” It’s much quieter than it had been before, silence like a blanket.

“I worry that I’m going to end up like him,” Jumin confesses. “What makes it any different?”

“I think everyone worries about becoming their parents at some point,” you say, and he doesn’t look very reassured by it. “That’s the first part of– of healing, though, isn’t it? Coming to terms with your dad’s habits and then wanting out of that cycle.”

“He wants romance just like any other person, I think.” Jumin says. “I couldn’t tell you why those women were all….”

“Like that?”

He lets out a noncommittal hum. “Like that.”

“I’m different though,” you say confidently, and it’s meant to come out as a joke but he nods in agreement so quickly it gives you whiplash.

“You are.”

“You too,” you say, sort of brokenly, but it slips out and you’re not quite sure what you meant by it.

Neither is he, apparently. He asks, “How so?” and it makes you shrink a little in your seat. He’s tracing patterns on the back of your hand and you zero in on it so intensely that you notice the neat trim of his nail beds.

“I dunno,” you confess. “I was kind of thinking you’d just be a distant work crush forever. This is different from that, it isn’t… it’s not Hallmark, you know? It’s good-different.”

“Good-different?”

“Good. Different.”

“That’s good.”

“Good.” Jumin smiles kind of crookedly at you, so small and human and real that it makes your head spin. He kisses your knuckles then, looking up at you, just barely brushing them with his lips. And you figure that’s the end of that.

-

From there it’s weeks of sideways smiles, of good and different and patterns on the back of your hand, the small of your back. Like a special secret to be let in on.

You ask him about an art exhibit next, pinky-finger in his between murals and portraits and sculptures, tugging him closer by the arm. It’s more comfortable than anything, the heady rush of being near him and around him. The humdrum of it all, the way it warms you to your fingertips, to the apples of your cheeks and the temple where he kisses.

You find his affinity for physical affection at a wine tasting the following week when he nudges at your hand the fifth time since arriving, standing so close that your knuckles brush and you can feel the warmth of him beside you.

It’s a crackling edge at rose colored glasses every time he does, the way he leans into you and you into him. And the only singular, striking thing about all this is its ambiguity– the label you’ve never bothered to give it.

However good and different it is, every time you talk about him to other people it comes like ad-lib: Jumin,the guy I’m seeing, the one who gets me coffee in the mornings, or sometimes just him. Whatever label the two of you are supposed to have, he’s never mentioned it directly to you or vice versa and it makes you wonder if there should have been something to follow his “not a relationship person” remark, dialogue that feels like a lifetime ago.

Maybe he’s scared.

Maybe he thinks it’s implied.

Maybe it’s because you still work together?

And in all truthfulness you realize “all of the above” might also be a viable answer. But you’re a couple to all eyes but each other’s, the dates and the casual intimacy and the ground swallowing you whole whenever he smiles at you in that way he does, the way your name rolls off his tongue like Catholic prayer, more devout than he ever was growing up.

He gives you gifts, too. Lots of them.

It might be a Pavlovian sort of response, or so you’ve garnered. He gets lots of gifts himself, whether they’re from his father or from companies looking for his sponsorship, co-workers and the like. He buys you things like eventually he’s gearing up to give you the world; the moon and stars on a string of pearls. It’s a good feeling, knowing that you are cherished and thought of, the glint in your eye while you’re window shopping with your hand in his or a personal interest that you’ve mentioned offhandedly, excitedly, while Jumin makes note of it.

But you’re starting to get a little fed up.

You spend the afternoon at an arcade, shuffling between new VR sets and old time-y joystick games (he seems to be very good at Q*bert and little else). It’s a quiet drive home past the occasional comment about how many times you’d beaten him in multiplayers, the coincidentally cube-like shapes he’s tracing into your palm in the backseat. Jumin opens the car door for you, walks you to your home and suddenly– very suddenly it’s like he’s crowding you against the door and you haven’t even stuck the key in.

“This was nice,” you say into the crook of his neck, hoping and praying this goodbye hug lasts longer and longer. He smells like expensive cologne and cheap arcade nachos and the juxtaposition is enough to have you grinning even now.

“It was nice until you started going power hungry about your win count,” he whispers back, hand soothing along your back. You laugh softly, tipping your forehead to knock against his chest. He sits his head atop yours like routine. Like it’s easier than rainfall, easy like breathing.

“I think that’s just because you suck.”

“You could stand to have a little decorum, you know.” He leans down for a second, kisses the top of your head, and resumes. “I don’t know how much more public humiliation I can stand.”

Your breath hitches as if to say something, but then Jumin pulls back just far enough to get a good look at you. The way he looks at you isn’t new, like an earth shattering mundanity– it’s tangible and bright in the palm of your hand.

He looks like he’s going to kiss you.

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 2/7 – prev. – next.
pairing: jumin han x f!reader
warnings: n/a
series summary: in the months following the incident with his father’s most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind.
ao3 link

note:sticking a read more right at the beginning. u kno how it is. thank you for sticking around i’ll try my best to keep updates within a week or so!

(weeks prior.)

Jumin Han has entered the chatroom.

Jumin Han

She talked to me today.

ZEN

??

Who?

707

She??

There’s a she?!

Jumin Han

Oh.

I must have neglected to mention it.

ZEN

????

Last time there was a “she”…

Jumin Han

… No.

There’s a woman at my office.

Jaehee Kang

Does she work for you?

Jumin Han

Yes

707

That took an awfully long time for you to type lolol

Are you sure~~

Jumin Han

Yes. She wears a lanyard.

Jaehee Kang

Do you not know her name??

Jumin Han

I should think it would seem impolite after… all that.

Jaehee Kang

???

ZEN

?????

All that WHAT?

Jumin Han

I only caught a glimpse of her lanyard. I don’t know.

ZEN

Dodged my question… T_T

Jaehee Kang

Is this that woman you see in the mornings?

Jumin Han

How did you ….

ZEN

?!?!

707

Is our Jumin finally getting some?!

I’m so proud. Haha T_T

Jumin Han

Getting some… what?

Jaehee Kang

I can look into her.

For research purposes. Of course^^

Jumin Han

;;;

I only just started seeing her this month.

At the door. Seeing her at the door.

707

Seeing her OTL

Maybe she’s your future lover come to save you^^

Jumin Han

I doubt that.

ZEN

Yeah lolol

I doubt it too

And right after the Choi thing?? No way.

707

T_T

Ur right

There’s no way…

-

“Do you play video games, Mr Han?”

That’s a new one. “Where would I find the time?” He asks, thinking of Yoosung. “It’s a useless hobby.”

“That was a quick answer,” you reply. “Who hurt you?”

Jumin raises a brow, inquisitive. “No one.”

“Okay,” you say, the beginnings of a grin playing on your lips. “Who ruined video games for you?”

He thinks of the dark smudges under Yoosung’s eyes, the awful typos and the messages at 3am. It’s only a little funny. The door closes behind them. “No one in particular.”

“You’re smiling, Mr Han. Just a little.” You smile too at this, tilting your head in that curious way of yours. When you reach the lobby and then your separate ways, Jumin spares a glance at you.

He wants to say something more, something lodged very deep in his throat that comes out dry breath. He’s never been too good at small-talk, not with colleagues, not with business outside of work. He wants to be, just a little.

He’s not quite sure how that came to be.

-

It’s beyond embarrassing the way he comes up to you in the cafeteria. “You work here,” he says, a very belated realization.

You blink a few times, as if processing. “Yes,” you say slowly. “I have a lanyard.” You wave the offending item around and Jumin finally, finally catches a glimpse of your name.

“I see,” Jumin says, because that’s all he really can say. “Work hard.”

He consults his phone right away, willing the heat from his face and opening the messenger app. It goes as well as expected when he mentions it so vaguely– Hyun rags on him for his lack of conversational skills and Yoosung drops a line or two about his own miserable love life. In any case, Assistant Kang’s information on you had only reached him earlier today and in a way he’s still coping. It had been baffling to say the least, finally having everything in front of him rather than scattered in the bits and pieces of your dialogue.

You work, technically, in the same position Assistant Kang does. Only in the fashion department, of which Jumin had strategically ignored after Echo Girl and the Chois. It really isn’t his fault he hadn’t noticed you– not since before this month when you began arriving so consistently.

“Something on your mind?” Assistant Kang asks, looking up from where she’s shuffling through a stack of papers. It isn’t unusual for her to break the silence with a quip– she’s always been good at easing into a mode of conversation that takes the edge off. As a good assistant and employee should, of course. Jumin wonders if he should relay this to her.

“Nothing,” he says instead, because surely she already knows. “Is it polite to bring gifts for someone you’re sure you will be seeing every morning?”

She raises a thin brow. “Who– that woman at the fashion department?”

Jumin deigns not to answer right away, looking down at the state of his nails and the tick of his wristwatch. “Surely there must be some etiquette about that.”

-

Jaehee Kang

Buy her coffee.

ZEN

Get her a promotion lol

707

A new car!!!

Yoosung★

Maybr a nicce pen

??

-

“Any favorite TV shows?” You ask one morning. “Personally, I’m fond of office romances.”

Jumin lags for a moment, waiting to catch up. It isn’t an unusual occurrence. “Is that an innuendo?”

You smile, a little flushed-looking, and wave a hand. “Nope. Not at all.” When you look at the second coffee in his hand, though, it seems you need a second to catch up yourself. You’d mentioned offhandedly how you take your coffee the day before, and today something had stopped him at the threshold of the coffee shop he stops at every morning. Funny how things work like that.

“This is for you,” he says determinedly, and you smile a little but there’s still an edge.

“You dodged my question.” You state simply. Jumin does not know what to say.

He thinks about it for a moment, really thinks about it. The only thing that really comes to mind are the Sunday morning programs, and he doesn’t really know them off the top of his head. Maybe the morning news. “No TV shows. Next question.”

“Okay then,” you say, “Any pet peeves?”

Jumin smiles a little. It isn’t really conscious, but he’s finally figured out a way to respond and he just hopes it takes well. “Women who stop me at the door in the morning.”

“Oh,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. You hum appreciatively. He feels strangely, indirectly accomplished. “Shame. Mine’s men who give me three word responses when I ask them things.”

He scoffs, although it isn’t as hard as it usually comes out. “I answered that in a sentence.” He says, very assuredly. When he looks back at you there’s a softer smile at your lips, rounded at the corners and not quite so mischievous as he’s seen it look before. It looks fond.

“I know,” you reply. He feels a little warmer now, turning the corner where you two part ways. You offer him a two-fingered salute, a “See you in the morning!” and a final turn.

And then you’re gone.

-

The next time the conversation lingers long past the lobby it’s because you’ve coaxed him into talking about Elizabeth III. There’s a point where you’ve reached the elevator and he’s talking to you about her care routine and the minutiae of what it takes to keep her fur so soft and pristine (much of it is her own work and her natural beauty– of course) and he’s only barely aware of how long he’s been going on, but he pauses to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, between Jaehee’s hesitancy and Luciel’s rabid praise and Hyun’s outright disgust–

But there’s something about the way you’re looking at him when he’s finished, curiouser and half-curved into a smile. And he’s been on the receiving end of that before– his father’s lovers, interviewers and subordinates– but none of them have ever seemed so affectionate.

He’s seen the same look before when it’s Jaehee with a new photocard, the way Yoosung danced around Rika. It’s the glint in Luciel’s glasses when he gets to working and it’s something, something.

You look like you’ve seen something beautiful.

Which is understandable to him, really, having just shown you pictures of his Elizabeth III. What he understands less is the way you’re looking at him and not the open phone, caught up in a silence that seems way too heavy for a conversation about his cat. Even when the elevator dings it’s with some trepidation that you leave first, a memory, a discovery pulled taut between you two.

“I hope I get to meet her sometime,” you say.

Jumin nods, wordless. The delight on your face at such a simple gesture fixates itself in the forefront of his mind until he returns home to Elizabeth, flickering like hell and unbidden and unexpected but not exactly unwelcome. It’s just as confusing to him as it sounds on paper.

-

Somehow Jaehee gets to you first.

For all the time he’s spent working with Jaehee, working around her and in her general proximity, he doesn’t actually know what time she gets into the building. She seems like an inevitability, something constant and fixed and always there.

So when he holds the door open for two women, Jumin is feeling like he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Especially since the two of you seem to be chatting so jovially, shaking her hand with both of yours when you go to part.

There’s another something clogging his throat, a cloying want and a halfhearted desire to draw that same laugh from you, that same open brightness. He hasn’t let himself feel so much about one person– one particular and fixed point in his life. Jumin feels like he’s chasing– some feeling, some unnamed ball of fire– a meteor, blazing and brilliant and too much to be real.

It’s too much to be compared to anything else, not when Sarah Choi was an unlit match next to what a beaming bonfire you are. Suddenly Jumin feels more tightly wound than he usually does.

And really, truly, it feels like a lot to handle, so he turns on his heel after silently handing you the coffee and begins to march. It feels like karmic debt for not having experienced these things as a schoolboy, and then only once as an adult. He doesn’t even know if the one time counted.

“Mr Han–” you say, and it happens at the same time he holds his breath to turn again. Just to look, to see if you appeared as off kilter as he felt. Maybe the world had rotated wrong today.

You stop there in your tracks and he really does believe for a moment that the world has gone astray– because then it would explain the way air isn’t getting to his lungs right. He inhales just to make sure and before any other dialogue comes from your lips he asks, “Walk with me?”

You both take the elevator then.

-

Jaehee Kang

She’s a very nice woman.

Yoosung★

Huh?

707

U met her?!?!!

Tell me everything

-

It makes your mornings longer, the introduction of the elevator route. He isn’t sure how it became mutual agreement and routine, the same way the cup of coffee steams in your hands and the way you ask after Elizabeth III. The way the door gets held open.

Jumin isn’t sure how many mornings go by, how many of them are spent dreading the chime of the elevator, but one of them brings a much quieter you. And you’re usually such a whirlwind of life, pulling him toward and towards you– he’d be lying to himself more than usual if he said he wasn’t worried.

You look like you’re steeling yourself too, and you’ve never done that– there isn’t a thing you’ve said to him that was measured or prepared. You’re kind of like an overexcited puppy, and he’s never been too fond of dogs.

He feels something slide out of place, something like a realization that’s far grander than he knows, hovering at the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know what it is yet, not really. He’s barely out of his head, ready to ask if you’re alright–

And you cut him off. Like you did that first morning, knocking the breath from his lungs and everything else out of place. Jumin likes things neat and tidy, likes things where they should be, where he’s used to seeing them. You aren’t too good for him, he thinks.

Then you ask, “Would you want to go out sometime?” And he has no reference materials and no forewarning and no prepared response. The odds are against him.

So against all odds and every simmering nerve in his body he says, “Yes.”

tags:@vandysgf@mrs-han

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 1/7 – prev. – next.
pairing: jumin han x f!reader
warnings:n/a
series summary: in the months following the incident with his father’s most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind.
ao3 link

note: office romance slowburn. featuring hallmark tropes and bad flirting. enjoy the ride. hop into my inbox for a tag if you’re interested though! kiss kiss.

-

You don’t mean for it to happen the first time.

Considering the state of your routine and your general efficiency (required when it comes to a job at C&R) it’s easy to say that showing up early is an ingrained habit. It had happened a few times too many when you’d first started working and just sort of stuck. However.

It’s thirty minutes past schedule when you wake up in a state of panic, rushing and grabbing for clothes and keys and wallet before stumbling out the door.

But for as much as you’d worried, it all turns out fine. You’re still on time, a nice man holds the door open for you–you don’t think you’ve seen him before, or maybe you’re so distressed your brain doesn’t recognize the face–and there aren’t any consequences. You don’t get yelled at. You aren’t behind. Really, you should have overslept more often.

So the next day you set your alarm a little later than usual and allow yourself to sleep. It goes much smoother than the day before and you still make it on time, looking much better than you had 24 hours prior. The same man–you think– holds the door open for you, and you glance back to smile and thank him.

Except you really must have been too stressed to notice because the man you’re staring at is the executive director and immediate heir to C&R.

Your smile falls.

And then you choke out a noise of gratitude that’s supposed to sound like “Thanks,” but the shock in your voice turns it to audible mush. Mr. Han only hums in return and walks past you with all the dignity and poise of a seasoned Calvin Klein model. Your heart hammers with a startling lucidity at the surprise of it all but it isn’t anything that you think much of, so you make it back to your desk on time and it’s all fine, it’s all fine. It isn’t until about an hour later that you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve seen him so close in person.

Not that it matters, of course, but then it does - because it happens again.

And again, and again.

The routine continues for about a week: the “thank you,” the hum of a response, and no further conversation besides that at the door. You’ve gotten to catch longer glimpses of him as this routine has gone on, the shine of his hair, this grey of his eyes, but there’s something that intrigues you infinitely more. You haven’t gotten him to smile and it nags at you, incessant. So you’re determined to do it now.

You crack a joke about his consistency the next time you see him, a smile playing coy at your lips. He just hums again. Killjoy.

“What?”

“What?” You ask, turning on your heel. His voice is much deeper than in the press interviews.

“Were you calling me a killjoy?”

“Not intentionally, no.” You quip back, face feeling hot. You turn again and begin walking back, nursing the humiliation you can already feel pricking at your nerves. “Have a nice day, Mr. Han.”

You think he says something like “You too,” but you wouldn’t notice it over the rush in your ears.

That went well.

-

Another day passes, another routine, rinse and repeat. He doesn’t seem bothered by yesterday’s incident, so you’re planning to talk to him again tomorrow, just to give it a day in between. It’s going to get annoying soon, but he’s neither fired nor closed the door in your face so in all situations, it really is a win-win.

Jumin Han opens the door for you, wordlessly as ever. You spare a glance at him.

“I’d considered arriving late just to get a reaction out of you, and then I realized that I wouldn’t even be there to see it.” You quirk your head in wait, watching as the corners of his lips twitch into an unwitting smile.

Mirth is very becoming on him, you realize. Oh no.

“I’m sure it would be quite the sight, Miss.” He replies, that same almost-smile creasing a dimple into his cheek. When he nods his good morning and walks off to the tippity-top of the C&R building, all the office lights seem a little brighter in the wake.

You shake yourself from your musings and an intern is already brushing past you in their hurry to return to their place– wherever that may be, and it reminds you to do the same. C&R International, with all its focus on exports, has a wide breadth when it comes to fashion. Having directed several of its projects, you know this firsthand. You also know that when your schedule isn’t filled to the brim, everything else seems like busywork.

For the first time in a few months you feel like a regular, 9-to-5 office worker.

Additionally, this means that you’ve returned to being hyped up on watery coffee all the time. The building’s cafeteria is a modern marvel in and of itself, overpriced as its food may be. Your break is just long enough for you to catch two-thirds of a meal and a conversation if the mood strikes, otherwise a whole meal and a moment to catch up on social media. Having just passed the two-thirds-meal mark, you’re surprised to see someone else approaching your seat.

Funnily, horribly enough, it’s Mr Han himself, who’s looking at you with the same unbidden curiosity that a child might grant a particularly fascinating caterpillar.

“You work here,” he says, without greeting. It’s an innocent enough statement.

Did he not know? That you work here? Was he under the impression that you’d just started showing up for his own personal amusement and one-sided banter at the beginning of the month?

“Uh,” you say. “Yes.”

He blinks at you. You think for a moment that he might fire you on the spot. You don’t know why.

“I have a lanyard,” you say dumbly, holding it up. You wave it around a little. Mr Han nods, looking professional as ever. “I see,” he says. “Work hard.” And then he leaves, Italian leather on polished marble and all. You still need to finish the rest of your salad.

-

It’s almost ironic, the fact that you arrive late the next day.

After the strange half-encounter with Mr. Han, you’ve given yourself a moment of contemplation. Surely if the man hadn’t given a second thought to you besides your shared mornings– not even a minute, besides– then there wouldn’t be any point in pursuing him any further. He hadn’t even realized you worked there, not really.

Office romances never work out, anyhow.

You don’t even know if it was an office romance that you were pursuing in the first place. Perhaps it would have been nice, just to have another friend at work. Not that you were lacking, only that everyone had already seemed to settle in their routines and you’d been so busy, and well. Some things work out that way, and it’s not like you’re awful at small talk.

You’re running to the door of the office building, shoes clacking noisily against the pavement. You have to open the door for yourself this time.

“I thought you were kidding about arriving late to see my reaction.”

You think your neck just about cracks with the speed you turn to the noise. Mr Han stands not two meters from you, head tilted curiously in that same innocent wonder. He looks sort of sheepish, though you can’t quite figure why.

“I’m, uh–” You stare at him then, really take him in. Nothing comes. “I’m late for work.”

His eyes widen a fraction. And then he starts chuckling, softly, and it’s petrichor after rain, a deep tenor from low in his throat that has you suddenly, instantly warm. It isn’t much, not really.

But then you start laughing too, familiar and gleeful and it’s almost like you weren’t having a deep monologue about him that spanned most of last night. When you meet his eyes again, warm like the earth, it’s enough to boil hope in you, sunlight spilling over.

You don’t know for what yet, but you figure it’s something you’d like to find out.

-

tags:@vandysgf@banenaz@mrs-han thank u!

do yall like mystic messenger. are we still into that. because i have a jumin han draft and i do not know if it’s worth it to post as a series

it’s a romcom-y sort of office romance! here’s the synopsis:

In the months following the incident with his father’s most recent paramour, Glam Choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind.

(Canon divergence where MC doesn’t get led into the chatroom by Unknown.)

snippet after the cut!

The same man–you think– holds the door open for you, and you glance back to smile and thank him.

Except you really must have been too stressed to notice because the man you’re staring at is the executive director and immediate heir to C&R.

Your smile falls.

And then you choke out a noise of gratitude that’s supposed to sound like “Thanks,” but the shock in your voice turns it to audible mush. Mr. Han only hums in return and walks past you with all the dignity and poise of a seasoned Calvin Klein model. Your heart hammers with a startling lucidity at the surprise of it all but it isn’t anything that you think much of, so you make it back to your desk on time and it’s all fine, it’s all fine. It isn’t until about an hour later that you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve seen him so close in person.

Not that it matters, of course, but then it does - because it happens again.

And again, and again.

The routine continues for about a week: the “thank you,” the hum of a response, and no further conversation besides that at the door. You’ve gotten to catch longer glimpses of him as this routine has gone on, the shine of his hair, this grey of his eyes, but there’s something that intrigues you infinitely more. You haven’t gotten him to smile and it nags at you, incessant. So you’re determined to do it now.

You crack a joke about his consistency the next time you see him, a smile playing coy at your lips. He just hums again. Killjoy.

“What?”

“What?” You ask, turning on your heel. His voice is much deeper than in the press interviews.

“Were you calling me a killjoy?”

“Not intentionally, no.” You quip back, face feeling hot. You turn again and begin walking back, nursing the humiliation you can already feel pricking at your nerves. “Have a nice day, Mr. Han.”

You think he says something like “You too,” but you wouldn’t notice it over the rush in your ears.

That went well.