#arrow 100 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tenelkadjowrites · 2 years

Text

Arrow in the Dark - Part One: Money - Seonghwa x Reader

PART TWO HERE.

💸 Summary: Your quiet life of working at a convenience store is upended when ultra wealthy Seonghwa convinces you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night in order to fool his parents.

💸 Word count: 11k

💸 Genre and warnings: wealthy seonghwa. fem pronouns for reader. fake dating trope. depictions of emotionally manipulative parents. there is no smut in this part - parts two and three will have it.

💸 Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @multihoe-net - @spiderrenjunfics - @whatudowhennooneseesyou - @jess-1404 - @just-here-to-read-01 - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @talkbykhalid - @rdiamond2727 - @dreamtof0rget - @8tinytings - @xirenex - @meowmeowminnie - @revehosh - @nevieatiny - @nirvanawrites111 - @madamdionysia - @a-tiny-teez - @idunnowhatonameit - (sorry if i forgot anyone, i’m horrible with tags.)

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

The street is laced with puddles reflecting the city lights back at you through the rain streaked window. Your chin rests in the palm of your hand, staring at the small restaurant across from the convenience store that you work at. Half of the sign is burnt out, the other half flickering, and the water droplets falling down the window distort it just a little.

A customer who has been milling in the back debating what ice cream flavour to purchase for ten minutes finally meanders their way to the counter, holding a pint of vanilla. All that time and that’s what they settle on, you think, scanning the item and telling them the amount owed.

As they rummaged for their wallet, the door to the store opens and a man steps inside. Having worked here for a couple of years, you know the regulars by now and he is one of them. The designer coat is a clear indication he lives at one of the fancy apartment complexes just down the street. The convenience store is on the cusp of the financial district and occasionally rich people dart inside to grab something and leave quickly. He always takes his time, checking each aisle as if something new might appear.

The customer with the vanilla ice cream mumbles a thank you and leaves, their fingers gripping the container so hard that you wonder what sort of day they’ve had if that is their lifeline. Now it is just you and the rich guy.

It is nearing midnight and your shift is almost finished. The tinny music that plays over old speakers is background noise to you, easily filtered out. When you first started working here, the fluorescent lights gave you a headache. You are used to that now as well. The shop is small, unremarkable, but in a good location and always has steady business. You know every object on the shelf. Comforting and depressing at the same time.

The man ducks his head, grabbing a few items off the snack aisle before walking up to the counter. He is tall, high cheekbones, not a blemish on his skin. Wearing all black, with light blonde hair, he looks as if he stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Of course, that’s easy to do when you have money.

You scan the items, tell him the total and wait. The man pulls out a Gucci wallet, removes some cash and hands it to you. His fingernails are painted black. That’s new, you think absentmindedly. When he popped in last week, his nails had been bare of any polish.

“You’re short.” You say after counting, tapping the counter.

“What?” It is the first time you have heard him speak and his voice is deeper than you would have expected.

“The total,” You say, waiting for it to click that you aren’t insulting his height, “You’re short. See?”

He glances downward at the money on the counter, his brows furrowed before opening his wallet again and fishing out more cash. You finish the transaction and he leaves without another word.

*

The next night, to your surprise, Rich Guy returns. He is wearing slacks, dress shoes, and a button up black shirt as he looks at the beer selection. There are two other people in the shop this late, a giggling couple with their heads bowed together as they look at the snack foods. You glance at the clock. Just ten more minutes and your shift is done.

Someone’s phone goes off, cutting through the music from the speakers and a low voice answers. You turn your attention to the window, watching yet another night of steady rain. The couple goes to the counter with a random assortment of items waiting to be purchased. After ringing them up, they leave, cozying up to each other as the rain takes them.

“No, I told you that isn’t needed,” The voice says, floating over to the register, “I’m bringing someone.”

It’s Rich Guy talking, you realize. He sounds on edge. Maybe he always sounds like that. It isn’t as if you sit and chat with him all the time. Yesterday was the first time you heard him speak.

“I’m bringing my…girlfriend,” He hesitates on the word before going on, his voice growing louder as he approaches the register, “So, please listen to me and cancel whatever you had planned.” He stops in front of you, putting down a few energy drinks, having apparently decided against the beer. “I have to go.”

Rich Guys hangs up the call as you ring up the items. Of course someone like this would have a girlfriend. He probably has twelve of them all around town, competing for his attention and money. Does he switch to a different one each night or…

Suddenly acutely aware of Rich Guy staring at you, your hand falters scanning one of the drinks, glancing upwards at him. He even looks handsome in this horrible lighting, some part of your brain thinks.

“You’ve worked here awhile, right?”

For a split second, you wonder who he is talking to before it sinks in. “Me?” You ask, a little thrown. When he nods, you reply, “Uh, yeah. A couple of years now.”

“Do they pay you well?” is his follow up question.

You wonder if the frown shows on your face. What a weird question, you think. If Rich Guy is having some sort of mental crisis in the convenience store about giving up his wealth and trying to live a “regular” life, you aren’t sure you can handle that right now.

“Uhm. It’s a convenience store job,” You say slowly, “So…” You give him the total for the energy drinks.

But it is as if he hasn’t heard you. Something is spinning in his head, pieces coming together for some problem that must be floating around in his life. What sort of problems did someone like him have, anyway? You couldn’t fathom it.

“Why don’t you get a different job?” He asks.

You picture tossing the energy drink at his head but manage to restrain yourself. You aren’t even sure why you keep replying to his invasive questions. “All retail jobs are the same.” You fight the overwhelming urge to add the word dude to the end of the statement just because you doubt anyone has called Rich Guy a dude before.

The answer seems to quell whatever is going on in his head because he falls silent, handing you some cash. Giving him his change, your hand brushes against his. His skin is soft, almost unnaturally so, probably because he buys high end lotion or something.

Rich Guy leaves without another word, the rain swallowing him up. You shake your head when he leaves, thankful your time here tonight is finished.

*

Your shift wraps up a couple minutes later and you step outside, ducking under the overhang to try to find your umbrella in the bag. The rain is steady and has been for some hours now. The puddles glow from the lights and the gasoline run off. In the distance, a group of drunk people laugh loudly, exiting a bar. You wish you took your bicycle this morning but the tire popped a couple days ago and you cannot afford a new one at the moment. It’s fine, just a twenty minute walk back home to your place and then –

“Excuse me?”

Startled, you jump, looking to the right of you. Rich Guy from earlier is standing under the overhang, one hand on his bag of energy drinks, the other gripping his cellphone. In the dark, the screen is bright as the sun, illuminated on a text messaging screen. He shuts it off hastily, taking a step towards you.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second.”

“Uhm…” Perturbed and on your guard, you move away from him to create some distance. “Sure.”

Rich Guy has always been silent, coming in to buy snacks, sometimes beer, and leaving. Why he is suddenly feeling so chatty is beyond you.

“My name is Seonghwa,” He introduces himself, the earlier tone he had with whoever was on the phone is now gone, replaced by a casual confidence. “It’s fine, I know your name already.” He gestures to your name tag. “I’ve been coming in here for like a year.”

“Close to where you work or live or something?” You ask, mostly because you don’t know what else to say.

“That’s right. I live in Garden Gates.”

Garden Gates isn’t just for rich people. It’s for the rich rich, the sort of people who could go into a high-end designer store and they would close the entire place of business down so they could shop in peace. Just standing next to this guy feels wrong as if you should be dropping to your knees and cleaning his shoes or something.

“Listen, not to be blunt, but you could use some money, right?” Rich Guy – no, Seonghwa, asks.

You take another step away from him, guard raised even higher. “What?” You ask because how does someone answer such a rude question.

“I have a proposition for you,” He says, his phone lighting up again with an incoming message.

You have no idea what sort of American Psycho shit you are stumbling into but it’s time to leave. Forget the umbrella.

“Not interested, sorry.”

“Please, just a few seconds of your time.”

“Nope. Uh, have a good night though.” You turn around, wondering if there is an alternate way home through a lot of traffic or something so the crowds could make you feel safe –

When Seonghwa speaks next, he sounds positively desperate, his voice higher pitched and raised. “It’s nothing like that! I’ll pay you to pretend to be my girlfriend!”

The words bring you up short, your feet stopping automatically even as your brain tells you to keep moving. Out of all the things you thought he was going to say, this was not one of them. Even though you know better, you still turn around to look at him.

“What?” You want to tell him off – you may be inexperienced when it comes to matters of romance and sex but you aren’t a fool. Pretending to be my girlfriend most certainly has to be code for paying for sex. What is with this guy?

Buoyed by the fact you have not run off screaming, Seonghwa approaches you carefully, peering at you.

“I know how this sounds but I swear it is just that. I need someone to attend this dinner with my parents and pretend to be my girlfriend. After dinner, we’ll leave and that will be it.”

“Uhm. Why?” You ask, perplexed, “Don’t you have an actual girlfriend?”

“No and my dad is trying to set me up with the daughter of another company to create some sort of merger between our families.”

What year is it? You wonder. “Is she that bad? That you don’t want to go on a date with her?”

“It’s nothing against her personally. But my father simply won’t drop this idea.”

“So…” You speak slowly, “In the shop. You said you had a girlfriend…”

Seonghwa rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I said it without thinking. Just to get him to back off. But now, I actually have to show up with someone.”

“Okay, so you take a strange woman with you to this dinner and then what? I mean, they will want to see your girlfriend again at some point, right? Then what?”

Seonghwa blinks. You can tell that he has not thought this out very much. Impatience nips at your heels. You could be halfway home by now and instead you are listening to this man you don’t even know try to explain the most batshit idea ever.

Continuing, you say, “So, I don’t think just one dinner will work. Especially if he is pushing this other woman on you. Would your dad drop it just cuz your ‘girlfriend’ shows up to a single dinner?”

Seonghwa looks resolute now. “I’ll figure that part out. I just need to get through this dinner. I’ll pay you whatever amount you need. Would a few thousand be okay? It’ll be at my dad’s penthouse for a few hours. I can always lie and say that we are going overseas for a month or two afterwards and he won’t know you’re not with me.”

There’s a lot to take in here: the use of penthouse casually, the fact Seonghwa can apparently fly overseas for weeks at a time without blinking, the prospect of money for one dinner. Would a few thousand be okay? He had uttered that sentence without hesitation.

But there is one big issue that stops you from accepting.

“Sorry, but I can’t. I don’t even know you. The entire thing just sounds too sketchy.” You tell him, all of it being partially true but not the whole truth.

Seonghwa’s face falls silently but he nods. “Right. I get it. I know how odd it sounds. But if you change your mind, the dinner isn’t until Friday. May I give you my number? You can text me if you decide otherwise.”

“Uhm, sure,” You reply, mostly to look polite, “Is that why you asked me those questions in the store? I was the first person you saw who might agree to such a thing?”

Seonghwa looks up from his phone. The screen illuminates his face, driving home just how attractive he is. Next to him, you feel like the crypt keeper.

“I pop in here a lot and you’re always working. I thought maybe the money would help. If there’s something you needed it for.”

Well, I need a new wheel for my bicycle, you think but don’t say it because it sounds so pathetic. Seonghwa gives you his number and then opens his umbrella, stepping out into the rain. He turns to look back at you. In his tailored coat, and hair perfectly in place, he makes for a slender and well put together shape in the streetlights.

“Have a nice night.” He says, nodding his head in your direction before turning around and walking down the street.

You watch Seonghwa go, frozen in place, as he traces a neat and clean line through a small crowd until he is swallowed up.

*

Opening the door to your apartment, you drop your bag on the floor, still wrangling with your umbrella which won’t close properly. Your roommate is out, probably for the night, which is fine by you.

Once the umbrella finally closes, you look around the apartment. Small is an understatement. You bet Seonghwa’s closet is the size of your apartment. Stop thinking about him, you scold yourself. His offer was ridiculous. Pretending to be dating someone is a joke because the real problem at hand is that you have barely any experience in that department.

You’ve gone on dates, you’ve even had sex a few times, but all of it fizzled out pretty quickly. Now, between working all the time and just trying to scrape up enough money to get by, you have let that entire aspect of your life go to the wayside. How in the world could you try to fool a rich guy’s family that you are dating someone you don’t even know when your own experience is so limited? That’s the real reason you turned Seonghwa down.

Going to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes, you step under the water when it’s still cold because it takes ages to get the hot water going. By the end of the shower, it will be nice and warm but you aren’t going to run up the water bill waiting for that in the meantime.

Washing the day off your body, your mind wanders back to Seonghwa. Some part of you wishes that you had enough experience to agree to the fake dating thing. It would be one night, make you thousands of dollars, and then you can wash your hands of it. Unless you are being blinded by the money and there is more going on here than it appears. You would hate to agree to such a thing and it turns out Seonghwa is some lunatic who made the whole thing up just to get you alone somewhere.

And even if he is legit, how could you pass off as truly dating him in front of his parents? You could count the number of people you’ve kissed on one hand. To act like some adoring girlfriend is well beyond the scope of your abilities. He might not even pay you when the night is finished because you aren’t convincing enough. I’d have to ask for half up front, just to make sure I don’t leave empty handed. Then you catch yourself – there won’t be anything up front because you aren’t going to agree to such a thing.

After the shower, your bed is calling. Sinking underneath the covers, ignoring the worrisome way the bed frame shakes, you grab your laptop off the night table and turn it on, wondering what mind numbing stuff to put on tonight. But you still don’t know anything about Seonghwa. He comes in a couple nights a week to buy snacks and then goes back to his Barbie Dream Life. The whole thing sounds like it is way too good to be true. To make that much money from pretending to date a guy for a night…why doesn’t he have any friends to pull into this scheme? Surely, someone close to him would agree to such a thing just out of friendship. Wait no, damn it, you aren’t supposed to be thinking about this. The entire thing is over and done with. Focus on a TV show.

But even as the images flicker across the screen, your gaze sweeps the small bedroom. Most of the things in here you got at thrift stores; some pieces are even hastily repainted in an effort to personalize them. Your lava lamp broke a few weeks ago and is still on the shelf. A stack of books are shoved in a corner with no space to put them anywhere. You don’t even own a TV and instead hope your ancient laptop can last as long as possible. If you agreed to Seonghwa’s idea, you could get everything replaced in this room. It would look like a proper bedroom, not a hidey hole. You bet Seonghwa’s room at his Garden Gates place must look immaculate. The thought depresses you.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you reach for your phone. The battery is almost dead but you manage to fire off one final text before the screen goes black.

“I changed my mind. I’d like to meet with you to discuss it.”

*

The coffee shop Seonghwa agrees to meet at the following afternoon is the sort of overpriced place you never step foot in. But he offered to pay so you are ready to take advantage of that and order the most ridiculous drink you can imagine at his expense.

It takes about half a second to locate Seonghwa. It is difficult not to. Between his height, slender frame and annoyingly good looks, most people are shooting glances in his direction. He is studying the menu as if never been here before, something you doubt very much.

Immediately, you wonder if you are underdressed. But no one glances in your direction minus a friendly greeting from the barista which gets Seonghwa’s attention. When he notices you, he gives a small wave. Today, his blonde hair is slicked back, while wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black turtleneck. He just screams money in a low effort sort of way whereas you scream on three hours of sleep and propelled out the door only by the hope of money.

“Good afternoon,” He says formally, nodding his head as you approach, “I was just looking over the menu.”

“You haven’t been here before?” You ask doubtfully.

“Not in some time. I can’t recall what I got last time.”

Seonghwa smells amazing. Some cologne, you assume before turning your attention to the menu. It has more options than you know what to do with and that doubt from last night blooms in your chest. If I get anxious ordering coffee, how in the world could I pull off being his fake girlfriend?

Seonghwa goes to the register, placing an order of something you didn’t even know existed. Whatever the baristas are being paid, it cannot be enough. Seonghwa’s order sounds like a foreign language. Timidly, you order next – something simple in contrast to the big dreams from this morning of ordering something super overpriced and fancy.

Seonghwa pays, you mumble a thanks, and then trail after him as he grabs a seat by the window. The coffee shop is next to a small side street where you can watch people hustle and bustle in and out of stores. The sun is high in the sky, not a cloud in sight for once.

Seonghwa doesn’t even look out the window, turning his attention to you. “I assume you wanted to discuss specifics?”

It had been your idea to meet today. The idea of not seeing him until the night of the dinner left you unsettled.

“Uhm, yes,” You take a deep breath, “Just because…you know…this situation is unusual and I don’t actually know you.”

“Right, of course, I understand.”

“Like, I was wondering why a friend can’t do this for you? You don’t have anyone else in your life who could pretend to be your girlfriend?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. “No, it can’t be anyone my father knows. It won’t work then. He won’t believe I am dating anyone he’s met before. He knows I don’t see them in that light and no amount of lying would convince him otherwise. It has to be someone brand new.”

His explanation made sense. Chewing on your bottom lip for a moment, you say, “We need to establish what is allowed then. I understand you need to convince your dad that you are dating but I don’t feel comfortable doing certain things.”

It is then the barista comes over, dropping off the drinks. Seonghwa has gotten some fancy looking latte with pretty art on top. He admires it for a few moments, momentarily distracted, before taking a small sip. He didn’t even stop to take a pic, you think thunderstruck, because he drinks them all the time and this is just another coffee in a long list of coffees.

You regret not getting a nicer coffee just for the sake of posting it on Instagram and looking fancy for a few seconds.

“What is that?” You ask curiously, unable to help yourself.

“It’s an oat milk lavender latte,” He pushes it towards you, “Do you want to try it?”

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” You say sheepishly, “I was just curious. It’s pretty. You should have taken a pic of it.”

Seonghwa blinks in surprise, looking back down at the ruined art on top. “Why?”

“Cuz it’s so pretty. That way you’d always remember it and how you felt when you first saw it.” You explain.

“I never…thought of it like that before.”

You shrug. “Maybe next time.”

“Right…” He looks incredibly thoughtful, as if you just told him the meaning to life and not to take a photo of a latte.

You clear your throat a little when it is evident he isn’t going to speak. “Anyway, like I was saying. Ground rules. For the dinner.”

Seonghwa breaks out of his thoughts, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on the top of his hands. “My father isn’t big on public displays of affection so you don’t have to worry about anything overt. I was thinking some handholding and maybe touching your shoulder or waist occasionally, sitting really close together, things like that.”

You could handle all of that. “Okay. But obviously, no kissing.”

“Naturally. I’d rather die than kiss someone I was seeing in front of my parents anyway. What about kissing your cheek? When we leave for the night.”

Seeing as all that requires of you is to stand there, you agree. “There is one more thing,” You tell him, “I want half up front.”

Seonghwa raises one eyebrow delicately. “Do you not trust me?”

“No,” You reply bluntly, “Sorry. But I don’t even know you. You could be leading me upstairs and turn into Hannibal, I have no idea.” Setting boundaries and asking for things is not your strong suit but given Seonghwa is brand new to your life, it is less anxiety inducing to ask him for things versus someone you have known for a long time.

“Hannibal, the Carthaginian general?” He asks, confused.

“What? No, Hannibal Lecter, the fictional serial killer – forget it. You understand the risk I’m taking, right?”

Seonghwa looks stricken. “Of course, I understand. I’ll give you half before we go upstairs. Would this amount work for you?” He gives you a total that is enough to make you pass out on the spot and it is all you can do to nod.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you add, “I also want the address of where this penthouse is and the full names of you and your parents. Oh, and we should add each other on Instagram cuz who is dating and don’t have each other added on at least one social media site?” You rattle off the ideas as they pop into your head.

“I’ll text you everything you need. Whatever you need to make you feel comfortable, of course.”

On a whim, you add, “I’ll also be telling my friends where I’ll be that night.” You aren’t sure if that one will actually happen for the mere fact you don’t know how to explain something this ridiculous to your friends, especially your best friend. But better he thinks you will.

Seonghwa is nodding so much he looks like a bobblehead. You finally stop talking to take a sip of your drink, giving him a chance to speak.

“Like I said, whatever you need. I’ll also give you half before we go to the penthouse. Do you need me to send a car to pick you up?”

“Uh, no, I’m okay,” You say quickly, unsure how you would explain such a thing if your roommate saw it, “And this is all just for one night. I’m not your fake girlfriend after this.”

Seonghwa shifts positions, his fingers back to tapping against the table. “I know. However, if my lie about going overseas doesn’t swing, maybe I could ask for your help again? For more money, naturally.”

“Let’s just wait and see how the first night goes. You might not be impressed with my performance. Your dad could possibly tell it is total bullshit.” You see, Seonghwa, I actually have no clue what I am doing and am just doing this to get your money and leave. The chances of anyone believing we are together is laughable and you definitely won’t want to see me again after this dinner.

The two of you fall silent, drinking your coffees together for a few minutes before you talk again. “I don’t know anything about you. You should probably tell me stuff about yourself and your life or your dad won’t believe that either.”

“Oh.” Seonghwa looks sheepish. “I’m not very good at talking about myself.”

Join the club, you think but instead go, “Just tell me generic stuff, I guess. Your favourite colour.”

“Black.”

That’s not a colour, you think but instead go, “What do you do for fun?”

“For fun?”

“Yes, you know like…a hobby. Something that gives you joy.”

Seonghwa’s brows come together. Wow, he actually has to think about this. “I like going yachting,” He answers finally as you take a sip of the drink.

Which you then almost promptly choke on, coughing at his reply. He looks alarmed, asking if you are alright. You nod in between coughs. Yachting! Imagine having that as your hobby. This is so not going to work.

“Do you own a yacht?” You ask once the coughing fit passes, afraid of the reply.

“Me? No. Father does and so do a couple other families we know well.”

“What do you do on the…yacht?”

“Soak up the sun, drink a little, just relax. We usually take the yacht to the island we own and spend a few days there before taking it back. A mini vacation, you know?”

No, you don’t know. Your idea of a mini vacation is faking an illness to call out of work and then staying in bed to shove your face full of potato chips while watching the worst movies imaginable for twelve hours straight. Wait, he said they own an island. Oh, this is a clusterfuck.

“Uh, right. I like to watch movies.”

“Oh, my movie knowledge is pretty limited,” Seonghwa replies.

I assumed that when you thought I meant Hannibal from a war twelve billion years ago, you think but don’t say. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did your family get rich enough to own a yacht and an island?”

“Oh, my family owns a chain of supermarkets. It started about a hundred years ago. But then the chain expanded out of the country about thirty years ago and our money with it, very quickly.”

“What chain?” When Seonghwa tells you, your stomach clenches. I’m going on a fake date with the heir of one of the biggest supermarket chains on the planet…I should’ve asked for more money.

The doubt, which has been a wiggling creature in your stomach since Seonghwa first proposed this idea, is now screaming for attention. It is difficult not to wonder if this is going to be a giant mistake. You are not only out of your depth in regards to his money but also the fact you are woefully inexperienced in relationships. The need for money is blinding your common sense – and it continues to because you grab your coffee, standing up.

“I should go. I have work tonight.” Which isn’t a lie but you suddenly desperately need to get away from Seonghwa before you call the entire thing off and miss out on making money.

He looks surprised. “You’re going already?”

You find his answer a strange one. What did he think, you two were gonna hang out?

“Yup. Thanks for the coffee. Just text me all the information, okay? See you later.”

You dart off before Seonghwa can even reply. You know that it appears as if you are running away – and fine, maybe you are. But the gravity of what you agreed to is hitting you and it is hard to breathe.

For some reason, you know that Seonghwa is staring at your back as you walk down the street, leaving him behind in the coffee shop.

*

It is past ten at night and the store is completely empty. Bored to tears and knowing your manager has snuck off for another cigarette break, you finally give in to the urge that has been tugging on your sleeve all shift.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you bring up the text Seonghwa sent a few hours ago. It has the address, his parents’ names, and his Instagram handle. Curiosity gets the best of you, clicking it to see what sort of things Seonghwa posts online.

His follower count is obnoxious and anxiety inducing; the idea of that many people seeing what is posted would freak you out. The page itself is clean and minimalist and Seonghwa is barely in any. Most of the photos are of streets at night. One is even of the outside of your store, the windows frosted over with snow from last winter, the yellow lights of the sign bright and visceral.

You aren’t sure how long you scroll. You aren’t even sure what you are looking for. Does he just wander the streets at night or something? Most of the feed is of the city lights, the tall towers glittering like gems, occasionally a photo of a gorgeous hotel lobby, always the location tag with some other country.

You finally find one photo of Seonghwa, with his hair dyed a more vibrant blonde than it is currently. He also doesn’t have black on, instead wearing a dark red button down shirt with the sleeves hastily rolled up a bit. There is a glitter smear across one cheekbone, catching the light. He is in some restaurant, face somewhat covered by his hand as he laughs. The angle is slightly tilted as if someone took the photo on a whim just to capture Seonghwa’s expression. Behind him is what appears to be the ocean dotted with expensive boats. The restaurant must open out onto some sort of balcony. You linger on the photo, unsure what you are looking to discover in Seonghwa’s laughter. Who took the pic of him? What made him laugh this hard? You have a difficult time picturing that same Seonghwa laughing like this now. Maybe you just don’t know him well enough but he seems to be much more distant and static than what this photo shows. Perhaps you are just overthinking it.

You are so entranced by the post that when you bring your finger down to keep scrolling, you accidentally heart it instead. Breath catching, your eyes drop to the date on the post. It is from two years ago.

“Fuck.” You say aloud and then quickly make sure a customer hasn’t come in when you were busy scrolling.

But the shop is still empty. Looking back at your phone, you feel momentarily frozen at the idea of Seonghwa realizing you scrolled back years through his Instagram. The embarrassment rolls through you. You aren’t even sure why you scrolled back so far in the first place.

Panicked, you unlike the post and drop your phone on the counter as if it burned you. Would it still notify him? Had you waited too long in unliking it? Maybe he won’t mention it.

Deciding your phone has brought you enough danger, you shove it in your pocket and turn your attention back to work. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, I’m sure he didn’t even get the notification.

You don’t check your phone again until you get home from work a few hours later. To your surprise, there is a text from Seonghwa and a notification on Instagram. He had hit like on a photo of yours from two years ago, a poorly lit picture of you and your best friend at a shitty bar for someone’s birthday.

His text message reads: I can scroll too.

*

When you turned down Seonghwa’s offer to pick you up for the dinner, you’d forgotten that your bicycle still had a popped tire. That meant texting him and asking if he could, in fact, come get you. Originally, you planned to walk. But when another storm rolled in, you knew that showing up looking like a soaked rat wasn’t going to sell the lie that Seonghwa was dating you or that you were taking this entire thing seriously.

For some reason though you assumed Seonghwa would come by in a normal person car so you are baffled at the sight of a limo in front of your small apartment complex. Great, you think, so much for not attracting attention. To make it worse, a driver opens the door for you to scamper inside. You can practically feel people staring from their windows at the sight. Your roommate isn’t home again but if anyone mentions it to her, she will ask you a thousand questions.

Seonghwa is sitting comfortably in the limo, another surprise. You hadn’t thought he would be here too. Having never been in a limo before, you take in the sight of the plush seating, a small TV playing the news, a bottle of champagne cooling in ice, untouched and unopened. Tiny lights run the floor length of the seats and the partition separating you and the driver is rolled up.

“Good evening,” Seonghwa says, always slightly sounding like he belongs to the early 19th century, “Before, I forget…” He opens a formal looking bag next to him, looking for something.

Seonghwa is dressed in a black button down shirt, the Prada logo evident on the small front pocket. With matching dress slacks and formal shoes (also Prada), he looks well put together as usual. His hair is slicked back again, making his cheekbones as attention grabbing as ever. Everything about Seonghwa is professional, distant, and clean. Your mind flashes to the photo of him in the restaurant. For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the Seonghwa in that photo and the one currently in front of you.

“Do you want to put this in your bag?”

His words shatter your thoughts. In between slim fingers, he is holding a white envelope. Hesitating for a moment, you take it, glancing inside. It is a fat stack of money. Seeing the amount like this makes your head spin. You hastily shove it in your purse.

“Don’t want to count it?” Seonghwa asks.

“Uh, no, I’m fine, thanks.”

“You look nice.” He says casually before looking down at his phone.

You narrow your eyes a little, trying to gauge if he is making fun of you. Your outfit feels like a dismal imitation of what someone would wear around a bunch of hyper wealthy people. But Seonghwa’s attention has already shifted away from the compliment.

“I told my father you were coming to dinner tonight. Listen, my parents…” He pauses for a moment, looking slightly uncomfortable, “They obviously don’t want me with anyone they don’t pick for me. So I apologize ahead of time if they come off rude or ask too many personal questions. I’ll do my best to step in.”

Great…like that doesn’t fill you with a sense of growing dread. You nod, lapsing into silence. The moment is quickly arriving. You have no idea if you are going to pull this off. What the hell am I thinking?

When the limo slows down, your heart jumps to your throat. The door opens, and you get out of the limo first, looking at the extremely tall building. There is no name on the front, no indication it is an apartment complex minus the doorman. You assume every floor is a penthouse and it has to be at least seventy stories high. It is dizzying. You have gone past this building many times during life in the city and never glanced twice at it. It belongs to a different world than you. Now you are stepping directly towards it like a tiny fish getting ready to be swallowed by a whale.

Seonghwa stands next to you and asks, “May I hold your hand?”

You take a small sharp breath. This is it, you think, panic poking at the edges of your brain. You nod and Seonghwa slips his hand against yours, holding it gently. Your heart immediately starts to race. Seonghwa walks towards the doors and you let him pull you along. The doorman nods at him, pushing the wide silver doors open, and then you are in the lobby.

It is as silent as a tomb in here, so minimalist that it feels completely uninviting. A large sleek reception desk makes up one of the walls, a large fountain in the middle, and the temperature just low enough to remind you of a morgue. The floors are black and white marble, sparkling in the soft lights. A row of elevators along the right side catch your attention as Seonghwa goes towards them, pressing a small key against one of the buttons which emits a soft dinging noise as it registers.

As you wait, you catch your reflection in the elevator doors, slightly distorted. Seonghwa, looking posh and professional, handsome in that untouchable way…and then you. Absolutely no one will believe we are dating, you think, this is insane.

The doors slide open silently and you realize the elevator only has one floor – the top one. Holy shit, his parents have their own special elevator. He presses the small key against the button signaling the top floor and the doors close.

“Hey,” Seonghwa says, “You’re so tense.”

“There’s no way this is going to work.” The words spill out before you can stop yourself, “Your dad will know in two seconds we aren’t really dating.”

Seonghwa gives your hand a small squeeze, standing very close to you now, one hand resting on your hips. It is intimate and your heart is fluttering. “This will work. Just follow my lead.”

Whatever the hell that means. Before you can ask, the doors open and you are suddenly in the penthouse.

Alright, let’s go.

*

The next hour is an overload of information. You meet Seonghwa’s mom first, who takes you on a tour through the penthouse. You end up being glad that Seonghwa is holding your hand because it is the only thing that steadies yourself to the overwhelming show of wealth that is touted in front of you. If the lobby was minimalist, then the penthouse is maximalist to the tenth degree. Every section is covered in expensive artwork in gold frames, vases on display that look incredibly old and easily breakable, and even a large salt water aquarium running along one wall.

Yet in all the objects and jewels and beautiful things that fill the penthouse, it is hard to find anything personal, anything that indicates this belongs to a family with a history or affection for one another. Who doesn’t have any photos of their kid? You wonder, not seeing a single photo of baby Seonghwa anywhere.

By the time you finally sit down in the living room (on a couch so plush that you worry for a second that it is going to suck your body inside and never free you) your head is spinning and your grip on Seonghwa’s hand is so tight that it probably looks less romantic and more horror movie.

It is then Seonghwa’s dad enters. You assume it is his dad because it is the first time Seonghwa lets go of your hand, standing up immediately to greet him. You also stand up to introduce yourself and the gaze his dad gives you is enough to curdle milk on the spot. Oh, he hates me, you think, but he probably would hate anyone dating his son who he didn’t pick.

After everyone sits down again, there is a few seconds of silence. You can feel Seonghwa’s parents staring at you, their eyes scanning your clothes, the necklace you threw on at the last second (fake gold, can they tell just by looking? Probably.) and the way you scooch over closer to Seonghwa, closing the gap between the two of you while still keeping it respectful. It doesn’t matter what they think of me. All of this is bullshit. So, why am I so nervous?

Seonghwa is grazing his thumb against the top of your hand, a minor touch that feels so strangely intimate that your heart skips a beat for a second. His father is staring daggers at the gesture and it is all you can do not to yank your hand away, apologize and leave hastily.

“Have you lived in the city long?” It is Seonghwa’s mom, Mrs. Park, who breaks the silence, beginning the interrogation.

“Since I was about five.”

“What do your parents do?” This one is from Mr. Park.

You tell them, watch the subtle change in both of their faces. It is evident the answer does not please them.

“And what do you do?”

This is about to please them even less. “I’m a convenience store clerk.”

Seonghwa’s parents glance at each other. In that millisecond of a look, tons of information is exchanged, none of it positive. The scent of dinner is wafting into the room, cooked by an entire staff hired just for that purpose. Last night, you made instant ramen for dinner.

Seonghwa speaks then, “It’s not too far away from where I live. I go in there sometimes to buy stuff when other places are closed.”

“It’s dangerous to be out that late,” His mom scolds, “You could just get it delivered.”

“I don’t mind,” He replies breezily.

“What do you like about Seonghwa?” Mr. Park asks suddenly, his eyes focused on you and only you.

Great, you think, I know almost nothing about this man besides the fact his favourite colour isn’t a colour and he thinks going to his own private island is a hobby.

You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for your answer. This will make or break the belief that you are dating Seonghwa and you regret not learning more about him at the coffee shop before running off. Seonghwa has stopped grazing your hand with his thumb as if he hadn’t expected his dad to ask a question like that.

You glance at Seonghwa out of the corner of your eye, hoping to glean some last minute information from him. But nothing is forthcoming. Your mind randomly flashes back to the pic of him smiling at the restaurant, the slightly blurry nature of the photo, the glitter smear on his cheek, the dark red fabric bright against his skin.

Turning your attention back to his dad, you reply, “He’s focused and professional. Always well put together,” Thinking of his face as he laughed, you go on, “But once you get past that exterior, Seonghwa is funny and charming. He’s thoughtful and considerate,” Where is the Seonghwa in the photo now? “He knows what he wants even if he puts other people’s needs before his, sometimes to his detriment. But there’s something in him that,” The glitter smudge on his cheekbone. “…that wants a sort of freedom that I hope I can give him.”

His parents gawk at you. But it is Seonghwa’s gaze who feels the heaviest. You turn your face to look at his. His lips are parted slightly as if in question. You cannot read his expression. You haven’t seen it on him before. Something about it tugs on you.

On a whim, just to twist the knife further against his parents, you lean forward and very softly kiss his cheek. The touch is so slight that it barely counts. But Seonghwa stiffens slightly in surprise before relaxing into it. When you pull away, your eyes meet for a moment and then you turn back to look at his parents.

Mrs. Park stands abruptly. “I should go make sure dinner is coming along. Seonghwa, perhaps you can help.” It is not worded as a question.

Seonghwa pauses for a moment before releasing the hold on your hand and following his mom into the gigantic kitchen, leaving you alone with Mr. Park, glancing worriedly at you over his shoulder before he vanishes.

You should probably ask him a question now but your mind is completely blank. What do you ask a man like this? How many millions he made in the last five minutes? You would rather not know. Shifting uncomfortably, you scan the room trying to find literally anything to remark on. His gaze is heavy on you, almost suffocating.

“You understand my worries, I’m sure,” Mr. Park begins instead, “And why I ask such questions. Seonghwa comes from a family of considerable wealth and there are those who would take advantage of it.”

“I understand, sir.” By the way, your son is giving me a fat stack of thousands to pretend to date him tonight.

“How am I not to know that you recognized him and decided to approach him simply because of his money?” Mr. Park is clearly trying to intimidate you but it is difficult for it to work when the situation is entirely fake.

“He approached me, actually,” You reply which technically isn’t a lie, “I wasn’t familiar with his connections until recently. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth around or give any indication on who he is.”

His dad chews on this for a moment. Deciding this would be a good time to flee, you stand up, asking where their bathroom is. Mr. Park rattles off a confusing amount of instructions which you pretend to understand and turn around, shuffling towards the hallway.

The path you take, which may or may not be in the actual direction of the bathroom, takes you past the massive kitchen. You glance inside to see a few people hard at work making dinner. The sight is strange to see and as you go to turn the corner, the voices of Seonghwa and his mom float over, stopping you in your tracks.

“This is all very funny, Hwa,” Mrs. Park is lecturing, “But bringing some poor girl to the house and flaunting your wealth around to make her smitten with you is in poor taste.”

Great, we are definitely going to be caught already. Maybe your speech had come off completely artificial –

Mrs. Park continues, “If you think the idea of you dating someone in another class would scare us into giving up the arranged marriage, you’re wrong. All we have to do is offer her a check and this….convenience store clerk will vanish. People like her only care and want one thing. You know that.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at her words. You know that. How many times had his parents paid someone off to leave Seonghwa? Sounded like more than once. And wait…arranged marriage?

“That isn’t why I’m dating her,” Seonghwa replies sharply, “I’m dating her because I like her. I know you and father have other plans for me but that doesn’t mean I have to marry whoever you pick.”

“You know what happens if you don’t,” His mom’s tone is slightly pleading now, “I don’t want to see you left with nothing.”

All this new information is throwing you for a loop. So not only is Seonghwa being forced into an arranged marriage, which he conveniently left out, but he might be kicked out of his family if he doesn’t agree to it?

“I don’t know why we are talking about this. I told you. I’m dating her because I like her a lot. You should give her a chance. I wouldn’t bring her around if I didn’t care about her.” Seonghwa sounds convincing as if every word out of his mouth is completely true.

However, there is a low rumble of anger in your stomach now towards Seonghwa’s parents and the intensity of it is throwing you off. You don’t know why you care so much about this new information when you took Seonghwa’s money to pretend to be his girlfriend. But before your logical brain can stop yourself, you come around the corner and feign surprise.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt. Seonghwa, I think I got lost finding the bathroom, sorry.”

Seonghwa moves towards you, one hand coming to rest on your waist. “No need to apologize.”

“I guess it’s because my own apartment is so much smaller,” You say with emphasis, looking over at Mrs. Park, “All these fancy things are kinda over my head.”

Mrs. Park looks stricken at the reminder of the disparity in wealth which you take secret pleasure in. When she replies, her voice is steel. “Seonghwa can show you. I should get back to the kitchen.”

Right, time to boss around the servants. Seonghwa, his hand still on your waist, gently wheels you around, heading down the hallway and making a left. Then he opens the bathroom door.

“Thanks,” You say, “But I actually don’t have to use the bathroom. I just wanted to get away from your dad grilling me.”

Seonghwa’s mouth quirks at the corners and for a second, you think he might smile. But he doesn’t. Instead, he searches your face to see if you have heard the conversation with his mom. You want to bring it up but now isn’t the time – not in the middle of the penthouse, his parents breathing down your neck, and a fake date to complete.

“How did you come up with that speech? And the kiss on the cheek at the end was genius,” Seonghwa asks, his voice quiet, taking a step closer to you. You get the feeling he has done a lot of whispering in this penthouse and the thought makes you a little sad.

You can’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the Prada logo on his shirt. Cologne faintly clings to the fabric, a warm and spicy scent, mingled with clean laundry. “I don’t know,” You lie, “Just came to me. You know what? I actually do have to pee. Sorry, excuse me.”

Slipping past Seonghwa, you close the bathroom door, trying not to be visually assaulted by how over the top and spacious the room is. Your heart is beating quickly. Just nervous. This shit is stressful. That’s all it is.

*

Dinner is as awkward as the living room conversation. Between thinly veiled insults from Seonghwa’s mom about being beneath the family and his dad asking you questions as if you’re on the stand in a court room, it is all you can do to remember you are supposed to appear as if you are dating Seonghwa. Remembering to touch his shoulder when you are laughing, to look shy when Seonghwa tilts his face close to yours to tell you something and to cast adoring glances his way when he speaks while juggling his parents acting as if the world is ending in front of them is draining.

On top of that, the food is rich people fare, which means most of it is completely new to you and the portions are so small that you are daydreaming about inhaling French fries once you get out of here.

By the time the night is winding down, you think that the ruse may have worked. Mrs. Park seems thoroughly disturbed at the idea of you dating Seonghwa and his dad watches you like a hawk. The two of you fall into a simple routine of light touches and hand holding although there are no more kisses on the cheek. The singular one you gave Seonghwa earlier seemed to do the job.

And while you are waiting for Seonghwa to finish saying goodbye for the night, you think maybe I don’t need a lot of experience to pull this off. In fact, maybe I just found my secret talent of acting. I could get into that. Maybe –

“I was thinking perhaps your girlfriend could come with us to the beach house next weekend.” Mr. Park suddenly speaks, directing this at Seonghwa but carefully watching your face.

Oh, he doesn’t believe us, you think with a thud of your heart, glancing at Seonghwa and trying to compose your expression into one of subtle questioning versus the panic that is bubbling in your chest.

Without hesitation, Seonghwa replies smoothly, “I’m not sure if she is working next weekend.”

Mr. Park gives a wave of his hand. “I’m sure you can work your schedule out?” He asks you and without waiting for a reply, goes on, “We like to go every six weeks or so to the beach house as a family. It’s important. And since Seonghwa is clearly so taken with you,” He lingers on the words, “We would love to have you.”

You don’t work next weekend. Actually, it is the first weekend you have off in months. The universe is clearly laughing at you. But Mr. Park doesn’t know that and the last thing you plan to do is go to this beach house and pretend to date Seonghwa for an entire weekend.

Stumbling over your words, you reply, “I would have to see my schedule. I can’t remember if I work or not. We are short staffed so I can’t just take off. As much as I would love to see the beach house.” You amend quickly.

Seonghwa is pressing the elevator button multiple times as if that will make it arrive faster. Mr. Park is still staring at you as if he can read your mind. You take a step backwards, your hand going to Seonghwa’s lower back as the elevator doors finally open.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” You tell his parents, trying to shove Seonghwa into the elevator without it being too obvious, “It was nice meeting you.”

His parents say goodbye and the doors glide shut, leaving you alone with Seonghwa. You go to open your mouth to tell him that you failed when his hand circles around your waist and crushes you against him, lips grazing your ear. The touch is sudden and electric that your skin breaks out in goosebumps, heart racing so quickly that you wonder what in the world is wrong with you.

“H-hey,” You stutter.

“There’s a camera in the elevator and my father might be watching,” Seonghwa whispers in your ear, “Don’t talk about anything until we are in the limo.”

Your cheek is against his chest, his hands around your waist, lips near your ear. The entire position is incredibly intimate which conflicts with his words of basically being spied on. You realize you should probably hug him back or you will look like a limp fish. Gingerly, you wrap your arms around Seonghwa, hating the fact your face feels warm and your heart is racing. You have no idea what is wrong with you tonight. Seonghwa smells even more amazing this close and your fingers press against his lower back, realizing how slender his waist is. His chest underneath your cheek feels hard and firm as if he works out or something….which you suppose he does because what else did he have to do all day?

The elevator ride feels roughly fifty years long this time around. You can hear Seonghwa’s heartbeat in your ear, the warmth of his body and it feels so personal that when the elevator doors open it is all you can do not to run fleeing from the small space like someone desperately swimming to the surface for air.

Scuttling through the lobby holding Seonghwa’s hand into the city lights outside, you are ushered into the limo and it is only then you finally speak.

“We failed. You saw your dad, right? It was like…” Your mind searches for some sort of example, “It was like when Katniss failed to convince President Snow she was really madly in love with Peeta.”

Seonghwa stares at you blankly. “When who didn’t convince who about who?”

Frustrated at the fact Seonghwa is apparently too rich to understand basic pop culture references, you slump in the limo seat, secretly enjoying how comfortable it is. “We failed.”

“We didn’t fail. He just knows me too well,” Seonghwa replies.

“If you think the idea of you dating someone in another class would scare us into giving up the arranged marriage, you’re wrong.” Mrs. Park’s earlier words float back to you. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wonder if it is time to mention to Seonghwa what you learned. It feels wrong not to bring it up.

But Seonghwa keeps speaking. “I know I told you it would be for just for one night. A weekend is asking a lot –”

“Wait. You’re not asking me to actually go with you on this beach trip,” You blurt out.

Seonghwa looks resigned as if he expected that answer. “Even if we say you are working next weekend, my father will just push it off to when you are available.”

“And? I thought you were going to lie and say we were going overseas. You know, rich guy showing poor girl all the wonders of the world, making her wonder if she’s in love with him or just the fact his money opens every door sort of thing.”

You mean this as a joke but Seonghwa’s face darkens like a storm rolling in. Whoa, hit a nerve with that one, you think, wondering if you pissed him off.

But if you did, he doesn’t say anything about it, opting to ignore the remark. “I know. I told you this would be my problem, not yours,” He opens the bag he had left in the limo, pulling out another white envelope, “This is the rest of the money.”

He hands it over but you find yourself hesitating to take it. “Are you sure? We didn’t technically pull it off a hundred percent.”

“It’s fine,” Seonghwa’s voice is stiff, “We convinced my mother. It counts.”

You slip the money in your purse, thinking about how much cash you have in there. More than you ever had before. “All we have to do is offer her a check and this….convenience store clerk will vanish. You know that.” The two of you fall into silence. Seonghwa is staring wordlessly at the unopened bottle of champagne, most likely trying to figure out his next move. This has nothing more to do with me. I agreed to this for the money and nothing else.

As the limo turns down your street, you try to think of what to say to Seonghwa but no words come. The limo comes to a stop, the driver opening the door for you to get out.

“I’ll walk you,” Seonghwa says suddenly, ignoring your protests when you say that isn’t necessary.

Your apartment is on the ground floor which means escorting Seonghwa through the courtyard made up of mostly dead plants and a bench that has seen better days. You really didn’t feel like showing him where you lived any more than necessary.

As you cross the courtyard, Seonghwa goes, “I’ll pay you triple.”

Stopping in your tracks, you look over your shoulder. “What?”

He seems to be mentally chewing on something, his brows furrowed and his gaze intense. “For the beach weekend. I’ll pay you triple what I paid tonight. I’ll pick you up Friday, bring you back Monday morning.”

Silence settles across the empty courtyard. Somewhere, very faintly, you can hear thunder. Seonghwa has shoved his hands in the pockets of his overpriced slacks but his posture remains as regal as ever.

With a tiny sigh, you say, “I heard you. With your mom. About the arranged marriage.” Seonghwa stiffens, his lips pressed in a thin line. You keep going, “Why didn’t you tell me they are trying to marry you off? There is way more at stake here than your parents wanting you to date someone. You’re going to be…what, cut off from the money if you don’t marry who they choose?”

“I’ll be cut from the inheritance and not allowed to take over the company when my dad retires. I have money of my own but my family’s wealth won’t go to me if I don’t marry who they pick.”

You exhale slowly, starting to pace the courtyard. You make a mental note of the fact his mom made it sound like he would be left with nothing which is obviously far from the truth. You are getting a sinking feeling that they know how to manipulate him. The thought makes you sad.

“Seonghwa, you have so much at stake here. And I don’t think I’m a good pick for what you need. Don’t get me wrong. As you can see,” You gesture to the building, “I need the money. I want the money. The amount you’re offering for the beach trip…that’s life changing. But there is no way I could pull it off for an entire weekend.”

Seonghwa, perhaps panicked at the thought of his already tenuous grip on this absurd plan falling apart, takes a step towards you. “I – I can’t suddenly change people. It has to be you. I didn’t think – I didn’t think my father was going to invite you to the beach trip. He’s never done such a thing before. I can do the overseas lie after, I just –”

“No, Seonghwa, I mean…” This is so awkward, you think. “My dating experience is tragic. You understand? I’ve never even been in a real relationship. I’ve gone on a few dates. That’s why I said no originally until I changed my mind for the money. I don’t know how to be in a fake relationship because I’ve never been in a real one. That’s probably why we didn’t convince your dad tonight. Going to the beach house means I have to act 24/7 and there is no way I can pull it off. I’m not just saying no because of me. I’m saying it for you too. If I had known…if I had known there was this whole marriage thing going on, I wouldn’t have agreed to it. There’s too much at stake here.” You want to crawl in a hole now – what an embarrassing speech.

You see a flicker of surprise cross Seonghwa’s face which only makes you feel worse.

Adding on before he can reply, “It’s like…you’re paying me so this is a job, right? I’m not qualified for the job. So, you should fake break up with me and find someone better.”

You have stopped pacing now and Seonghwa approaches you. Your nails dig into the palms of your hands as he does so, your breath catching in your chest.

“So what if you’re not qualified for the job? Have you seen most people at their jobs? Anyone in middle management usually doesn’t know how to rotate a PDF.” His voice is quiet, his gaze steady. “We have a week until the beach trip. We’ll do a crash course in relationships.”

“Uhm, I don’t think that is how relationships work.”

“I’ll show you the ropes so you can act better next weekend. We will go on dates, spend a lot of time together, you’ll learn more about me so you can loosen up at the beach house. I’ll show you what a relationship is like and you can use that on the trip. By the end of it, my parents will be convinced we are in love with one another and they will give up on the arranged marriage. I’ll lie and pretend to go overseas with you, threaten elopement. I might need to see you one or two more times after, which I’ll pay you for, and then I’ll tell them you left me and I’m too heartbroken to consider anyone else.”

“Seonghwa, that is a batshit plan.”

“I’ve tried everything else with them. You’re my best shot. I’ll pay whatever you want. I’ll pay your rent for a year. I don’t care.”

You want to ask him if this is how his family does things – just pay for someone to stick around, pay for someone to leave. You want to ask him who his parents erased in his life with money. You want to ask him what happened to the Seonghwa in the photo.

But your brain is glitching on this whole relationship practice thing followed by an entire weekend around his scary parents. No words leave your lips and instead you just stare at him.

“Do you need time to think it over?” He prompts.

Your mind flashes back to the elevator, his lips near your ear, his arms around you, your heart racing. There would be more of that if you agreed to this ridiculous idea. But then you think about the money in your purse. There would be more of that too. A lot more of that.

Thunder again. Louder this time. It rains in the city constantly at this time of year. You haven’t been to the beach since you were a kid. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to be an asshole. There could be way worse people to fake date or learn about relationships from.

“No,” You say, “I don’t need any time. I agree.”

PART TWO HERE.

#seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fics #ateez fics #ateez smut #kpop fic #arrow in the dark #100 notes #500 notes

784 notes · View notes