semi-nsfw? (MDNI) ; a lil biting, sucking, nipping ; ft. jakehoon cause they walk in on ni-ki and reader ; shy/embarrassed ki
1,300:WC request✉️
“Jake and Jungwon aren’t coming home tonight,” Ni-ki explains, “Jake’s helping Sunghoon with something, but Jungwon’s stuck at work…he’s gonna spend the night in our studio.”
You’ve never been in their dorms before; he’s always gone over to yours, even on his late schedules.
Yet somehow, it’s exactly as you imagined it.
The racks for shoes and coats by the door are a mess; everything seems to get kicked off or tossed into its place.
“So, I was thinking we could watch the movie in the living room instead of in my room.” Ni-ki continues, taking your attention away from the messy entrance, “the TV in the living room is just much bigger,”
“There’s a house service that comes every Wednesday and Friday…” he adds sheepishly, “my room isn’t this messy, promise.”
“We haven’t even made it through half of your movie, and you’ve already decided that I’m spending the night?” You tease, a small smile as you follow him deeper into the apartment.
“I haven’t seen you for a whole month—are you really going to make me sleep by myself after having to sleep alone for that long?”
You can’t help yourself.
He’s just soooo cute.
“Ugh, fine…I’m convinced,” you say, faking annoyance as you catch up to him to walk with your arms wrapped around one of his.
₊‧⁺♱
In hindsight, you should have seen it coming.
But who knew there’d be such well-written romance in a supernatural horror film about vampires?
Granted, one couple is a little more…enthusiastic…than the other, but their relationships are still sweet.
And for a guy who’s been away from his for a while, it probably got to him just a little more than it did to you.
“You’re missing a lot of really good plot…” you say softly, head titled to the side a bit as Ni-ki uses the kiss to your temple to beeline down your neck.
“I’m listening to it…” he assures, a little extra attention to your jaw before he leans into you to push you down on your back.
Ni-ki settles between your legs, a soft, content sigh as he works mostly on the side that’s going to let you continue watching the movie while he does this.
He isn’t sure which part is his favorite.
The one where you let him do whatever he wants for however long he wants?
Maybe it’s when he gets you worked up and your hands tug at his hair or hold his arm or shoulder in a bit of frustration.
Nothing beats pulling back and seeing the darker marks compared to the lighter ones that haven’t formed or settled yet.
₊‧⁺♱
No one’s a bigger tease than Ni-ki himself.
Only he’d unbutton the tiny buttons on your top just to reach more instead of taking it off and actually giving you more.
It’s hard to be mad though.
Especially when he’s doting on you like this.
“Fuck…you’re pretty…” he sighs, burying his face between your boobs.
Kisses here at first; then it’s tiny little nips at the swell of both that are made up with him softly sucking over the little bite marks when you whine about the pain.
You aren’t even watching the movie anymore; you’re staring up at the ceiling, occasionally scrunching your face when you realize so many different spots across your neck and chest ache.
And Ni-ki?
He’s rambling the entire time.
He can do that because he isn’t worried about doing anything else but this.
This is exactly where he wants to be.
“Missed these…”
“Missed you too—but these are just…”
When he realizes how shallow he’s been; only paying attention to your body and not you, plus the things he’s said up until this point, his focus changes.
“Baby…” he whines, as if it were your fault for not reminding him to be sweeter.
You tilt your head down a bit to find him, and when you do, he comes up to kiss you properly.
And just when you think he’ll finally realize that he’s worked you past a soft makeout, the sound of the dorm’s keypad beeping with each number being punched in forces both of you to pull away from each other.
Ni-ki scrambles because he’s still a little embarrassed about the members catching him being all lovey-dovey.
He positions you both to make it look like you were watching the movie on the screen, but it’s already at post-credits.
Jake and Sunghoon probably aren’t idiots, but they don’t think to ask why you’re both staring at little words on a black screen or why you’re wrapped in a blanket and Ni-ki isn’t.
“I didn’t know you were bringing someone over,” Jake comments, leaving Sunghoon with you both as he walks past you guys to go into the kitchen.
“What movie were you guys watching?” Sunghoon asks, raising a brow at the credits before he turns to you.
“Uhh…” Ni-ki trails; he chose it—he’s been talking about it ever since it came out and he couldn’t go to the theaters to watch it.
“Sinners.” You answer, a small smile to make up for how obvious Ni-ki is, “it just ended, we were just about to decide if we were gonna watch another, right?”
You nudge Ni-ki gently, prompting him to say anything.
“Y-yeah…” he agrees, “I’m pretty tired though…you mind if we go to bed?”
He turns to you more as he says this, and you’ll do anything to get out of being wrapped up in a blanket like this—you’re already warm enough as it is.
“Of course not,” you assure, standing up first.
Ni-ki stumbles behind you, avoiding looking at Sunghoon directly as he comes around you to lead you to his room.
“Bye,” you say softly, a small wave at Sunghoon before you’re spun around in the direction Ni-ki’s headed in.
“It was nice to see you again,” Sunghoon calls out, crossing his arms as he turns in the direction Jake’s in.
“Should we really be letting them have an entire dorm to themselves?” He asks, leaning against a counter.
Jake, who’s knee-deep in the cabinet under the sink, already knows what Sunghoon probably saw.
“Jungwon walked in on them kissing once.” He says, “Ni-ki gets embarrassed by anything; they probably weren’t and won’t be doing anything.”
“Uh huh…” Sunghoon nods, “well, I’m pretty sure I saw teeth marks on her shoulder just now.”
Jake finds what he was looking for then, and it takes him a bit to answer as he comes out of the cabinet and on his feet.
“And in the morning, there will be more on her arms and back.” Jake scoffs, “Ni-ki’s a weirdo who bites for the fun of it.”.
Sunghoon makes a face, narrowing his eyes slightly as he follows him out.
“How do you know that?” Sunghoon asks.
Jake rolls his eyes, holding the door open for Sunghoon to walk out first, “I’d rather not think about that again.”
₊‧⁺♱
“This is honestly some of my best work…” he mumbles, more focused on his screen than your unamused expression as it bores up at him.
If you’re letting him take pictures, it’s because he asked nicely.
Otherwise, you’d be berating him on responsibility.
If anyone saw you—as in, really saw you—they’d think you were attacked.
And someone will definitely see; no amount of makeup or stuffy clothes is going to cover this up.
“I thought you said you got carried away…” you remind, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Oh, yeah—yeah” he says, furrowing his brows a bit as he lowers his phone, “I’d never do this to you on purpose…”
Liar.
He did do it on purpose.
The pictures he has of you are getting old, and no one is sending him back on tour without the necessary material to hold him over.
synopsis: After getting drunk at a costume party and having the BEST one-night stand with a hottie in a spiderman suit, no one else can seem to reach the bar he set. Little did you know, your spidey is none other than a nerd.
tw: MDNI!! suggestive + explicit language, sexual explicit content, drinking, mentions of sexual intercourse
01 - 02 -
a/n: who else watched spiderman:bnd?? i sobbed the entire movie🥲 ive had this one in my drafts for a bit and its lowk rushed so i hope you like it!! TAGLIST CLOSED
SYNOPSIS - you've known Ohyul since he transferred to your middle school. Along those years you would end up dating, but only for a few weeks and even though you were considered"exes" it hadn't impacted you're friendship. Then highschool started and a Ohyul got into a new relationship.
Pairings - Nonidol!Ohyul x Nonidol!Reader, bff!Wonbin & bff!Sui
Authors note : hi im very happy with how my fic is going and im glad to know people are enjoying it!! i believe i know how this will continue for the next few chapters and i hope you all enjoy the story as it goes on!!
SYNOPSIS - you've known Ohyul since he transferred to your middle school. Along those years you would end up dating. Being on and off for a few years and even though you were considered"exes" it hadn't impacted your friendship. Then highschool started and a Ohyul got into a new relationship.
Pairings - Nonidol!Ohyul x Nonidol!Reader, bff!Wonbin & bff!Sui
Author's Note: hello! This story is gonna be slightly about my own experiences. I thought it would be fun to write about and since I haven't found a lot of ohyul fics to read I decided it'd write about him. I'll make sure to try and write chapters quick!
pairing ✧˖°. brothersbsf!riki x jays sister!reader (f)
synopsis ✧˖°. you sneak downstairs to your brothers halloween party dressed as an angel and run into his best friend riki. after jay finds you, riki carries you upstairs and convinces you to stay with him instead of going back to the party. drinks, a blunt, and tension lead to your first real time with the hung, cocky boy who purrs like a puma and chokes you while he claims you as his.
contains ✧˖°. explicit sexual content ; age gap ; inexperienced reader ; hung riki ; cocky riki ; purring/growling kink ; choking ; breath play ; halloween party setting ; smoking weed ; drinking ; brother's best friend ; pet names (angel, doll, ect) ; praise kink ; dirty talk ; rough sex ; protected sex (never socket an unwrapped rocket!!) ; possessive behavior ; aftercare ; emotional begging ; jay finding them ; sexual tension ; grinding/dancing ; oral sex ; fingering ; multiple orgasms ; wc: 6.6k ; i probably missed some.. just read it pls
notes ✧˖°. i actualy fw this SO HARDDD OMGGGG!! this was based off this ask, thank you SO much @orangebloodrikibiggesthyper you truly cooked so hard with this. warning: i DID listen to pnd while writing this... im horny as hell LMFAO. PLS ENJOY :)
you stand in front of your mirror for the third time, turning sideways to check how the skirt falls.
the angel costume had been an impulse buy, something you grabbed at the costume shop two days ago when you realized jay was actually going through with this party.
white lace everywhere, a bodice that hugs your chest more than youre used to, and a skirt that flares out in layers of tulle. it hits mid thigh, shorter than anything your parents let you wear to school, but youre eighteen now. youre an adult. you can wear what you want.
the halo sits on your head, held up by a thin wire headband, and the wings strap around your shoulders, white feathers that brush against your lower back when you move.
you look... you look pretty, actually. pretty and innocent and sweet.
which is exactly why jay is going to lose his mind.
but thats part of the appeal, isnt it? the thought of your older brothers face when he sees you downstairs, in his space, at his party. the way his jaw will tighten and his eyes will narrow. the way hell try to order you back upstairs like youre still twelve.
youre not twelve anymore. youre eighteen, youre legal, and you want to see what a real party looks like.
the music starts around nine, thumping bass that vibrates through your floorboards and into your bones. youve been in your room for two hours, listening to the sounds of people arriving, laughter echoing up the stairs, bottles clinking. you checked your phone forty minutes ago and saw a text from jay
jay
stay upstairs. seriously. dont come down
you didnt reply.
now its ten thirty, and the party is in full swing. you can hear shouting, someone singing badly to a song you recognize, the general chaos of too many people in one space. you take a deep breath, adjust your halo one last time, and open your bedroom door.
the hallway is dark, lit only by the orange string lights jay hung earlier. you pad down the carpet in your white ankle boots, heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat. halfway down the stairs, you pause and peek over the railing.
the living room is transformed. the furniture has been pushed against the walls, the coffee table is covered in red cups and bottles, and the floor is packed with bodies. someone brought a fog machine, and it pumps thick white mist that swirls around peoples legs.
the lights are dim, purple and orange and red, casting everything in strange shadows. strobe lights flicker in the corner, making the dancers look like theyre moving in stop motion.
you spot jay near the kitchen entrance, dressed as a vampire with a cape and fake blood dripping from his mouth. hes laughing at something, a cup in his hand, surrounded by his friends. he looks happy, relaxed, completely unaware that youre about to crash his night.
you take the last few stairs quickly, before you can change your mind, and slip into the crowd.
the music is loud, some remix with a heavy bass line that makes your chest vibrate. the air smells like sweat and cheap beer and someones vanilla perfume. you weave through dancing bodies, murmuring "sorry" when you bump into a guy dressed as a zombie, keeping your head down and your wings tucked close.
the kitchen is slightly less crowded, and you make your way toward the counter where someone set up a makeshift bar.
youre not planning to drink much, just enough to look like you belong. you reach for a cup, and thats when you hear it.
"well, well, well."
the voice is low and smooth and comes from directly behind you. you freeze, cup halfway to your lips, and turn slowly.
riki is leaning against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, looking completely at ease in a pair of black jeans and a black button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
hes drawn stitches across his cheeks and forehead in silver marker, giving him a frankenstein vibe, but the effect is less monster and more... something else. something that makes your stomach flip.
hes twenty now, only two years older than you, but sometimes he seems so much more grown up.
hes been jays best friend since middle school, has practically grown up in your house. youve known him for years, watched him go from a skinny kid to the tall, lean man standing in front of you now.
"riki," you breathe. "hey."
"hey?" he repeats, one eyebrow arching up. he pushes off the fridge and steps closer, and you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. theyre dark in the dim light, fixed on your face with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. "thats all youve got? hey?"
"what do you want me to say?" you ask, trying to sound confident even as your voice wavers.
"how about explaining why youre down here when jay specifically told you to stay upstairs?" he stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, something woodsy and warm.
"how about telling me why youre dressed like that, looking like a little lamb wandering into a wolves den?"
"i look fine," you say, lifting your chin.
"you look..." his gaze drags down your body, slow and deliberate, from your halo to your heeled boots. he takes his time, his eyes lingering on your chest, your waist, your legs. "you look like trouble, angel. like you walked straight out of a dream and into a nightmare."
"i can handle myself," you say, but the words dont sound as certain as you want them to.
"can you?" he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek, and you freeze. his touch is warm, calloused, and he traces the edge of your jaw with his thumb. "look at you. all dressed in white. pure and sweet and innocent. do you have any idea what half the guys down here are thinking right now? do you know what they want to do to a pretty little thing like you?"
"riki," you whisper, your face heating.
"you shouldnt be here," he says softly, his thumb moving to trace your lower lip. he makes a low sound in his throat, almost like a purr, pleased and rumbly. "jay would lose his mind. hes already looking for you, you know. asked me ten minutes ago if id seen his sister. said he saw someone in white near the stairs and got worried."
panic spikes through you. "he saw me?"
"he saw someone," riki corrects, his hand sliding down to cup your jaw. "but he doesnt know it was you. not yet. hes making the rounds, checking the bathrooms. youve got maybe five minutes before he figures it out."
"what do i do?" you ask, your voice small.
riki studies you for a long moment, his thumb stroking your cheek. then he sighs, a soft sound that seems to come from deep in his chest. "come with me," he says, taking your hand. his fingers thread through yours, easy and confident. "ill keep you safe. but you have to do what i say. can you do that, doll? can you be good for me?"
the petname sends a shiver down your spine. "yes," you whisper. "ill be good."
"thats my girl," he murmurs, and that low purr rumbles in his throat again. he leads you through the crowd.
he keeps you close, his body shielding you from view, his hand tight on yours. he navigates the party like he knows every corner, every hiding spot, pulling you into the small space between the fridge and the wall where the shadows are thickest. from here, you can see the kitchen entrance, can watch jay as he moves through the room, his vampire cape swirling around him.
"hes going to find me," you whisper, pressing yourself against the wall.
"not if i can help it," riki says. hes standing in front of you, his arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. "but if he does, you let me do the talking. you dont say a word. you just look pretty and keep your mouth shut. can you do that, sweetheart?"
"yes," you breathe, looking up at him.
"good girl," he says, and that purring sound vibrates again, deeper this time. his eyes drop to your mouth.
he leans in closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. "you know," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, "you shouldve dressed up as a doll instead of an angel. wouldve suited you better."
you pull back slightly, confused. "what?"
"a doll," he repeats, his gaze roaming over your face. "all pretty and fragile, waiting for someone to pick you up and play with you. thats what you look like, isnt it? a little doll that wandered into the wrong toy box. my pretty little doll."
the words send another shiver through you, and youre not sure if its from the air conditioning or the way hes looking at you. "thats creepy, riki."
"is it?" he laughs, a low sound that you feel more than hear, almost like a growl. "maybe. but im not wrong. you look like you need someone to take care of you. someone to keep you safe and put you back on the shelf when the games over."
"and thats you?" you ask, your voice barely audible over the music. "youre going to take care of me?"
"if you let me," he says, his eyes serious now. "if you trust me."
before you can answer, jays voice cuts through the noise, calling for heeseung, and riki blinks, pulling back slightly. "hes getting closer," he murmurs. "stay here. dont move."
he pushes away from the wall and steps into the kitchen, intercepting jay before he can get too close to your hiding spot. you cant hear what theyre saying over the music, but you see jay gesture sharply, his expression frustrated, and riki nod, clapping him on the shoulder. after a minute, jay turns and walks back toward the living room, and riki returns to you, his expression unreadable.
"what did you tell him?" you ask.
"told him i saw you upstairs, in your room, asleep," riki says, taking your hand again. "bought you some time. but hes suspicious. hes going to check eventually."
"what do we do?"
riki looks down at you, his gaze softening slightly. "we get you out of here. come on."
he leads you through the kitchen, but instead of going toward the back door, he turns toward the living room. "riki," you hiss, pulling back. "jay is in there."
"exactly," he says. "hes looking in the bathrooms, the porch, the garage. he wont expect you to be in the middle of the crowd. sometimes the best hiding spot is right in plain sight."
he pulls you into the mass of dancing bodies, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, shielding you from view. you can feel his chest against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder as he sways with you to the music.
"just relax," he murmurs in your ear. "look like youre having fun. like you belong here."
you try to do as he says, letting your body move with his, your hips swaying to the beat. his hands stay on your waist, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against the fabric of your skirt. you feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the music and the heat and the feel of him pressed against you. you can feel something hard against your lower back, thick and heavy even through his jeans, and your face heats as you realize what it is.
"thats it, angel," he whispers, grinding slightly against you, letting you feel how big he is. "just like that. youre doing so good."
you lose track of time, dancing with him, his body guiding yours. he gets you a drink, something pink and sweet in a plastic cup, and you sip it while he keeps his arms around you, his presence a wall between you and the rest of the world. he calls you doll when he thinks youre being cute, angel when he thinks youre being naive, sweetheart when hes being tender. the names blend together, wrapping around you like a blanket.
at one point, he spins you around to face him, his hands on your hips, and you look up at him, breathless. "youre beautiful," he says, his voice barely audible over the bass. "you know that? been staring at you all night. couldnt help myself."
"riki," you breathe, your heart hammering.
"my pretty little doll," he murmurs, his forehead dropping to yours. "my sweet angel. what are you doing to me?"
you dont get a chance to answer, because thats when you hear it.
"riki."
the voice cracks through the noise like a whip, and you both freeze. jay stands at the edge of the dance floor, his vampire cape slightly askew, his eyes wide and then narrowing dangerously as he takes in the scene. you pressed against riki, his hands on your hips, your empty cup on the floor beside you.
"oh, shit," you breathe.
"jay," riki says, his voice calm, almost lazy. he doesnt move his hands from your waist. "whats up?"
"whats up?" jay strides across the floor, ignoring the people who scatter out of his way. he stops in front of you, his jaw tight. "ive been looking everywhere for you. heeseung said he saw someone in white near the stairs an hour ago. i knew it was you. i told you to stay upstairs."
"i'm sorry," you start, but jay isn't listening.
"and you," he whips around to face riki, his voice rising. "i told you. i specifically told you. if you see her, if you see my sister at this party, you bring her upstairs. immediately. thats what you said youd do."
the area around you has gone quiet, people watching the scene unfold with the morbid fascination of drunk partygoers sensing drama.
riki straightens up, finally dropping his hands from your waist. he looks at jay, then at you, then back at jay. "what do you think im doing?" he asks, his voice still infuriatingly calm.
"youre standing here dancing with her!" jay explodes. "shes drunk, riki. look at her. and youre just... youre just..."
"i'm watching her," riki says. "keeping her safe. which is more than i can say for you, since you let her wander down here in the first place."
jay opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "just... just take her upstairs. please. throw her in her room or something. i can't deal with this right now."
"gladly," riki says.
before you can process what's happening, he moves. one second hes standing beside you, the next hes bending down and his shoulder is hitting your stomach. you let out a shriek as he lifts you, his arm wrapping around your thighs to keep you steady as he straightens up, dangling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"riki!" you gasp, your face burning as you realize your skirt has ridden up, your ass practically hanging out in your white lace panties. "put me down!"
"nope," he says, his hand settling possessively on the back of your thigh, his fingers dangerously close to where your skirt ends. "orders are orders."
"riki, please," you whimper, squirming, but he just tightens his grip.
"stop moving, doll," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "unless you want everyone to see whats under that skirt."
you go still, mortified, as riki turns and carries you through the crowd. you can hear jay calling after him, something about locking you in, but the words blur together with the music and the blood rushing in your ears. riki's shoulder digs into your stomach with every step, his hand warm and firm on your thigh, and youre dizzy from the alcohol and the upside down position and the feel of his fingers so close to...
"here we are," he says, and then youre being lowered, your feet touching the floor of your bedroom. you stumble, grabbing his arm for balance, and he steadies you with a hand on your waist.
the door clicks shut behind him.
you stand there, breathing hard, your halo askew and your wings bent. your skirt is still hiked up, and you hastily tug it down, your face flaming. anger bubbles up in your chest, hot and sudden.
"why would you do that?" you demand, your voice shaking. "you said he wouldnt come over. you said wed be safe down there. i was having fun, riki. i was actually having fun for once."
riki blinks, surprised by your outburst. "y/n..."
"no," you say, backing away from him. "you promised. you said youd keep me safe and let me stay at the party. but the second jay told you to do something, you just... you just obeyed. you didnt even fight for me. you just picked me up like a child and carried me away."
"thats not fair," he says quietly.
"isnt it?" you cross your arms over your chest, your eyes pricking with tears. "i thought you were different. i thought you actually understood. but youre just like him. you just want to control me too."
riki is quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "relax," he says softly. "wouldnt you rather have fun with me alone up here, instead of downstairs and being cautious of what youre doing?"
the question catches you off guard. "what?"
"wouldnt you rather be up here," he repeats, stepping closer, "away from all those people, away from your brother watching your every move, away from having to hide and sneak around... just you and me? wouldnt you rather that, doll? no rules. no jay. just us."
you stare at him, your anger faltering. "youre staying?"
"if you want me to," he says, stopping in front of you. "i can go back down. can tell jay im checking on you, make sure youre asleep. or..." he reaches out, his fingers tracing your jaw. "or i can stay. keep you company. make sure you dont get lonely. show you how much fun we can have, just the two of us."
your breath catches. "youd do that?"
"for you?" he pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "id do anything for you, angel. havent you figured that out yet?"
you stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. the anger is gone now, replaced by something warmer, heavier. "okay," you breathe. "okay. stay."
his smile is slow, spreading across his face like honey. he makes that purring sound again, low and pleased. "thats my girl," he murmurs. "thats my good girl."
he pulls something from his back pocket with one hand and pulls out two small bottles of pink lemonade, the kind that comes in the glass bottles. then he reaches into his other pocket and produces a small baggie, the contents dark and pungent.
you eyes widen. "riki. is that...?"
"just a little something to help you relax," he says, his voice casual. "you ever smoked before, princess?"
"no," you admit. "ive been around it. but i never... i was always too scared."
"scared of what?"
"of losing control," you say quietly. "of doing something stupid."
riki is quiet for a moment. then he squeezes you gently. "you wont do anything stupid," he says. "not with me here. ill take care of you. i wont let anything bad happen. you trust me?"
you think about it. you think about all the years hes been in your life, all the times hes been kind to you, protective of you. you think about the way he looks at you, like youre precious, like youre his.
"yes," you whisper. "i trust you."
"good," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "thats my sweet girl. well start slow, okay? just a little. enough to take the edge off."
he finds your lighter in your desk drawer, the one you use for candles, and rolls the blunt with practiced fingers. he lights it, the tip glowing orange, and holds it to your lips.
"just inhale a little," he instructs. "hold it. let it out slow."
you do as he says, the smoke burning your throat, making you cough. he laughs softly, a warm sound that vibrates against your back, and rubs circles on your arm.
"easy," he murmurs. "try again. smaller this time."
the second hit is easier, and by the third, youre holding the smoke in your lungs like he showed you, letting it out in a slow stream toward the ceiling. he takes a hit himself, his chest expanding against your back, and then offers it to you again.
"time for a drink," he says, opening one of the bottles and handing it to you. "thisll help with the burn."
you sip, the sweet liquid coating your throat, and he opens his own bottle. the two of you pass the blunt back and forth, sipping your drinks, and slowly the tension drains from your body. you feel floaty, warm, safe in the circle of his arms.
"how you feeling, angel?" he asks, his lips brushing your ear.
"good," you sigh, your head lolling back against his shoulder. "really good."
"yeah?" his hand slides down your arm, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "you look good. look relaxed. look pretty."
"you think im pretty?" you ask, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.
"i think youre beautiful," he says, his voice serious. "think youre the prettiest girl ive ever seen. been thinking about you for years, you know. watching you grow up. waiting."
"waiting for what?"
"for you to be ready," he says. his hand moves to your thigh, his fingers tracing the hem of your skirt. "for you to want me like i want you."
your breath catches. "you want me?"
"so bad," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he makes a low growling sound, like a puma staking claim. "so fucking bad, doll. you have no idea. seeing you tonight, in this little outfit... do you know how hard it was not to drag you out of that party the second i saw you? how hard it was to keep my hands off you?"
"why did you?" you ask, turning your head to look at him. "why didnt you just...?"
"because youre jays sister," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "because youre younger. because you deserve better than some guy pawing at you in a dark corner. but mostly..." he swallows hard. "mostly because i wanted you to choose me. not because you were drunk or scared or caught up in the moment. but because you really wanted me."
"i do want you," you whisper, the words coming out braver than you feel. "i choose you, riki. i want you."
his eyes darken, his hand tightening on your thigh. "you dont know what youre saying, baby. youre high. youre drunk."
"i know exactly what im saying," you insist, turning more fully in his lap so youre facing him, your knees on either side of his hips. "i want you, riki. ive wanted you for so long. please."
for a moment, he just stares at you, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling rapidly. then he groans, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a kiss.
its not gentle. its not sweet. its hungry, desperate, his tongue pushing past your lips to taste you, his fingers tangling in your hair, knocking your halo to the floor. you whimper into his mouth, your hands clutching his shoulders, and he growls, standing up with you in his arms.
he carries you the three steps to your bed and drops you onto it, following you down, his body pressing you into the mattress. he kisses you until you cant breathe, his hands roaming over your body, pushing your wings aside, tugging at the zipper of your costume.
"wait," you gasp as he drags his mouth down your neck. "riki, wait. ive never... i mean, i have, but only once. and it was... it wasnt good. i dont really know what im doing. im sorry."
he pauses immediately, lifting his head to look at you. his pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen, but his expression is soft. tender. "hey," he says, his voice gentle. he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "hey, its okay. its okay, princess. well go slow. ill take care of you. i promise."
"okay," you breathe, your heart slowing slightly. "okay. just... tell me what to do."
"ill tell you everything," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. "ill show you. just relax for me. can you do that? can you relax and let me make you feel good?"
"yes," you whisper. "yes, please."
"good girl," he says, his smile sweet. "such a good girl for me."
he sits back on his heels and slowly, carefully, peels your costume off you. the zipper slides down, the fabric parting, and he lifts it over your head, leaving you in just your white lace bra and panties. his breath hitches, his gaze raking over you with something like reverence.
"look at you," he breathes. "fuck, baby. look at you."
you try to cover yourself, embarrassed, but he catches your wrists, pinning them gently to your sides. "dont hide from me," he says softly. "youre perfect. so perfect. let me look at you, angel. please."
you let your arms fall, letting him see you, and his eyes darken even more. he leans down, pressing kisses to your collarbone, the swell of your breast, the valley between them. he unhooks your bra with one hand, tossing it aside, and then his mouth is on your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh until youre arching off the bed, moaning his name.
"riki, please," you whimper, your hips bucking up, seeking friction.
"what do you want, sweetheart?" he asks, his hand sliding down your stomach, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. "tell me. use your words."
"i want you inside me," you gasp, the words shocking you even as you say them. "please, riki. i need you. i need you so bad."
he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he makes that purring sound again, deep and rumbling, vibrating against your skin. "fuck. okay. okay, baby. ive got you."
he strips quickly, his shirt and jeans and boxers hitting the floor in a pile, and you stare, your mouth going dry. hes beautiful, all lean muscle and smooth skin, and between his legs... your eyes go wide. hes huge, thick and long and heavy against his stomach, standing hard and proud. youve never seen anything like it. the guy youd been with before was nothing compared to this.
riki catches you staring and smirks, that cocky grin youve seen him give jay when he wins at video games. "like what you see, doll?" he asks, his voice dripping with confidence. he wraps his hand around himself, stroking slowly, showing off. "yeah, im big. bigger than you expected, isnt that right?"
you nod, unable to tear your eyes away. "riki, i dont know if... if youll fit..."
"ill fit," he says, his voice low and sure. "trust me, angel. ill make you take every inch. gonna stretch you out so good. gonna make you feel me for days." he crawls back over you, his cock dragging against your thigh, hot and heavy. "you want that? want me to fill you up? make you feel how big i am inside you?"
"yes," you whimper, your face flaming at his words. "please."
he reaches out tentatively, your fingers wrapping around him, and he hisses, his hips jerking forward. hes thick in your hand, impossibly so, and you stroke him slowly, marveling at the size of him.
"careful, doll," he grits out, but hes smirking, clearly loving the attention. "been dreaming about this for too long. wont last if you keep that up. especially not with your pretty little hands on me like that."
"sorry," you whisper, pulling your hand back.
"no," he says, catching your wrist. "dont be sorry. touch me. i want you to touch me. just... go slow. gotta get you ready first. dont want to hurt you."
you wrap your hand around him again, stroking slowly, watching his face. he groans, his eyes falling closed, that purr rumbling in his chest.
"thats it," he breathes. "just like that, baby. youre doing so good."
he lets you explore for a few minutes, his hips rocking into your touch, his breath coming faster. then he gently removes your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm.
"lay back," he says softly. "spread your legs for me, angel. let me see you."
you do as he says, lying back against your pillows, your thighs falling open. he kneels between them, his hands sliding up your legs, his thumbs hooking in your panties. he drags them down slowly, his eyes locked on yours, and tosses them aside.
"beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your most intimate place. "so beautiful. so perfect. youre wet for me, arent you, doll? wet and ready?"
"yes," you whimper, your face flaming. "please, riki. please touch me."
"im going to do more than touch you," he says, his voice rough. he lowers his head, his tongue dragging up your center, and you cry out, your back bowing off the bed. he eats you like hes starving, his tongue circling your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, curling to find that spot that makes you see stars. he adds another finger, stretching you, preparing you for his size.
"riki, riki, please," you chant, your hands fisting in his hair, your hips rolling against his mouth.
"you taste so sweet," he murmurs against you, the vibration making you gasp. "just like i knew you would. my little angel. my pretty doll. my perfect baby."
he keeps going, his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue relentless, until youre teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling. "gonna come," you warn, your voice high and breathy.
"come for me," he commands, his fingers curling harder, his tongue flicking faster. "come on my tongue, doll. let me taste you. give it to me, sweetheart."
you shatter, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. he doesnt stop, working you through it, his mouth gentling as you come down, his hands stroking your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach.
when you finally go limp, he crawls up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "good girl," he whispers. "so good for me. you did so good, baby. now youre ready for me. ready to take all of me."
"please," you whimper, your hands tugging at his shoulders. "please, riki. i need you inside me. please."
he reaches over the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans and pulling out his wallet. he extracts a foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth, and you watch, fascinated, as he rolls the condom down his length. even sheathed, he looks massive, and a flutter of nervousness goes through you.
"you sure?" he asks, positioning himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. "tell me if it hurts. well stop. we can stop anytime, okay?"
"i dont want to stop," you say, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want you. please."
he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. hes big, so big, filling you up until you feel like you might split apart. you gasp, your nails digging into his back, and he pauses, his jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead.
"okay?" he asks, his voice strained. "fuck, youre tight. so fucking tight around me, doll."
"yes," you breathe. "dont stop. please dont stop. youre so big, riki..."
"i know," he says, that cocky smirk back on his face. "feels good though, doesnt it? feels good to be stretched out on my cock? tell me how it feels, baby. tell me how big i am inside you."
"so big," you whimper, your head falling back. "youre so big. i can feel you everywhere."
"thats right," he groans, starting to move. "gonna make you take it all. gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name."
he starts moving, slow thrusts that gradually speed up as you relax around him. he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, and you moan, your head falling back against the pillow.
"there?" he asks, his voice rough.
"there," you confirm, your hands gripping his arms. "right there, riki. harder. please, harder."
he obliges, his hips snapping forward, driving into you with force that makes the bed creak. the room fills with the sounds of skin on skin, your moans, his grunts, the wet slide of him moving inside you. he makes that low purring growl with every thrust, the sound rumbling in his chest like a puma claiming its mate.
"you feel so good," he groans, his forehead dropping to yours. "so tight. so perfect. fuck, y/n. been dreaming about this. about you. my pretty little doll. my sweet angel. you taking my cock so good, baby. look at you. look how well you take me."
his hand finds your throat, his fingers wrapping around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just holding, and you gasp, your inner muscles fluttering around him.
"like that?" he asks, his thumb stroking your pulse point. "you like my hand here, baby?"
"yes," you whimper, the feeling of being held, being controlled, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "please. a little tighter, please."
his fingers tighten, just enough to restrict your airflow, and the world narrows to the point where hes touching you, where hes inside you, where hes holding you. you feel safe, cherished, owned. he growls, low and possessive, the sound vibrating through both of you.
"youre mine," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. "this tight little pussy is mine now. say it. say youre mine, doll. say you belong to me."
"i'm yours," you gasp, your second orgasm building fast, coiling tight in your belly. "riki, i'm yours. please. please, i need to come. please let me come."
"come with me," he demands, his hand tightening just a fraction more. he makes that purring sound again, deep and constant now, like a cat thats found its favorite spot. "come on my cock, baby. now. squeeze me tight. let me feel you."
you explode, your vision whiting out, your whole body convulsing around him. he keeps fucking you through it, his hand finally leaving your throat to grip your hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. he thrusts twice more, three times, and then hes coming too, his head thrown back, a growl tearing from his throat as he spills into the condom.
he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot and fast against your neck. for a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant thump of the party downstairs.
"are you okay?" he finally asks, his voice muffled against your skin. he lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. "did i hurt you? was i too rough?"
"no," you say, your voice hoarse. you touch your throat, feeling the phantom pressure of his fingers. "that was... that was perfect. you were perfect."
he smiles, soft and sweet, and presses a kiss to your forehead. he purrs, low and content, nuzzling against your neck. "good," he murmurs. "thats good, angel. you did so good for me. took me so well. my good girl."
he pulls out carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash can by your desk. he finds his boxers and pulls them on, then grabs your discarded costume, using the soft fabric to gently clean between your thighs. you blush, trying to close your legs, but he tsks, his hands gentle but firm.
"let me take care of you," he says softly. "you did so good for me. let me make you feel good after. thats my job, isnt it? taking care of my girl?"
when hes finished, he tucks you into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. he finds your discarded halo on the floor and places it on your nightstand, then sits on the edge of your bed, his hand stroking your hair.
"you should sleep," he says quietly. "youve had a long night."
"are you leaving?" you ask, your heart sinking.
"i should," he says, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. "jay will notice im gone. hell ask questions. i should go back down, make an appearance, then slip out."
your heart sinks. "no," you say, reaching out to grab his hand. "please. dont go. stay with me. i dont want to be alone."
"y/n," he sighs, his expression conflicted. "baby, i cant. your brother will..."
"please," you whisper, and your voice cracks, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. the alcohol and the weed and the aftershocks of your orgasm have left you raw, vulnerable. "please, riki. i dont want to be alone. please stay. just until i fall asleep. please."
he stares at you, his jaw working, his hand tightening on yours. he makes a low sound, almost a whine, conflicted and wanting. "fuck," he mutters under his breath, his eyes closing. "fuck. youre killing me, you know that?"
"please," you whisper again, a tear slipping down your cheek.
he opens his eyes, and the look in them is so tender, so full of longing, that it takes your breath away. "ill just tell your brother you were tipsy and couldnt sleep alone," he mumbles, more to himself than to you. "hell understand. he has to understand."
he stands, pulling back the covers and climbing in beside you. you immediately curl into him, your head on his chest, your arm draped over his waist. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head. he purrs, low and steady, the vibration rumbling through his chest against your ear.
"thank you," you whisper, your eyes already drifting shut.
"anything for you, angel," he murmurs, his hand stroking slow circles on your back. the purring continues, a constant rumble of contentment. "anything for my girl. go to sleep now. ive got you. im right here."
"promise?" you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.
"promise," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair. he growls softly, possessive and satisfied. "im not going anywhere. ill be here when you wake up. i promise."
you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat and his purring, safe in his arms, dreaming of halos and hands around your throat and a boy who finally made you his. the party rages on downstairs, but up here, in your little room, with riki holding you close, youve never felt more at home.
⋆˚✿˖°
an ✧˖°. soo.... howd we like it :) I LOVEDDD WRITING THISSS, i love me a good party setting lol. reblogs are always welcome!!! feedback is also greatly appreciated. if you enjoyed this story and would like to see something specific, dont be afraid to send an ask! :)
—𝑶𝑹 𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑵 you walk into a tattoo shop drunk just to prove a point, and walk out with the best thing to ever happen to you. Except he’s hiding something. And between the secrets and your stalker classmate closing in, you get it twisted before you get it right.
playlist… hanging out to dry — florence road // vampire — dominic fike // addicted — lovelace // fallen star — the neighbourhood // real people — hozier // nothing’s gonna hurt you baby — cigarettes after sex
pepa speaks!! sooo here’s the second and final part I really hope you guys like it. idk if it’s a good as the first part so I’m sorry in advanced. ALSO THANK U FOR 300 FOLLOWERS WTF 🤭 I’ve only posted one thing and omg you guys loved it and I love you all!!! pls enjoy and reblog and liked are welcomed 🙈🙈
“Daniel found it,” Soo said. “He sent it to me. I know his reasons aren’t great, but Y/N, this is—”
“When was this,” you said, voice very even.
“Four years ago. He was nineteen.” You stared at the screen. Victim: Female, 28. “He hit a woman,” Soo said. “He went to jail for hitting a woman. And I just — I needed you to know that. Before this gets—” She stopped. “Before you’re further in.”
You looked up. “Do you know the context?”
“Does context—”
“Soo. Do you know why?”
She hesitated. “Does it change what it says?” You looked back at the screen. At the charge, the victim, the sentence. Looked at it and thought about Riki’s hands on your face that morning and felt the ground do something unsteady under you.
“I need to think,” you said.
“Y/N—”
“I’m not — I’m not dismissing it.” You pushed the phone back. “I need to think.”
You didn’t go back to Riki’s. You went home, sat on your kitchen floor with your back against the cabinets because the floor felt more than the couch right now and opened your laptop and searched.
You found the same record Soo had. Found a brief local news article from four years ago — two lines, not detailed, just his name and the charge and the outcome. You found nothing that explained why. The victim wasn’t named, the circumstances weren’t described and the article was the kind that covered the verdict and nothing else. Victim: Female, 28. You closed the laptop. Opened it again. Searched differently — Studio 13, Heeseung. You found the shop’s Instagram, four years of posts, nothing personal. Found a mention of Riki in a piercing forum, someone raving about his work, the date two years ago — which lined up with him being at the shop post-probation.
You found nothing that told you why a nineteen-year-old had put a woman in hospital badly enough to serve fourteen months. You thought about the things he’d said; I spent a long time in situations where things got taken. It’s a me thing. I’m working on it. He’d said not yet. And that meant there was something to tell. You’d known that. You’d been waiting without pushing, the way you waited for everything with him, letting him come to things in his own time. Now you had half a story and no way to read it and something cold sitting in your chest where the warmth had been this morning. He texted at six.
Riki: you good?
You stared at it. Thought about what to say. Thought about asking him directly — just asking and felt the coldness in your chest. You couldn’t. Not because you thought he’d lie but because you didn’t know what you’d do with the answer yet. Because you needed to know how you felt about the question before you heard the response.
you: yeah, just tired. going to have an early night.
A pause. Longer than usual.
Riki: okay.
Riki: you sure you’re good?
you: yeah. talk tomorrow.
Riki: okay. night Y/N.
You put your phone face down on the kitchen floor and sat in the quiet for a long time.
Monday you had a seminar at ten. You went, sat in the back, heard approximately nothing. Your pen moved across the page making notes that you’d look at later and not recognize. Daniel was across the room. You felt him looking at you twice and you did not look back. Afterwards he caught you in the corridor. “Hey,” he said. Careful. “Did Soo talk to you?”
“Yeah.” You kept walking.
“I just thought you should know—”
“Daniel.” You stopped. Turned. “Why did you look him up?”
He blinked. “I was worried about you, Y/N.”
“You were jealous,” you said. “There’s a difference.”
His jaw tightened. “I found out your boyfriend has a criminal record for assaulting a woman and I thought—”
“You thought it would change things.” You looked at him. “Between me and him. You thought I’d find out and run away from him. To you.”
“That’s not—”
“Don’t.” You held his gaze. “Don’t pretend this was about me.”
You walked away. He said something behind you — your name maybe, or something else and kept walking. But the record was still there. That was the thing, whatever Daniel’s motives, the record existed. The charge existed. Victim: Female, 28 existed on a public database and you couldn’t unknow it, but you didn’t have the context to read it and every time you thought about calling Riki the coldness in your chest got in the way.
You called Ria instead. She listened without interrupting, which was how you knew she was taking it seriously. “Okay,” she said, when you finished. “What are you feeling?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.” You were quiet for a moment. “Scared,” you said. “I’m scared of what it means and I’m scared of asking and I’m scared of—” You stopped. “I’ve never been this far in with someone, Ria. And now there’s this thing sitting there that I don’t understand and I can’t—”
“Ask him,” Ria said.
“What if the answer is bad?”
“Then you deal with it.” Her voice was gentle. “But Y/N— you know him. You know what he’s like. Does this fit?”
You thought about everything he’d done for you in all the time you’ve known him, and god it doesn’t fit. “No,” you said. “It doesn’t fit.”
“So ask him.”
“I will,” you said. “I just need — I need a minute.”
“Okay,” Ria said. “Take your minute. But don’t take too many.”
You took too many. Three days of quieter texts and shorter replies and I’m busy’s which were technically true yet completely dishonest. Three days of Riki’s responses getting more careful, more measured, the way he got when he was reading something in the air and didn’t know what it was.
Riki: coming in Wednesday?
you: might be a bit late, I have stuff
Riki: okay
You went in at four instead of two on Wednesday. Jay handed you your coffee with a look that he converted quickly into nothing. Riki was at the counter, he looked at you when you sat down and the reading-you expression was fully deployed. Taking in the way you were sitting and the way your eyes weren’t quite landing on his and whatever else he always saw that you didn’t know you were showing. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You wrapped your hands around the coffee.
“Late today.”
“Yeah, I had—”
“I know, you said.” He paused. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Y/N,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You’ve been fine three different ways this week and none of them were actually fine.”
You looked at your coffee. “Riki—”
“Talk to me. Whatever it is. Please just— talk to me.” You looked up. His face was open and vulnerable and there was something behind his eyes that looked like it already knew something was coming. You opened your mouth. And then your phone lit up on the counter between you and you both looked at it at the same time.
Daniel: I think you deserve to know the full story from me. Can we meet?
The silence that followed was very loud. You looked at the message, then at Riki. His eyes were on the phone. On Daniel’s name, something in his face went very still. “Who’s that,” he said more controlled that was somehow more intense than loud. “Daniel,” you said.
“The guy from your seminar.”
“Yes.”
A pause. “What full story?”
You looked at him. He looked at you and you could see him doing the calculation — the name, the message, your quietness for three days, the full story — and watching it land. “Riki,” you said.
“What did he tell you.” Not a question.
“He didn’t tell me anything. He told Soo and she—”
“What did she tell you.”
You looked at him. He looked back, jaw set, eyes very dark and very steady. “I found the record,” you said. The stillness that moved across his face was different. This was recognition. The specific, braced quality of someone who had been waiting for something for a long time.
He looked at the counter yet said nothing. “Riki.” Your voice was careful. “I don’t have the full picture. I know that. I want you to—”
“What does it say.”
You sighed. “You know what it says.”
A long pause. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.” He wasn’t going to explain. You could feel it — the door closing, firmly shutting. The part of him pulling all the way back.
“Can you tell me—”
“No.”
“Riki—”
“Not right now.” He stood up from the stool. His face was even, controlled, everything locked up behind the professional expression he used for strangers. “I need to—” He stopped. “I need a minute.” He went into the back.
You sat at the counter. Jay appeared from somewhere and looked at you. His face had none of its usual brightness. “You okay?” he said quietly.
“No,” you said honestly. He sat down across from you. Didn’t say anything but just stayed.
Riki came back out ten minutes later. Stood on his side of the counter, and looked at you with the closed expression, the one you’d never seen directed at you before, only strangers. “I think you should go home,” he said.
Your chest tightened. “Riki—”
“Not forever.” His voice was careful. Controlled. “Just— I need to think.”
“We could just talk—”
“I can’t right now. I can’t do it right now, Y/N. Please.”
You looked at him for a long moment. Then you picked up your bag, your coffee and stood up. “I want to understand,” you said. “That’s all I want.”
He looked at the counter. “I know.”
“Riki. Look at me.” He looked up. And for just a second the control slipped and what was behind it was not guilt or anger, but something older than both of those. Something that looked like a person waiting. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly.
His jaw shifted. “Go home,” he said. “Please.”
And You went.
He didn’t text that night. For the first time in weeks you were met with nothing. You lay in bed and looked at your phone and thought about the expression on his face when you’d said you found the record and all the things he’d almost said that he’d swallowed back down. At midnight you texted him.
you: I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.
The ticks went blue immediately. He was awake just no reply. You put your phone down. Outside the window the city was quiet and somewhere across it Riki was in his flat or the shop or somewhere thinking about the nineteen-year-old version of himself.
Daniel found you on Tuesday. He was waiting outside the library at half three where you’d mentioned once, weeks ago in passing, that you spent Tuesday afternoons. He’d remembered. You came out with your bag on one shoulder, headphones around your neck and saw him and stopped. “Hey,” he said like this was normal.
“Daniel. What are you doing here.”
“I wanted to talk. About Riki.”
“No.”
“Y/N—”
“You went to Soo.” You started walking. He fell into step beside you and you didn’t stop because stopping felt like giving him something. “You dug up his record and framed it as concern and sent it to my friend. That’s not—”
“He assaulted a woman.” His voice sharpened slightly. “That’s not framing, that’s what happened.”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“It’s on public record—”
“The outcome is on public record.” You stopped, and faced him. “You don’t know the circumstances. You don’t know why. You know a charge and a sentence and you took it straight to Soo because you thought it would—”
You stopped yourself.
“Because I thought it would what?” he said.
You looked at him. “You know what I was going to say.”
His jaw tightened. Something moved across his face — not guilt which annoyed you even more. “I like you,” he said. “I’ve liked you for months. That’s not a crime.”
“Pursuing someone who’s told you no multiple times is a problem,” you said. “Digging up information on their partner because you’re jealous is a bigger one.”
“I’m trying to protect you—”
“I don’t need you to protect me.” Your voice came out harder than you intended. “I need you to stop. Okay? Just stop.” You walked away. He didn’t follow but you felt him watching you go and it sat uncomfortably between your shoulder blades the whole way to the bus stop.
On Wednesday you went in to Studio 13 at two, your normal time. Trying to act like the last week hadn’t happened, like you could walk back into the shop and sit at the counter and it would just reset. Jay was at the front. He looked up when you came in. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You unwound your scarf. “Is he—”
“In the back.” Jay paused. “He’s been — he’s fine. Just— you know.” You didn’t know, exactly, but you nodded like you did.
Riki came through from the back three minutes later. He saw you and he came to the counter, sat on his stool and looked at you across the surface that had always been a comfortable distance but felt like too much of one now. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You sat. Wrapped your hands around the coffee Jay had already put in front of you. “How was your week?”
“Fine.” A pause. “Your?.”
“Fine.” The word sat between you. You looked at him. He looked at you. “Riki,” you said. “We can’t just—” You stopped. Started again. “I don’t want to sit here and say fine to each other.” His jaw shifted. “I know.”
“Then talk to me.”
“I’m not—” He stopped. His thumb pressed against the counter. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”
“It’s been a week.”
“I know how long it’s been.”
“Riki—”
“I’m not ready. I need more time.”
You looked at him. “How much more time?” He didn’t answer. You picked up your coffee. “Okay. Okay, take your time. But I need you to know that I’m still—”
“I know,” he said. Fast. Like he needed to cut that sentence off before it finished, like hearing it would make the shutting-down harder.
Across the shop Jay was doing something very focused with a drawer. “I saw Daniel today,” you said. You didn’t plan to, it just came out. Riki went very still.
“Where?” he said.
“Outside the library. He was waiting.”
“He was waiting for you?”
“Yes.”
“He knew you’d be there.”
“I mentioned it once, weeks ago. He remembered.” The silence that followed was the specific kind that Riki produced when something was being held very tightly. His hands were flat on the counter, jaw was set and his eyes had gone somewhere dark and focused.
“What did he say,” he said. Each word careful.
“The same things. That he was concerned. That you—” You stopped.
“That I what?”
You looked at him. “That I should be careful.” Riki’s hands pressed harder against the counter. His rings scraped against the surface.
“He’s going to keep doing this,” he said quietly.
“I can handle Daniel.”
“I know you can handle him.” His voice was still controlled but something was pushing at the edges of it. “That’s not—” He stopped. Exhaled. “He’s going to keep putting himself in front of you and saying things and I can’t say anything because we’re—” He gestured vaguely at the space between you.
“We’re what?” you said quietly.
He looked at you and the something that was usually behind his eyes was right there — the possessive, the quietly desperate thing that he usually kept on a short leash. Except the leash was frayed right now, between the record and the distance and Daniel and all of it. “I don’t know what we are right now,” he said which was raw and honest and meant more than anything right now. But but landed like something physical.
“We’re the same thing we were two weeks ago,” you said. “Nothing changed that.”
“Something changed,” he said. “You went quiet.”
“Because I found out something and didn’t know what to do with it.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last word and you hated it. “I didn’t go quiet because I wanted to leave. I went quiet because I was scared and I didn’t know. I was waiting for you to—” You stopped.
He was looking at you. Fully, openly, the guard down for a second. “Waiting for me to what?” he said.
“Tell me yourself,” you said. “Whatever it is. Just tell me yourself.”
His guard came back up. His eyes went to the counter, leaving yours. “I can’t,” he said.
“Riki—”
“Not yet.” Still looking at the counter. “I’m sorry. I’m not — it’s not you. I just can’t—”
“Okay,” you said your voice steadier than you expected. “Okay. That’s okay.” It wasn’t okay. You both knew it wasn’t okay but you didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t push him further behind the wall. You were scared, actually scared of what would happen if you pushed too hard.
You stayed for an hour despite everything and the conversation found easier ground eventually. You talked and it was almost normal but underneath it the almost-normal was sad. When you left he walked you to the door. “Y/N,” he said. A pause. “I’m not — I’m trying to figure out how to—” He stopped, started again. “Give me some time.”
“I’m giving you time,” you said. “I’ve been giving you time.”
“I know.” His jaw. “I know you have. I just need—”
“Riki.” Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. “I’m scared.”
He went very still. “Of what? Of me?” he said quietly.
“No. Of this.” You gestured at the space between you. “Of the distance. Of you not letting me in.” Your voice was steady but only barely. “I’ve never—” You stopped. “I’ve never let someone matter this much to me before and I don’t know what to do when it gets complicated. You’re shutting me out but I still don’t have the full story and Daniel keeps—”
You felt his hands before you saw him move. He crossed and his hands came to your face, palms at your jaw, tilting you up. He looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before, open and wrecked and raw. “Hey,” he said. “I’m here. I’m right here.” His thumbs moved across your cheekbones.
“You’ve been far away all week.”
“I know.” His forehead dropped to yours. “I know. I’m sorry.” You put your hands on his wrists, holding on. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, like he needed you to hear it. “I need you to know that. Whatever the record says, whatever Daniel tells people. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
“I know that,” you said and you did, you knew deep down he would never hurt you. But that wasn’t your fear.
“Then what is it?” he said.
“I told you.” You looked up at him. “I’m scared of losing this. Of you shutting down so far that I can’t reach you.”
“I do that,” he said. “Shut people out. I know I do that. I’m—” He exhaled. “I’m trying not to.” You looked at each other in the doorway of Studio 13 in the dark and the cold. He kissed your forehead, his mouth there for a moment. “Come back Friday. I’ll talk. Or I’ll try.”
“Okay,” you said.
“Okay.” He pulled back. His hands dropped slowly from your face like he didn’t want to let go. “Text me when you’re home.”
“Yeah.” You walked away and made a point of not looking back.
—
Daniel was in your seminar, this was normal he was always in your seminar. But he kept looking at you throughout and after when the room emptied he cut across to you before you reached the door. “Y/N. Just listen.” He held his hands up. “Two minutes. That’s all.”
You stopped because causing a scene in the seminar room felt worse than two minutes. “Fine.”
“I know you’re angry,” he said. “About Soo. About me going to her. I get it.” He paused. “But I need you to know that what I found. It’s real. He went to jail for hitting a woman, he put her in hospital. And you’re scared of losing him, of course you are. But what if that’s not the thing you should be scared of?”
You looked at him. “You don’t know him,” you said.
“Neither do you. You said yourself you don’t have the full story.”
“That’s between me and him.”
“What if there is no full story?” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, the worst version of this because it sounded like concern. “What if the record is the story?”
Your stomach turned over not because you believed him but because the fear was already there. He’d found it and pressed on it and you hated him for it. “I need you to leave me alone. I mean it. Stop waiting for me, stop texting Soo, stop — just stop.”
“Y/N—”
“Stop, Daniel.” Your voice came out hard. “I’m not asking.” You left. You were halfway across campus when you heard footsteps behind you. Fast ones. You turned and there was Daniel, walking fast to catch up, hands in his pockets, that stupid earnest expression.
“I just want to make sure you’re okay—”
“I’m fine—”
“You don’t look fine—”
“Daniel.” You stopped walking. “What is this? What do you think is going to happen here?”
“I think you’re in a relationship with someone dangerous and you’re too close to him to see it—”
“You don’t know anything about him—”
“I know what he did—”
“You know a charge on a database.” Your voice was rising but you didn’t care anymore. “You know nothing. You don’t know him, you don’t know his life, you don’t know why—” You stopped. “And even if you did this isn’t about protecting me. This is about you not being able to handle that I’m not interested in you.”
His jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes. “I’m trying to help,” he said.
“You’re not. Stay away from me. Please.” You walked away. This time he didn’t follow. Your hands were shaking slightly by the time you reached the bus stop and you stood in the cold, breathed and thought about what he’d said — what if the record is the story — and felt your fear do something in your chest.
You called Ria from the bus. “Daniel cornered me again,” you said when she picked up.
“What?” Her voice sharpened. “Where?”
“Campus. Twice just now.” You pressed your forehead against the cold window. “He followed me out of the seminar building.”
“Y/N, you need to tell Riki.”
“Riki and I are barely—”
“I don’t care.” Her voice was firm. “You need to tell him. Not because he needs to fix it but because you’re scared and he should know. He should be there for you.”
You were quiet for a moment. “What if it makes things between us worse. He’s already—”
“This thing with Riki is separate from a guy following you around campus,” Ria said. “Tell him.” Y
ou looked out the window at the city going by. “He said what if the record is the story,” you said quietly.
Ria was quiet for a moment. “Do you believe that?”
You thought about Riki’s hands on your face last night. Your Riki. “No,” you said. “I don’t believe it.”
“Then don’t let Daniel put it in your head.”
“But It’s already in my head.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “But you know him, Y/N. You know Riki, know what he’s like. Hold onto that.”
You went to Studio 13 at six on Friday like he’d asked. The shop was quieter in the evening, winding down, the last client of the day leaving as you arrived. Jay waved on his way out, Sunghoon nodded. Then it was just you and Heeseung in his office and Riki at the front counter. He looked up, hit face when he saw you was careful, prepared. Like he’d been thinking about this all day and had gotten himself to a place where he was going to try. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” He came around the counter, all the way to you and put his hands on your face, looked at you for a long moment. “You okay?” he said. “You look—”
“Daniel followed me today,” you said.
Everything in him went still. “What.”
“After my seminar. He cornered me in the building and then followed me out across campus.” You kept your voice steady. “I told him to leave me alone. He did eventually. But—”
“He followed you.” His voice was very quiet. Very even.
“Yes.”
His hands were still on your face, jaw was set. His eyes had gone somewhere very dark. “Are you okay?” he said.
“I’m fine. A bit shaken.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No. He was — he kept saying he was concerned. That he was trying to help.” You looked at Riki’s face. “He said—” You stopped. You looked at Riki. “He said that what if the record is the story,” you said. “What if there’s no explanation. What if that’s just — what you are.”
The silence that followed was very loud. Riki’s hands dropped from your face and he stepped back. The loss of his hands was immediate and cold. He looked at you. “Do you believe that,” he said. Quiet and careful.
“No,” you said immediately. “No, Riki, I don’t—”
“But it’s in your head.”
“He put it there—”
“But it’s there.” He looked at the counter. Away from you. His jaw was set hard now and his hands were at his sides and something had closed up in his expression that hadn’t been there a minute ago.
“Riki, look at me—”
“I think—” He stopped then started again. “I think I need to tell you. About what happened.” He said it like it cost him something just to get to the edge of it. “I’ve been trying to get there all week and I keep—” He stopped again.
“Take your time,” you said softly.
He looked at you. “I had a brother,” he said. “Have. He’s older. He married young, and had two kids.His wife— she had a temper and it was bad for a long time before I knew how bad. The kids were young.” You went very still. “I found out that she’d been hitting them,” he said. “Found out what she’d been doing. Not from him but from the kids. From things I saw. The marks and bruises on them.” His jaw moved. “I went there. I wasn’t— I wasn’t thinking. I just went there and it happened and I don’t—” He looked at the wall. “I don’t regret it. I should probably regret it but I don’t.”
“Riki,” you said quietly.
“I pled guilty.” His voice was flat now, the way it got when he was keeping emotion at arm’s length through sheer force. “Didn’t want the kids to have to testify, to have it go longer. So I pled guilty and I did the time and I came here. Heeseung gave me a chair and that’s— that’s the story.”
The shop was completely quiet. You looked at him, he was looking at the wall. His profile, the set jaw, his earrings catching the light. A nineteen-year-old who had walked into a situation to protect two small children and paid fourteen months for it and never defended himself publicly because defending himself would have meant the kids had to stand up in a courtroom. “Riki,” you said.
“You don’t have to—”
“Come here,” you said. He looked at you. You crossed the space between you. Put your hands on his face the way he always did to you and tilted his face down toward yours. “Listen to me,” you said. He looked at you, his eyes dark and tired. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I need you to hear that.”
His jaw moved under your hands. “I heard you the first time,” he said.
“I know. I’m saying it again.” You held his face. “I’m sorry it took me this long to ask. I’m sorry I went quiet instead of just—”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.” His hands came up and covered yours on his face. “You found half a story and you were scared. That’s— that’s allowed.”
You looked at each other. Then he pulled you in with both arms around you, your face against his chest, his chin on top of your head and he held on. You felt him exhale, long and slow and releasing. “I’ve got you,” you said into his chest. His arms tightened.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”
You stayed until midnight. Heeseung appeared at some point, looked at the two of you on the back room couch, and said nothing but made two cups of tea, left them on the counter. You didn’t talk about Daniel. You didn’t talk about the record. You talked about other things — small things, and his hand was in your hair and your legs were across his and the distance of the last week had mostly closed. Mostly. “He’s going to keep coming,” Riki said quietly into the dark. “Daniel.”
“I know.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know you don’t.”
“I really don’t like it.” His hand moved in your hair. Slow. “I’m going to need you to tell me when he does it. Every time.”
“Riki—”
“Every time,” he said. Not asking. You looked up at him. His jaw was set. His eyes were on the ceiling.
“Okay. Every time.” You said.
“Okay.” His hand kept moving. “And I’m going to need you to not shut me out when you’re scared. I know I do it. I know I’m doing it right now to some extent. But I can’t—” He stopped. “I can’t have you going quiet for a week again. It’s— It’s bad. For me. I don’t do well with it.”
“I know,” you said. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I’m sor—” You stopped. “Okay.” He looked down at you. The corner of his mouth moved. A smile. Although small and tired but real. You pressed your face into his chest. “We’re okay,” you said.
His arm tightened around you. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re okay.”
But Daniel had planted something. You felt it that night on the bus home — not about Riki, not about the record, you believed him completely and that wasn’t the issue. It was the other thing Daniel had said, the quieter thing: you’re too close to see it.
You were close. That was true. Closer than you’d ever been to anyone. Close enough that a week of distance had felt like something being removed from your chest. Close enough that his hands on your face in the shop doorway had steadied you more than anything you’d told yourself all week. That was a lot to be. For someone. You sat with it on the bus and didn’t know what to do with it and got home and texted him.
you: home safe.
Riki: good.
Riki: I’m glad you came tonight.
You stared at that for a long time.
you: me too.
You put your phone on the charger. Lay in the dark. The fear was quieter now. But Daniel was still out there.
—
Daniel tried again on a Monday. Not on campus this time. That was the thing that made your stomach drop when you saw him in the coffee shop two streets from your flat. The one you went to every Monday morning before your seminar, the one you’d never mentioned to him, which meant he’d either followed you or asked around, and both options sat badly. You were at the counter waiting for your order when you felt someone beside you. Daniel.
“Hey,” he said, like his was an accident.
You looked at him for a long moment. “How do you know I come here?”
A pause. Just long enough. “I didn’t. Coincidence.”
“Daniel.”
“I just wanted to—”
“No.” You picked up your coffee when it appeared and turned to face him fully. “This is the coffee shop near my flat. You’ve never been here before. This isn’t a coincidence and we both know it.” You kept your voice low and even. “This needs to stop.”
“I’m not doing anything—”
“You’re showing up everywhere I am.” Your hand tightened around your cup. “That’s something.”
His face did the earnest thing. The concerned thing. The thing that was starting to make your skin crawl because it looked like caring and absolutely wasn’t. “I’m worried about you,” he said. “After everything I found out—”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“He has a violent history, Y/N. He put a woman in hospital. And I know you think you know him but—”
“I do know him.” Your voice was steady. “I know the full story. Which is more than you do.”
Something shifted in his face. “What full story?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“So he told you something. Something that made it okay.” He said it like it was naive, like you were a person who’d been talked into something. “Don’t you think that’s convenient? That he has an explanation that—”
“Daniel.” You looked at him. “I need you to hear me. This is the last time I’m saying it directly, so listen.” You held his gaze. “I am not interested in you. I am with Riki. I know who he is. What you’re doing — the waiting, the following, the texts to Soo, my friend. It’s not concern. It’s harassment. And if you do it again I’m going to make a formal complaint to the university.”
His face went through several things. “I’m trying to help you,” he said, the performance dropping slightly.
“You’re not,” you said. “Goodbye, Daniel.” You left.
You told Riki that evening. Every time, you’d agreed. You texted him from the bus.
you: Daniel was at the coffee shop near my flat this morning. Not a coincidence. I told him if he does it again I’m going to the university.
Riki: which coffee shop
you: the one on Mercer St. why?
Riki: okay. you alright?
you: fine. annoyed. he’s getting bolder.
Riki: I know. Come in tonight?
you: yeah. see you at 7.
The session that evening was fine. Better than fine — easier than it had been in weeks, the distance of the last fortnight mostly gone, his hand finding yours across the counter, Jay pointedly finding somewhere else to be. Riki was quieter than usual though. Not the bad quiet — not the shut-down, wall-up quiet. More like thinking quiet. The kind where something was moving behind his eyes and he was letting it move without acting on it. You noticed.
You left at ten. He kissed you at the door, thorough and warm, his hands on your face. “Text me when you’re home,” he said.
“Always,” you said.
—
You didn’t find out what happened until Tuesday afternoon. Ria called you while you were in the library. You declined it — library, silent zone and she immediately texted.
Ria: call me NOW
Ria: Y/N I’m serious
Ria: IT’S RIKI
You packed your bag and went outside and called her. “What happened,” you said.
“Okay.” Her voice was weird. Controlled in the way of someone managing their own reaction. “So Jake told me. Apparently last night after you left, Riki— Riki went to find Daniel.”
You stopped walking. “He what,” you said.
“He found out where Daniel lives — I don’t know how, someone at the university probably, Jay has a friend who—” She stopped. “That’s not the point. The point is he went there and Daniel opened the door and Riki— he hit him, Y/N. More than once apparently. Daniel’s got a split lip and a bruised eye and he’s telling people Riki attacked him.”
The street was very loud suddenly. Or maybe it was just that everything in your head had gone very quiet. “Is Riki—” you started.
“He’s fine. Nothing came back on him, Daniel didn’t call the police but Y/N he just—” Ria’s voice was frustrated and worried in equal measure. “He went and beat up a university student.”
You stood on the pavement outside the library and felt something cold move through you. Not fear of Riki. That wasn’t it, that wasn’t what the cold was. It was something else, something that understood exactly what he’d done and why and was still furious about it. “Where is he now?” you said.
“The shop, I think.”
“I’ll call you later, Ria.” You hung up and started walking in the direction of the shop. Then you pulled up Riki’s name.
you: I need you to tell me what you did last night.
Riki: I handled it.
you: That’s not an answer.
Riki: Come in. We’ll talk.
you: Tell me now.
Riki: I went to see Daniel.
you: And?
Riki: And I made sure he understood.
Studio 13 at four in the afternoon and the shop was quiet, midweek lull. Jay looked up when you came in and the expression on his face was complicated — not quite guilty, not quite sorry, somewhere in between. You looked at him. “Did you know,” you said.
“After,” Jay said carefully. “I found out after.”
“Where is he.” Jay nodded toward the back. Riki was in the piercing section. Cleaning equipment, routine, his back to the door. He heard you come in and turned. His face when he saw you was not defensive but resigned. Like he’d known this was coming since last night and had been waiting for it. His right hand, you noticed. The knuckles slightly swollen.
“Hey,” he said.
“Don’t hey me.” You crossed your arms. “What did you do.”
“What I told you. I went to see him.”
“You went to his house, Riki. You went to his house and you hit him. More than once.”
“Yes.” You looked at him. He looked back, steady, not apologizing, not performing remorse he didn’t feel. “He was following you, showing up at your coffee shop. He was—”
“I know what he was doing.” Your voice came out harder than you meant. “I was handling it.”
“He wasn’t stopping.”
“So your solution was to go beat him up.” You exhaled. “Riki—”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“You can’t just—” You pressed your fingers to your mouth for a second. “You just proved everything he’s been saying. You know that? He’s been telling people you’re dangerous, that you have a violent history, and now he has a split lip and a black eye and he can point to it and say see—”
Something moved across Riki’s face. Not guilt — something more complicated than guilt. An awareness, maybe. “I know,” he said.
“You know?”
“I knew when I went.” He said it quietly. “I went anyway.”
You stared at him. “How is that— how does that make any sense to you?”
“He was going to keep doing it.” His voice was even but there was something underneath it, something that had been building since the first time you’d mentioned Daniel’s name. “He was escalating. You said you were handling it and I believe you were handling it but I couldn’t—” He stopped. “I couldn’t sit here and keep hearing about it and do nothing.”
“So you did that.”
“Yes.”
“Riki.” You looked at him. “He could call the police. He could go to the university. You have a record. If he presses charges—”
“I know the risk. I calculated it.”
“And you went anyway.”
“Yes.”
You looked at him for a long moment. The complete absence of regret in his face, which was its own kind of infuriating. “I’m not scared of you,” you said. “I want to be clear about that. This isn’t me being scared of you. I’m furious with you. You had no right—”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
“Then why—”
“Because he was scaring you.” His voice was still controlled but something had pushed through at the edges. “Because you went to a coffee shop near your flat and he was there, you texted me and I could feel it even through the screen — that you were done, that you were shaken. I sat here last night after you left and I thought about him being anywhere near you and I—” He stopped. Pressed his lips together. “I made a bad decision. I know that.”
“A bad decision.” You repeated it. “A very bad decision.”
His eyes met yours. “I’m not going to pretend I regret going. I regret the way it looks for you. I regret what it hands him. I don’t regret that he’s not going to come near you again.”
You looked at the ceiling briefly. Looked back. “You don’t get to do that,” you said. “You don’t get to make decisions about my safety that—”
“I know.”
“Stop saying I know like that makes it—”
“What do you want me to say?” His voice was still even but something had frayed at the edge of it. “I went. I’m not made of the right stuff to sit here and do nothing when someone is— “ He stopped. “When someone is scaring you and escalating and I can feel it every time you text me about it, the way it’s getting into your head—”
“That’s not your call to make—”
“No.” He took a breath. “No, it’s not. You’re right. It’s not my call.” He looked at the counter. “I’m wired wrong in this specific way, Y/N. I know that. I’m not using it as an excuse. I’m just — that’s what happened and I can’t undo it.” You stood there. The fury was still there. Real and solid and not going anywhere. But underneath it was the other thing — the thing that understood, even while it was furious, that he had sat in this shop after you left and thought, something in him had simply decided and moved, the way he moved toward everything he cared about.
That didn’t make it right. It didn’t make it safe — for him, for you, for the situation Daniel could now build out of this. But it was him, completely nd entirely him. “Sit down,” you said. He sat. You stayed standing with arms still crossed. “Daniel could go to the police, the university. Could use this to make the narrative about you instead of what he was doing. You understand that.”
“Yes.”
“If he does — you have to let me handle it. You don’t go near him again.”
“Agreed.”
“I mean it, Riki.”
“I know you mean it.” He looked up at you. “I won’t go near him again. There won’t be a next time. Not like this. And if there is a next time I come to you first,” he said. “Before I do anything. I come to you and we handle it together. I can’t promise the feeling goes away but I can promise what I do with it.”
You looked at him for a long moment. Then you uncrossed your arms and sat down across from him. “Your hand,” you said.
He looked at his knuckles. “It’s fine.”
“Let me see.” He put his hand on the counter. You took it — turned it over, examined the swelling across the knuckles, pressed gently to check nothing was broken. His fingers curled slightly around yours when you touched the worst of it. “You’re lucky nothing’s cracked,” you said.
“I’m aware.”
“Idiot,” you said.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” You held his hand on the counter between you.
“I’m still furious,” you said. “This isn’t — me holding your hand isn’t me saying it’s okay. It was a terrible decision.”
“Genuinely terrible,” he agreed.
“With real consequences that we will have to deal with.”
“Yes.”
You looked at his face. The evenness of it, the acceptance. No defensiveness, no excuses beyond the one real one. “I’m going to be annoyed about this for a while,” you said. “And you’re going to have to actually talk to me when things like this are building. Before they get to the point where you go do something like this.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know. I’m working on it.”
“Work faster,” you said.
The corner of his mouth moved. Just barely. “Okay,” he said. You looked down at his hand in yours. His rings and swollen knuckles.
“He’s going to use this,” you said quietly. “Whatever happens next, he’s going to use it. And when he does it’s going to look exactly like what he’s been saying. That you’re dangerous. That I should be scared.”
“I know.” His hand turned under yours. His fingers between yours. “Are you? Scared.”
You looked up at him. “No,” you said. “I’m not scared of you. But I’m scared of what this opens up. I’m scared of what Daniel does with it. I’m scared of what people think when they hear it. I’m scared of—” You stopped. “You could have just proved his whole narrative and I don’t know how to—”
“Hey.” His hand tightened around yours. “We deal with what comes. Okay?”
“Together,” you said. “We deal with it together.” From the front of the shop Jay appeared in the doorway, took one look at your joined hands and Riki’s face and your face, and retreated without a word. You sat at the piercing station with Riki’s hand in yours and the red light low and the playlist drifting through the walls and the storm that Daniel was going to build out of this sitting somewhere on the horizon. It was coming. You just didn’t know yet what shape it would take.
It took four days. Friday afternoon, your phone lit up with a number you didn’t recognize. You almost didn’t answer. “Is this Y/N?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling from the university’s student conduct office. We’ve received a complaint from a student — Daniel —regarding an incident involving a non-student. We understand you may have relevant information.” A pause. “Would you be available to come in on Monday?”
You stood in your kitchen and looked at the wall. “Yes,” you said. “I’ll be there.” You hung up and texted Riki.
you: Daniel went to the university. They want to see me Monday.
Riki: I’ll come with you.
you: You can’t, you’re not a student.
Riki: I’ll wait outside.
You looked at the message. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the message.
you: okay.
Riki: I’m sorry. For making this your problem.
you: It became my problem the second Daniel decided it was his business. Not yours.
Riki: come over tonight?
You were still annoyed. You were going to be annoyed for a while, you’d meant that. But you were also his. And he was yours. You knew rhe storm was coming soon and you didn’t want to be on separate sides of it.
you: yeah. I’ll be there at 8.
—
The university meeting was on Monday at two. You wore the kind of outfit that said I am a serious person who is being harassed — which you were, and which you needed whoever was sitting across from you to understand immediately. Dark trousers, neat top, your hair back. Ria had approved it over video call that morning.
Riki was waiting outside the building when you arrived. He’d said he’d wait outside. He was outside, leaning against the wall across the street with his hands in his jacket pockets, rings on, looking like himself which was to say looking like the kind of person that student conduct offices probably didn’t love — sleeve visible where his jacket cuff ended, earrings, the particular stillness of him that read as intensity until you knew him and then just read as Riki. He pushed off the wall when he saw you and he put both hands on your face, tilted and kissed you once. “You good?” he said.
“Ask me after,” you said.
He nodded. His thumbs moved at your jaw once before dropping. “I’ll be here.”
“I know.” You looked at him. “Don’t do anything.”
“I’m going to stand on the pavement.”
“I mean it.”
You went.
The student conduct office was on the second floor of the admin building. The woman who’d called you — Ms. Park, fiftyish, the expression of someone who had seen every variety of student drama and was not easily impressed — sat across a wide desk with a folder in front of her and a younger colleague beside her taking notes. Daniel was not there. That was the first thing you noticed. Separate meetings, apparently.
“Thank you for coming,” Ms. Park said. “I want to be clear that this is an informal information-gathering stage. Nothing you say today constitutes a formal statement. We’ve received a complaint from Daniel regarding an assault by a Mr. Nishimura Riki, understood to be your partner. Daniel alleges that Mr. Nishimura attended his residence last Tuesday evening and physically assaulted him.” She looked at you over her glasses. “Can you tell me what you know about this?”
You had thought about this. How to tell the truth without burying Riki and without minimizing what Daniel had been doing. “Riki went to Daniel’s,” you said. “I found out after. I didn’t know he was going to do it and I was angry when I found out. What I also know is that Daniel had been following me for several weeks. Waiting outside my seminars, outside the library, outside the coffee shop near my flat. He’d been told directly, multiple times, that I wasn’t interested and to stop. He didn’t stop.”
Ms. Park’s expression shifted slightly. “Can you document any of this?”
“I have texts. From him, from my friend Soo who he also contacted. I have—” You pulled out your phone. “I can send you screenshots.”
The colleague with the notepad wrote something. “Did you report the incidents to the university at the time?” Ms. Park said.
“No.” You held her gaze. “I was handling it directly. I told him clearly. I didn’t think I’d need to escalate.”
“And Mr. Nishimura was aware of the incidents.”
“I told him. We’d agreed that if Daniel did it again I would take it to the university.” You paused. “Riki acted before I could. That was not what we’d agreed and I was angry about it. But I want to be clear about the sequence of events. Daniel had been escalating and Riki’s response was wrong. Both of those things are true.”
Ms. Park looked at you for a moment. Then she wrote something. “The university’s concern,” she said, “is primarily for student safety. That means your safety as well as Daniel’s. What you’re describing — the waiting, the following — if documented, is a matter we take seriously.”
“I know,” you said. “I should have come sooner.”
“You’re here now.” She closed the folder slightly. “I’d like those screenshots. And I’d like to speak with your friend — Soo, you said?”
“Yes. I’ll ask her.”
“We’ll follow up with both parties separately.” She looked at you over her glasses again. The assessing kind of look. “Are you safe, Y/N? In your current relationship?”
You looked back at her steadily. “Yes,” you said. “I am.”
“You’re certain?”
“Completely.”
She held your gaze for another second. Nodded once. “We’ll be in touch,” she said.
Riki was exactly where he’d said he’d be. Same wall, same position, hands in his pockets. He saw you come out and read your face before you’d reached him. “Okay?” he said.
“I think so.” You stopped in front of him. “They’re taking the harassment seriously. I’m sending them the texts. They’ll want to talk to Soo.”
You looked at him. “They asked if I was safe. With you.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.” You held his eyes. “Because I am.” Something moved through his expression. The tight thing loosening slightly.
“The complaint against me,” he said. “What happens.”
“I don’t know yet. Depends what Daniel does.” You paused. “He might back down. If the harassment comes out clearly it makes his complaint look retaliatory.”
“Or he pushes it.”
“Or he pushes it,” you agreed.
Riki looked at the building. Back at you. “I’ll deal with whatever comes.”
“I know you will.” You stepped into him. His arms came around you automatically, his chin dropping to the top of your head, and you stood outside the admin building and let the tension of the last hour go somewhere. “Thank you for being here,” you said into his jacket.
“I was just standing on the pavement,” he said.
“You were here,” you said. “That’s not nothing.” His arms tightened.
Daniel went quiet after that. Not immediately — there was a week where you didn’t know which way it was going to go, where you checked your phone with a specific dread and told Riki about it and he listened and said nothing and the listening was itself a thing, a change from the silence of two weeks ago.
Then Ms. Park emailed. The university had reviewed the documentation. Daniel’s conduct had been found to constitute harassment under the student code. He’d been issued a formal warning and a no-contact order. The complaint against Riki had been noted but the university had no jurisdiction over non-students and the matter would rest with Daniel if he chose to take it further. He didn’t take it further. You read the email twice and then texted Riki.
you: Daniel backed down. University issued him a warning.
Riki: good.
you: he still could have called the police, Riki. This doesn’t mean it was okay.
Riki: I know. come in tonight. I want to see you.
you: yeah. I’ll be there.
That night at Studio 13 after close. The red light, the playlist, the familiar smell of ink and clean soap. You were on the back room couch and Riki was beside you and the last three weeks were sitting somewhere behind you, not gone, but behind. “It’s over?” he said.
“For now.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Daniel’s not going to do anything else. He got scared when the harassment documentation came out.”
“Good.”
“You got lucky,” you said.
“I know.”
“If he’d pushed it—”
“I know, Y/N.” His arm around you. His hand at your shoulder. “I know what it could have been.”
“And?”
A pause. “And I’m not going to do it again. I told you that.”
“You told me you’d come to me first.”
“Yes.”
You looked up at him. “I need you to actually do that. Not just say it.”
He looked down at you. “I know the difference,” he said quietly.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” His eyes. Steady, direct, no performance. “It snapped this once and I won’t let it happen again. Also I’m not proud of it but I know the difference between what I said and what I did.”
You looked at him for a long moment. “Don’t let it snap again,” you said.
“I’m trying.” Honest and simple.
“Try harder.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
You put your head back on his shoulder. His hand moved in your hair. Slow, absent, the thing he did without thinking. “I was scared,” you said quietly. After a while. “When Ria told me. Not of you — I keep saying that because I need you to understand it. But scared of what it meant. Of the pattern it looked like.”
“I know,” he said.
“It looked like the record,” you said. “It looked like proof that Daniel was right.” Riki was quiet for a moment.
“I know what it looked like,” he said. “I knew when I went and I went anyway. That’s the part I have to sit with.”
“Yeah.” You closed your eyes. “Yeah it is.” Silence. The playlist. The red light. “I need to ask you something,” you said. “Your brother. The kids. Do you still see them?”
A long pause. “The kids, sometimes,” he said. Finally. “My brother and I—” He stopped. “It’s complicated. He didn’t want me to do what I did. Even though it was happening and he knew. And then I went to jail and he felt guilty and he never really reached out. Still hasn’t. We don’t talk much.”
“I’m sorry,” you said.
“Don’t be.” His hand kept moving in your hair. “I’d do it again.”
“I know,” you said softly. “The kids are okay,” he said. “That’s the thing I hold onto. They’re okay.”
You pressed closer to him. His arm tightened. “You can talk about them to me if you want. Whenever.”
“I know. Thank you.” Small but from Riki, enormous.
Three days later he stayed at yours for the first time. Not the shop couch, not his flat but yours. He showed up at eight with food and the record he’d been meaning to return and a toothbrush that he put in your bathroom without comment, which you’d looked at it on the shelf and felt something warm and permanent move through your chest.
He cooked. In your kitchen, with the focused competence of his own space, moving around yours with the careful awareness of someone learning where things were and intending to remember. You sat on the counter and watched him and thought about the first night — the tiny dress, the red light, the card sliding across the counter. Come back when you’re sober. I’ll take care of you.
He had. He’d been taking care, in his particular language of hands and presence and showing up, since before either of you had named it. “What,” he said. He’d caught you looking.
“Nothing.” You smiled. “Just thinking about the first night.”
He glanced over. “Drunk and demanding a piercing.”
“You were staring at my tits within thirty seconds.”
“They were right there,” he said simply, and turned back to the pan and you laughed — real, loud, the kind that surprised you and he smiled at the pan. “You gave me your card,” you said.
“Efficient.”
“Heeseung said you’d never done that before.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I hadn’t.”
“Why me?” He looked at you. The pan, the kitchen, the domesticity of it all dropped away for a second and it was just his face and the question.
“Because you leaned on my counter in that dress,” he said, “and looked at me like you already knew, and I thought — that one.” Simple. Certain. “That one.”
You looked at him. “That one,” you repeated quietly.
“Yeah.” He looked back at the pan. “That one.” You sat on your kitchen counter and felt the unnamed thing — named now, lived in now, worn soft around the edges now — settle into something that felt like it had always been there. Like it was always going to be this.
—
The thing about Daniel going quiet was that it didn’t fix everything. Riki knew that. You knew that. The university warning didn’t undo the split lip, didn’t undo the record that Daniel had shown Soo, didn’t undo the way Soo had looked at you in that coffee shop with the screenshot on the table. Soo had texted since. Apologetic, careful, not quite sure how to land.
Soo: I need you to know I was trying to protect you.
you: I know that.
Soo: Are you okay? With him?
you: Yeah, Soo. I am.
Soo: I don’t fully understand it.
you: You don’t have to. I do.
Soo: okay. I trust you.
you: thank you.
You’d shown Riki the exchange. He’d read it once. Put your phone down. “She loves you,” he said.
“Yeah. She was wrong about how she did it, though.”
“She didn’t know the context.” His jaw shifted. “Nobody did. That’s what happens when you don’t explain yourself.”
“Why didn’t you?” you said quietly. “Ever. You could have — when it happened, you could have told them why.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Because it wasn’t mine to tell,” he said. “The kids. My brother. If I’d made it public—” He shook his head slightly. “They’d already been through enough.”
You looked at him. “You protected them twice,” you said. He didn’t answer. But his hand found yours and his thumb moved and that was answer enough.
A week after Daniel went quiet, Riki’s brother called. You were at the shop. Riki had stepped into the back to take the call and you’d stayed at the counter with Jay, and Jay had looked at the back room door and then at you and said quietly: “That’s the brother.”
“How do you know?”
“Riki gets a specific face.” He paused. “It’s been a while since he called.” You looked at the door.
Twenty minutes later Riki came back out. His face was even, controlled, but there was something behind it — something that had been moved and put carefully back. You looked at him. He looked at you.
“You okay?” you said quietly.
“Yeah.” He sat back on his stool. His hand found his coffee, cold by now. “He wants to meet.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah.” A pause. “First time since I got out.”
You looked at him. The weight of that — four years. “Do you want to?” you said.
“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly.
“Okay.” You covered his hand on the counter with yours. “Whatever you decide I’m with you.”
He turned his hand over. His fingers between yours. “Will you—” He stopped. Started again. “If I go. Will you come.”
You looked at him. Riki who didn’t ask for things. Riki who gave his card across a counter, his art on your skin and asked for almost nothing back. “Yeah,” you said. “Of course I will.”
His hand tightened around yours. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
Later that night in your flat. He was on your bed, on his back, looking at the ceiling. You were beside him. The lamp on low. “What are you thinking about,” you said.
“My brother.” A pause. “How to say what I need to say.”
“Which is?”
He turned his head. Looked at you in the low light. “That I don’t regret it,” he said. “That I’d do it again. But that I’m sorry for what it did to him. Those two things at once. They’re both true and they’re hard to say together.”
“You can say both,” you said. “They don’t cancel each other out.”
He looked at you for a moment. “No. They don’t.”
You reached over and found his hand in the dark. “You’ve been carrying this a long time,” you said. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he turned toward you, his arm coming around you, pulling you in. His face pressed into your hair. Warm and solid and present. “I know,” he said. Low. “I know that now.”
You lay in the dark and felt him breathe and thought about a nineteen-year-old who made a choice and paid for it and rebuilt himself quietly and carefully in a studio with red lights and black walls and never asked anyone to understand. And then you’d walked in drunk in a tiny dress and leaned on his counter. And he’d slid a card across and said come back when you’re sober. And here you were.
“Riki,” you said into his chest. “I’m glad I kept the card.”
Then, quietly, with the particular warmth of someone who didn’t say things easily and meant everything he said: “Me too.”
Three days after Riki’s brother called, things were good. Better than good. The Daniel situation had settled, the university had closed its informal inquiry, Soo had come around slowly and you’d had coffee with her and it had been careful and warm and the beginning of something repaired. Riki had texted his brother back — not yes but not no, just I’ll think about it which for Riki was enormous. Things were good.
Which was exactly when Heeseung asked to talk to you. It was a Wednesday. You’d arrived at two, normal time with coffee in hand. Riki had a client in the piercing section and Jay had let you in and you’d settled at the counter with the easy familiarity of somewhere that had become yours. Heeseung appeared from his office twenty minutes in. He looked at you. Looked at Riki’s closed partition. Looked back at you. “You got a minute?” he said. Something in his tone made you put your coffee down.
“Yeah,” you said.
His office was small and deliberately organised — reference books, a drawing desk, flash art tacked to the wall in a way that looked casual and wasn’t. He sat on the edge of the desk. You sat in the chair across from it. He looked at you for a moment in the quiet assessing way he had. The way that felt like being read by someone who was very good at it. “I’m going to tell you something,” he said. “Riki doesn’t know I’m doing this. He’d probably be annoyed.”
“Okay,” you said carefully.
“He’s not annoyed easily,” Heeseung said. “But this is his thing to tell and I’m telling it anyway because—” He paused. Something moved across his face. “Because I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him like this. With you. And I think you should have the full picture.”
You held his gaze. “I know about his brother. He told me.”
Heeseung was quiet for a moment. Something shifted in his expression — not quite surprise, more like relief. “He told you himself,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He exhaled slowly. “That’s — that’s good.”
“Is there more?” you said carefully.
Heeseung looked at his hands. At the desk. At you. “When he came here,” he said, “he was nineteen and he’d just finished fourteen months and he had nowhere to go. His brother wasn’t — the relationship was complicated, like he probably told you. He didn’t have much. Probation requirement was community hours. A friend of mine knew his case and asked if I’d take him on.” He looked at the wall. “I almost said no. I had a shop to run, I didn’t want the complication.”
“But you said yes,” you said.
“I said yes.” A small pause. “Because he came in and he sat down and he was — he wasn’t what I expected. He was quiet. Careful. He looked at everything in this shop like he was trying to figure out how it worked. Like he wanted to understand it.” Heeseung’s jaw shifted. “I put him on front desk for the first month. Filing, cleaning, nothing complicated. By week three he was reorganising the jewellery inventory in a way that made more sense than the system I’d had since I began.”
You said nothing.
“He asked if he could watch me work,” Heeseung said. “Tattooing. Then piercing. He just — watched. Never asked to touch anything until I offered. When I offered he learned fast. Faster than anyone I’ve taught.” A pause. “He didn’t talk about what happened. I didn’t ask. What I knew was what the file said and what I could see, which was a kid who was trying very hard to build something out of nothing and wasn’t asking for anyone to make it easier.”
“The sleeve,” you said quietly. “You started it when he came on properly.”
Heeseung looked at you. “First piece, yeah. His idea. He said he wanted something that was his. That nobody could take. I drew it for him. We’ve added to it over the past years.”
You looked at the desk. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because of what Daniel did,” Heeseung said simply. “Because some stranger with bad intentions found half a story and used it and I watched it do damage and I wanted—” He stopped. “Riki won’t defend himself. He never has. He accepted the charge and he did the time and he’s never once explained himself publicly and he’s not going to start.” He looked at you. “But you’re not the public. You’re the first person he’s let in. Properly. Since I’ve known him.”
You felt something tighten in your chest. “I know the full story,” you said. “He told me. The sister-in-law, the kids—”
“I know he told you,” Heeseung said. “Jake told me. Jay told me. The whole shop knows because Riki came in the morning after and was—” A brief pause. “Different. The kind of different that happens when you put something down you’ve been carrying.”
You looked at the wall. The flash art. A small framed drawing in the corner that you recognised — botanical, precise — the reference sketch for your collarbone piece. “He drew that for you,” Heeseung said, following your gaze. “Before. He spent two evenings on it.”
You looked at it. “He didn’t tell me that,” you said quietly.
“No. He wouldn’t.” Heeseung’s voice was dry but warm underneath it. “He shows things. Doesn’t say them. You probably know that by now.”
“Yeah. I know that.”
“He’s going to meet his brother,” Heeseung said. “He asked you to come.”
“Yeah.”
Heeseung looked at you for a long moment. The assessing thing had shifted — not gone, but warmer now, like whatever the assessment had been looking for had been found. “Good,” he said simply.
You looked at each other. “Why?” you said. “Why are you telling me all this. I already know the story.”
Heeseung was quiet for a moment. “Because knowing the story and understanding what it cost are different things,” he said. “And because—” He paused. “Because he went quiet for a week when you found the record. And I watched him in this shop every day of that week and it was bad. In a way I haven’t seen in a long time.”
You held his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said.
“I know,” Heeseung said. “I can see that. I just wanted you to know what it means. To him. What you going anywhere would—” He stopped. “He doesn’t show that either. But I’ve known him two years.”
The office was very quiet. “I know,” you said again. Softer.
Heeseung nodded once. “Okay.” Back to practical, the warmth tucked back under the surface. “Don’t tell him I said any of this.”
“He’ll know,” you said. “He always knows.”
The corner of Heeseung’s mouth moved. “Yeah,” he said. “He will.”
You were back at the counter when Riki finished with his client. He came through the partition, gloves off, and looked at you. Then at Heeseung’s closed office door. Then back at you. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What did he say?”
“Nothing,” you said. “He said nothing.” You picked up your cold coffee. “We talked about the flash art.” Riki looked at you for a long moment. The reading-you expression fully deployed. He came around the counter and sat on his stool. His knee found yours under the counter — the casual contact, the absent thing, the language he’d always had. You looked at the closed office door. At the sketch on the wall inside it that you couldn’t see from here but now knew existed. Two evenings.
“Hey,” Riki said. You looked at him. “You’ve got a face,” he said.
“I have lots of faces.”
“This specific one. What’s up?”
You looked at him — the rings, the earrings, the tongue piercing catching the light, the sleeve, all of it that had become so familiar you sometimes forgot what he’d looked like before he was just Riki, just yours — and felt everything Heeseung had said settle into something permanent. “Nothing,” you said. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
He looked at you. “Okay,” he said quietly. Like he’d heard more than those words. His knee pressed against yours. You pressed back.
Jay left at seven. Jake had already gone. Sunghoon’s last client was finishing up and he came through to say goodbye twenty minutes later with his jacket on and his bag over his shoulder and he looked at you both at the counter and said: “I’m going.”
“We can see that,” Riki said.
“I’m just—” Sunghoon gestured vaguely at both of you. “Saying.”
“Goodnight, Sunghoon,” you said. He grinned and left.
Heeseung appeared from his office at half seven. Put his jacket on and looked at Riki. “Lock up,” he said to Riki.
“Always do,” Riki said.
Heeseung looked at you once more. Nodded, once, the small thing that meant something from him. Then he was gone and the door swung shut and Studio 13 exhaled into quiet. Just you and Riki and the red light and the playlist. You looked at him across the counter. He looked back.
“Hi,” you said.
“Hi,” he said. Something in the air shifted. He stood up from the stool and came around the counter and you got off yours and met him and his hands found your face and he looked at you with the open, unguarded expression — the one that only existed in empty rooms. “What did Heeseung actually say,” he said.
“I told you—”
“Y/N.” You looked up at him. His thumbs at your jaw. The rings.
“He told me what it cost,” you said quietly. “What you were when you came in. What you built. The sketch.”
Something moved in his face. “He showed you the sketch,” he said.
“I saw it in the office. He didn’t — I just saw it.”
Riki was quiet for a moment. Looking at you with something that was past the usual steady certainty — something more open, more exposed. “Two evenings,” you said softly.
His jaw shifted. “It needed to be right,” he said simply. You looked at him. Everything Heeseung had said. Everything Riki had given you in his particular language — the key, the card, the sketch, the bud on the stem. The toothbrush on your shelf. That one.
You kissed him. Not the desperate kind or the heated kind. Something slower than both of those, something that had the full weight of everything behind it, the weeks and the usual Wednesdays and all the distance coming back. He kissed you back the same way. Slow and complete, his hands steady on your face, like this was something he wanted to take his time with.
When you pulled back he kept his forehead against yours. “I should have told you myself,” he said. Quiet. “The record. Before you found it.”
“Yeah,” you said.
“I was going to.” His thumb traced your cheekbone. “I kept almost getting there.”
“I know.” You put your hand flat on his chest. “But you got there.”
“Not fast enough.”
“You got there,” you said again. He exhaled. His hands moved from your face to your waist. Pulled you in. His mouth found your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“Stay,” he said. Into your skin. “Tonight. Here.”
“The back room couch?” you said.
“The back room couch.” His lips. “And maybe the front counter again.”
You laughed into his shoulder. “You’re shameless.”
“I’m practical,” he said, and kissed you properly, and the playlist shifted to something slower and the red light was low and everything else was very far away. He walked you back against the front counter.
His hands under your top, warm and certain, spreading against your bare waist — the rings, always the rings, cold and present — and you pulled at his shirt and got it off and put your hands on his chest and felt him exhale. “You have no idea,” he said into your throat. “What Heeseung talking to you about me does.”
“Tell me,” you breathed.
“Knowing you know.” His mouth moved. Your collarbone. Your tattoo with his mouth on it, deliberate, and your head went back. “Knowing you have the full picture and you’re still here.”
“Still here,” you confirmed. Your hands in his hair.
“Good girl,” he said against the tattoo. Low and warm. “Always so—”
“Riki—”
“I know.” He pulled back to look at you — dark eyes, composed coming apart at the edges, the way it always did. “I’ve got you.” He got your top off. Looked at you in the red light with the particular patience of someone who had learned you and was using the knowledge — his eyes moving over you, the tattoo, the piercings, all of it his in the specific way that wasn’t possessive about ownership but about care.
“What do you want,” he said.
“You. I want—” You reached for him. “Come here.”
He came. The front counter, then the back room couch, then the front counter again because you’d both started laughing about it and laughing had turned into kissing and kissing had turned into everything else. He was thorough. He was always thorough — the same focus he gave his work, the same patience, but underneath it tonight was something else, something that had the weight of Heeseung’s conversation and the sketch and that one and two months of Wednesdays all pushed into it. “Look at you,” he said, low, his hands on your thighs. The red light. The empty shop. “Look at you, you’re so—”
“Don’t stop,” you said. “Please, Riki, don’t—”
“I’m not stopping.” His mouth found your inner thigh and the bar of his tongue and you grabbed the edge of whatever surface was nearest and held on. “I’m nowhere near stopping.” The tongue piercing. Every time. Devastating every single time, the cool metal and the warmth of his mouth and the specific focus he brought to it — thorough, patient, reading every sound you made and using it.
“Riki—”
“Yeah.” Into your skin. “Yeah, I’ve got you.”
“I need—”
“Tell me.”
“You,” you said. “I need you, please—” He came back up your body and kissed you deep and you tasted yourself on his mouth and it did something embarrassingly good to you which he felt and made a low sound.
“Good girl,” he said against your mouth. “You’re always so—”
“Riki.” His name like that, that register, and he shuddered slightly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”
When he pushed inside you the slowness of it was deliberate. Not teasing — something else. The kind of slow that was about feeling everything. His hands on your face, your hands on his jaw, eye contact that lasted longer than was comfortable and then became the most comfortable thing. “Hi,” he said quietly.
You laughed softly. “Hi.”
He moved. Deep and slow and you felt every bar of the ladder and the sound that came out of you was embarrassingly reverent. “Every time,” he said, low. “You make that sound every time and I—” His forehead dropped to yours. “Fuck, Y/N.”
“Don’t stop,” you said. “Don’t stop, don’t—”
“I’m not.” His rhythm. The pace building by degrees, slow becoming less slow, both of you breathing differently. “I’m never—” His jaw set. “You feel so good. Every time. Like you’re—” He stopped himself. The same place he always stopped.
“Like I’m what,” you breathed.
He looked at you. Eye contact, real and direct, the composure mostly gone. “Mine,” he said quietly. “Like you’re mine.”
“I am,” you said. Something in his face — opened, just opened, wide and unguarded — and his pace shifted, deeper, and your head fell back and his mouth found your throat and he said your name in the short sharp way that meant he was close and you were already—
“Riki—”
“I know,” he said. “I know, cum for me, come on—”
His hand between you, your clit, the pressure—
“That’s it, good girl, that’s—” You came with his name in your mouth and your hands in his hair and your whole body saying yes and he followed with his face in your throat and the broken sound, the helpless one, the one that was yours.
After the two of you lay on the back room couch. His heartbeat under your ear. The playlist through the walls “Heeseung’s going to know,” Riki said. Into the quiet.
“Know what?”
“That we—” He gestured vaguely at the shop around you.
“He already knows,” you said. “The front counter, Riki.”
“The front counter is clean.”
“That’s not the point.”
He made the almost-laugh sound. His hand in your hair. “The sketch,” he said, after a while. “I didn’t want you to know about that.”
“Why not?”
A pause. “Because it’s—” He stopped. “It’s a lot. To know someone spent two evenings drawing something for you.”
“Is it too much?” you said.
“No.” He said immediately. “No, it’s just—” His hand moved. “I don’t know how to be small about you. I’ve never been able to. Since the first night. You walked in and something just— settled. And I’ve never been able to be small about it since.”
You lay on the couch and listened to his heartbeat and thought about that one and the card and the key and the sketch and all the enormous quiet ways he’d been telling you the same thing for months. “Riki,” you said. You lifted your head. Looked at him in the low light. “I love you,” you said.
The shop was very quiet. He looked at you. His face doing several things at once — surprise, the kind that comes from hearing something you’d started to believe but hadn’t dared expect — and underneath it something that had been waiting. “Y/N—”
“You don’t have to say it back,” you said. “I know you show things. I know that’s—”
“I love you,” he said. Simple. Immediate. Like it had been waiting right behind his teeth.
You looked at each other. “Oh,” you said quietly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Oh.” His arm pulled you back down. Your head on his chest. His heartbeat, faster than before. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it for a while.”
You laughed at that.
—
The meeting with his brother was on Saturday.
It was Friday afternoon and Riki had been fine all week — or performing fine, which with Riki looked almost identical and you’d learned to tell the difference by the way his jaw sat and how often he went quiet mid-sentence, trailing off somewhere internal before coming back. He’d been doing it since mid-week.
You’d been watching it build and not pushing because you knew him well enough now to know that pushing before he was ready just moved the wall further back. You let him come to things. You were there when he got there.
Friday at three you came into Studio 13 with coffee and an idea. Jay was with a client. Jake was sweeping the back. Heeseung was in his office. Riki was at the front counter with the appointment book open in front of him and the expression of someone who was looking at an appointment book but not seeing it. He looked up when you came in. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You put his coffee on the counter and sat down. Looked at him. “You’ve been in your head all week.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know what fine looks like on you,” you said. “This is the other thing. You’re nervous about tomorrow.”
A pause. “I’m not nervous. I’m—” He stopped. Put the pen down. “It’s been four years. I don’t know who he is now. I don’t know how it’s going to go.”
“You don’t have to know how it goes,” you said. “You just have to show up.”
“I’m good at showing up.”
“I know you are.” You held his gaze. “And I’ll be there.”
“I know,” he said. You looked at him for a moment. At his jaw and the appointment book he hadn’t been seeing and the four-years-of-complicated sitting behind his eyes.
“I want a new piercing,” you said. He blinked. The shift in the conversation visibly making him recalibrate.
“What?”
“New piercing.” You kept your voice easy. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Where,” he said. Automatic, already clinical, already the piercer.
You held his gaze. “Nipples,” you said.
His clinical expression lasted approximately one more second. Then it did something else entirely. “Y/N,” he said.
“Both of them.” You picked up your coffee. “I’ve wanted them for a while. You said that I should come to you for everything.”
He looked at you for a long moment. Something was happening behind his eyes — the professional and the personal running into each other at considerable speed. “That’s—” He stopped.
“Nipple piercings,” you said helpfully. “Standard procedure for a professional piercer.” You smirked.
“I’m aware of what it is.”
“So.” You raised an eyebrow. “Can you do it?”
He held your gaze. The corner of his mouth moved despite him. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he said.
“I want my nipples pierced,” you said innocently.
“You want to distract me.”
“I want my nipples pierced and I want to distract you. Both things.” You put your coffee down. “Is it working?”
He looked at you. The at the appointment book, to the back room then back at you. “Chair,” he said. “Ten minutes.”
You were in the piercing chair in less than ten minutes. Riki came in with the tray — jewellery already selected, two small barbells, gold because he’d chosen without asking and he knew your taste — and he set it up with the focused precision he always had and then he turned to look at you and the precision got complicated. “Top off,” he said.
“Professional,” you said. A smile on your face.
“Very.” His voice was even. His eyes weren’t. You got your top off, unclipped your bra and set it on th chair beside you. Riki looked at you. He’d seen you like this — more than this, with considerably less clothing. But the context of this; the chair, the tray, his professional capacity colliding head-on with four months of otherwise. “Right,” he mumbled to himself.
He snapped his gloves on. Came to stand in front of you. Professional. His hands came up — and then instead of the marking pen following he just cupped the weight of your tit in both gloved hands, gently, thumbs moving in slow careful circles across the flesh, assessing placement. Clinically. Completely clinically. “Riki,” you said.
“Checking the anatomy,” he said. His thumbs kept moving. Slow, warm and even through the gloves and your nipple hardens. “The placement depends on—”
“You’re not checking anatomy.”
“I’m absolutely checking anatomy.” He looked up at you. Dark eyes, completely straight face. “You want these done right?”
“I want—” You stopped.
“Thought so.” His thumbs, slow circles continued. “You have good anatomy for this. Flat enough that the barbell will sit right.” His right thumb brushed your nipple directly and your breath caught audibly. “Sensitive. That’s relevant information.” But the professional expression had developed a crack in it. His jaw was set in the specific way, thumbs kept their slow movement across the weight of your tits and he was looking at his hands and then at your face and then at his hands again. “You look—” he started. Stopped himself.
“Say it,” you said. He looked up. The crack in the professional expression was wider now — something underneath it, warm and dark and entirely unprofessional.
“Fuck,” he said quietly. “You look so good. I’m trying to work,” he said, hit thumbs hadn’t stopped though. “You’re not making it easy.”
He made a rough sound and his hands moved; the gloves came off, one then the other, dropped on the tray and then his bare hands replaced them, warm and ringed and careful, the rings were cold against the warmth of your skin which made you exhale. “God,” he said, looking at his hands on you. “Look at you.”
“You keep saying that,” you breathed.
“Because I keep meaning it.” His thumbs brushed your nipples again and your hips shifted slightly in the chair. “Every time. You’re so—” His jaw set. “I need to actually pierce you.”
“After,” you said.
“After what—”
You pulled him down by his shirt and kissed him. He made a sound into your mouth that started professional and ended nowhere near it, his bare hands still holding the weight of your tits, thumbs moving, and you kissed him slow and thorough and felt him lean into it.
“Y/N,” he said against your mouth.
“I know,” you said. “But you’ve been in your head all week and you needed—”
He pulled back half an inch. Looked at you. His hands were still on you, warm and present, his eyes were dark, jaw set and the professional composure was somewhere on the floor amongst his gloves. “You’re a problem,” he said.
“You love it,” you said. Something moved across his face. The word, love, sitting warm in the room.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
He kissed you again — deeper this time, one hand moving up to your jaw, the other still cupping the weight of your tit, his thumb moving slow across your nipple and the sensation of it went straight through you and you made a sound into his mouth and he swallowed it and pressed closer—
The partition curtain moved. “Riki, Jay’s client is asking about—”
Jake stopped. You in the piercing chair, top off, Riki’s hands exactly where they were, both of you looking at Jake with entirely different versions of the same expression. Jake went completely red from his collar to his hairline.
“I—” he started.
“Jake,” Riki said.
“I didn’t — the curtain was — I knocked—”
“You didn’t knock, you can’t knock on a curtain," Riki said.
“I thought I—”
“Get out.”
“Yeah, absolutely, sorry, I’m—” Jake was already backing up, looking at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere that wasn’t you. “I’ll just— your client— I’ll handle it, I’ll—”
The curtain swung back into place. His footsteps retreating very fast. Then from the front of the shop, muffled: “Jay. Jay I just — I need you to know I’m never going in the back room again.”
Silence from Jay’s direction. Then, very clearly: “What did you see.”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. I need a minute.”
You looked at Riki. Riki looked at the curtain. The corner of his mouth displayed his almost-laugh. Then his actual laugh real, surprised, the one that changed his whole face. You followed, the two of you in the piercing chair with your top off and his hands warm on you, laughing. “He’s going to be traumatised,” you said.
He looked at you. “You distracted me.”
“You were checking anatomy,” you said innocently.
“I was,” he said. “Very important work.”
You looked at each other and the laughter settled into something warm and easy and his hands were still on you and the brother meeting was tomorrow and the shop was around you and it was — easy. For the first time all week, easy. His forehead dropped to yours. “Better?” you said quietly.
He exhaled, long and slow. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, so much better.”
His thumbs moved once more, gentle, and then he stepped back and picked up his gloves. “Now, let me actually do what you came here for.”
He was thorough. Of course he was. He was always thorough. The marking, the placement check — legitimate this time, clinical focus back in place — the brief press of his gloved thumb to confirm the mark. “Breathe in,” he said.
You breathed in.
“Out.”
The needle was quick and precise, a sharp bite of pressure and then the jewellery following and his hands immediate and steady. “Good girl,” he said quietly. “One down.” The second was the same. His hands the same. His voice the same.
When he was done he stepped back and let you see in the mirror and the two small gold barbells sat exactly right, perfectly symmetrical, and you turned slightly to catch the light and felt his eyes on you from behind.
“Well?” he said. You looked at them. At your reflection. At the collarbone piece above them, his work, all of it his work on your skin.
“Perfect,” you said.
“Obviously,” he said. You looked at him in the mirror. He was looking at you with the open expression — not the smirk, not the professional focus, just his face and everything it said when he let it say things.
“Thank you,” you said. “For these. And for—”
“Don’t,” he said gently. “You don’t have to. I know. You’re welcome.” He picked up the aftercare card. Slid it across to you. “Same process as before.”
“You’re going to check them in four weeks.”
“Obviously.”
You looked at the mirror again. At the barbells. At the tattoo. “You’ve put a lot on me,” you said softly.
He was quiet for a moment. “Not nearly enough,” he said. You looked at him. He looked back, steady, completely certain.
“Tomorrow,” you said. “It’s going to be okay.”
His jaw shifted. The complicated thing moving through his face. “Yeah, probably.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I know.” His hand found yours briefly. Warm and ringed. “I know you will.”
From the front of the shop, Jake’s voice floated back. Still clearly processing. “Jay I’m serious. I’m never going back there without a hazmat suit.”
Jay’s response was immediate and deeply unhelpful. “What were they doing?”
Jake’s voice came “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Riki closed his eyes briefly. Opened them. “I’m going to have to talk to him,” he said.
“You’re going to have to apologise to him,” you said.
“I don’t apologise. He should have knocked, even if it was on a curtain.” You looked at him. He looked at you. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll apologise.”
You kissed his cheek. He turned into it slightly before he caught himself. “Tomorrow,” you said again.
“Tomorrow,” he said. He squeezed your hand once and let go and went back through the curtain and you heard him say Jake’s name and Jake’s immediate I accept your apology I don’t need to hear it and Jay’s laughter filling the shop and you sat in the piercing chair and touched the new barbells gently and smiled at your own reflection.
Saturday morning you woke up in Riki’s flat at eight and lay in the grey light listening to him breathe beside you and thought about the day. He was already awake. You could tell because his breathing was the wrong kind of even, the controlled kind, and he was lying very still in the specific way of someone whose brain had been going for hours. You rolled toward him. Put your hand on his chest. He covered it with his immediately. “Hey,” you said quietly.
“Hey.”
“How long have you been awake?”
A pause. “A while.”
You pressed closer. His arm came around you. “It’s going to be okay,” you said.
“You said that yesterday.”
“Still true.”
He was quiet. His hand moved on your back. Slow. “I don’t know what to say to him,” he said. Into the ceiling. “I’ve thought about it for four years and I still don’t know what to say to him.”
“You don’t have to have it planned,” you said. “This isn’t a piercing. You can’t mark the spot first.”
The corner of his mouth moved. “That’s very wise,” he said.
“I have my moments.”
His arm tightened slightly around you. “What if he’s angry,” he said.
“Then he’s angry. Riki.” You put your hand on his jaw and turned his face toward you. He let you. His eyes found yours, dark and tired and complicated. “Whatever he feels is his to feel. You can only show up and say what’s true. Same as always.”
He looked at you. “Same as always,” he repeated quietly.
“You’re good at showing up,” you said. “I know that better than anyone.”
He pressed his mouth to your forehead. Held it there. “Okay,” he said. Into your skin.
They were meeting at a café forty minutes from the flat, neutral ground — Riki had been clear about that when he’d texted his brother back.
You took the train. Riki sat beside you with his forearm on his knee and his rings on his fingers and his eyes on the window and you sat close enough that your shoulder was against his and didn’t try to fill the quiet. He was wearing the jacket. The dark one, the good one. He’d looked at himself in the mirror this morning for slightly longer than usual and you’d said nothing and handed him his coffee and he’d looked at you in the mirror and something had passed between you that didn’t need words.
On the train he took your hand, fingers finding yours without thinking. This was deliberate. He picked up your hand and held it in both of his on his knee and looked at your joined hands and said nothing. You held on.
The café was small with big windows, the kind of place that stayed quiet on Saturday mornings. You arrived five minutes early and found a table near the window and Riki sat with his back to the wall — habit, you’d learned, always the seat with the clearest sightline to the door and you sat across from him and he looked at the entrance. “You want coffee while we wait?” you said.
“No.” His eyes on the door. “I won’t taste it.” You put your hand on the table between you. He put his on top of it.
Three minutes later the door opened. The man who came in was older than Riki — late twenties, broader through the shoulders, with the same dark eyes and the same jaw and something in the way he moved that was similar enough to make your chest tighten slightly. He was wearing a grey jacket and he looked tired in the specific way of someone who had been nervous about something for longer than today.
He saw Riki. They looked at each other across the café. You felt Riki’s hand tighten on yours. Then his brother — Jungwon, Riki had told you his name, crossed the café and stopped at the table. “Hey,” Jungwon said.
“Hey,” Riki said. A pause. Four years of it, sitting in the two syllables. Jungwon looked at you. Not unkindly — just registering your presence. “This is Y/N,” Riki said.
“Hi,” you said. “I’m going to get coffee.” You stood up. Riki’s hand released yours slowly, reluctantly, and you squeezed his fingers once before letting go. “Take your time.” You went to the counter. Ordered slowly. Added a pastry you didn’t want to give them as long as you could.
When you looked back they were both sitting. Jungwon’s hands on the table. Riki’s hands on the table. Not talking yet — just sitting in the same space for the first time in four years, adjusting to the fact of each other. You turned back to the counter saying you forgot something to give them a bit more time.
You came back fifteen minutes later. The atmosphere had shifted. Jungwon’s shoulders were lower. Riki’s jaw was less set. You sat down. Put a coffee in front of each of them without asking. They both looked at the cups and then at you. “Thank you,” Jungwon said.
“Of course.” He looked at Riki. Then at you. Then back at Riki with an expression that was still complicated but had something underneath it that was — not quite forgiveness, more like the beginning of the road toward it.
“She seems good,” Jungwon said to Riki. Like you weren’t there. Like it was the most important data point available.
Riki looked at you. The expression on his face in that moment was open and certain and quietly enormous — it was something you were going to carry for a long time. “Yeah,” Riki said. “She is.”
They talked for two hours. You were there for most of it and absent for some of it — twice you found reasons to step away, to the counter, outside to answer a phone that hadn’t rung, giving them space to say things that needed to be said without an audience.
What you heard, in pieces: Jungwon saying I didn’t know how bad it was. I didn’t let myself know. His voice flat with the weight of that. Riki saying I know. I’m not putting that on you. Jungwon saying you went to jail. For my kids. You spent fourteen months. Riki saying; I’d do it again. I need you to know that and I need you to stop apologising for it. That’s not what today is for. A long silence. Then Jungwon’s voice, lower: what is today for. And Riki, after a pause that had everything in it: Starting over. If you want.
When you came back from your third unnecessary trip to the counter Jungwon was showing Riki something on his phone. Photos, you realised. You sat down quietly and Riki looked at the screen and something moved across his face that was— a lot. Too much to name. His jaw was tight and his eyes were doing something he wasn’t going to acknowledge and he looked at the photos for a long time.
“They’re big,” he said. “Chaerin’s eleven now, Minjun turned nine in October.”
Riki looked at the photos. “They’re okay?” he said.
Riki nodded once. You put your hand on his under the table. He turned it over. Held on. “I want to see them, when you think it’s right. When it makes sense. I don’t want to—” He stopped. “I don’t want to push.”
“I know,” Jungwon said. “I know you don’t. I’ll talk to them. They know they have an uncle.” Riki looked up. Jungwon met his eyes. Something passing between them — complicated and old and moving toward something newer.
“Okay,” Riki said. His voice wasn’t fully steady.
“Okay,” Jungwon said.
Outside the café, forty minutes later. Jungwon shook Riki’s hand and then pulled him into something that started as a handshake and became something else— brief, awkward in the way of two men who didn’t know how to do this and were doing it anyway— and Riki stood very still and let it happen. Jungwon looked at you before he left. Held out his hand. You shook it. “Thank you for coming,” he said.
“Thank you for reaching out,” you said. He looked at Riki one more time. Something passed between them — unresolved and honest and the beginning of something.
“I’ll text you,” Jungwon said.
“Okay,” Riki said. Jungwon walked away. You stood on the pavement beside Riki and felt him exhale — long and slow and releasing something enormous. You didn’t say anything.
He stood there for a moment. Looking at the corner where his brother had turned. Then he turned to you. His face was — open. Undone in a careful way, the way things come apart when something has finally been put down after a very long time.
You opened your arms and he walked right into them. His face in your hair, his arms around you, and he held on with the specific tightness of someone recalibrating what the world felt like. You held him back. Your hands on his back, just there. “Hey,” you said quietly.
“Hey,” he said muffled in your hair.
“You did it.”
“We did it,” he said. You pressed closer.
The street was quiet around you. Saturday morning, pale winter sun. Somewhere across the city Studio 13 was dark and locked and his toothbrush was on your shelf at home and two small gold barbells sat on your skin that his hands had put there. “The kids,” you said quietly. “They’re okay.”
His arms tightened. “Yeah, they are.” You stood on the pavement outside the café for a long time. Neither of you in any hurry to move. His heartbeat under your ear. His rings against your back.
When he finally pulled back he looked at your face. His hands came up — the familiar thing, both palms at your jaw, that way he had of tilting you toward him like you were something he wanted to look at properly. He looked at you for a moment. Then he kissed you, slow and thorough and with all of today behind it — the train and the waiting and the photos of two kids who he loved and were okay.
When he pulled back his forehead stayed against yours. “Home?” he said.
“Home,” you said. His hand found yours. He held on the whole way to the train and didn’t let go and you didn’t either and the afternoon was cold and clear and felt like the beginning of something instead of the middle of something for the first time in a long time.
SIX WEEKS LATER.
Things had the texture of something settled, not perfect— nothing was perfect, Riki was still Riki and you were still you and there were still moments where he went quiet a beat too long and you had to say talk to me. And moments where you pushed, when you should have waited and had to say sorry, I know, your timing not mine.
Still moments where the possessive thing flared; a look across a room, a hand at your back that pressed slightly harder than usual when someone stood too close and he caught himself, you saw him catch himself and that was its own kind of progress.
But the texture of it was settled. Lived in. The way good things felt when they’d been through something and come out the other side and knew what they were. His things were at your flat. Your things were at his. Nobody had discussed this. It had simply happened the way most things between you happened.
Rikis record player was at yours now. He’d brought it over three weeks ago to play you something and hadn’t taken it back and you hadn’t asked him to and it sat in the corner of your living room and played every evening and that was that.
Studio 13, Wednesdays at two o’clock you came in with coffee. Jay was at the front desk. He looked up, looked at the coffees, looked behind you. “Solo today?” he said.
“Ria’s coming later,” you said. “Is Riki—”
“Back room.” Jay’s expression was the specific one he got when he knew something and was enjoying knowing it. “He’s been waiting since one-thirty.”
“His shifts at two.”
“Uh huh,” Jay said. In the tone that meant his appointment is you and you both know it.
You went through to the back. Riki was at the piercing station. Cleaning the tray — he was always cleaning the tray, the most covered-up version of waiting that existed — and he looked up when you came in. The smile happened. Immediate and real. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
You put his coffee on the counter. “You started at one-thirty?”
“I was in the area.”
“You work here.”
“Exactly.” He picked up the coffee. Looked at you over the rim. “You said you had something you wanted.”
“I do.”
“Piercing?”
“Piercing,” you confirmed.
He put his coffee down. The professional focus assembled itself — but warm underneath it, the way it always was, the two things not in conflict anymore. “Where.” You pulled the collar of your top down slightly. Your collarbone, the three stems, the bud. Then you pointed to the space just above it. The small hollow at the base of your throat. “Throat?” he said.
“Surface piercing,” you said. “Just here.” He looked at the spot. Then at your face. Then back at the spot with the assessing expression, the one that was reading placement and anatomy and his own instincts all at once.
“It’ll suit you,” he said.
“I know.”
“I knew you’d say that. Sit.” You sat in the chair. He stood in front of you and tipped your chin up with two fingers and examined the hollow at your throat, pressing gently to feel the tissue. “Good placement,” he said, mostly to himself. His fingers moved. “Flat enough, no major vessels—” He was talking through it, the work-voice, and you watched his face in the mirror — focused and calm and right here.
“Riki,” you said. “I want to ask you something.”
“You can ask while I mark the spot.” He reached for the pen.
You looked at him in the mirror. “Move in,” you said. His hand stilled. He looked up from the hollow of your throat to your eyes in the mirror.
“What?” he said.
“Move in with me.” You held his gaze. “Properly. Stop leaving things in installments. The record player’s already there. Your good jacket’s been in my wardrobe for a month. Your coffee is always in my kitchen. So just move in. I know it might be fast.”
“It’s not fast,” he said immediately. Then seemed to hear himself. The corner of his mouth.
“So,” you said. He put the marking pen down. Turned you in the chair so you were facing him instead of the mirror. His hands on the armrests, leaning in, looking at you from close range with the expression that had no performance in it — just open, just his face.
“You want me to move in,” he said.
“I want you to move in,” you confirmed.
“Okay.” Simple and certain. Like it had always been going to be okay. “Yeah, Y/N. Okay.”
You looked at him. He looked at you. “Good,” you said.
“Good,” he said. He kissed you — brief, warm, his hand coming up to your jaw for just a second and then he stepped back and picked up the marking pen. “Now,” he said, professional again, mostly, “let me get to work.”
The throat piercing was the most careful he’d ever been. Which was saying something because he was always careful — but this was a surface piercing, more sensitive, more particular, and he went slower than usual, checked the mark three times, talked you through every step in that low steady voice. “Breathe in,” he said.
You breathed.
“Out. Slow.”
Out. The needle went quick and precise and then the sting, sharp and clean, and his hands already steady and sure moving the jewellery through. “Good girl,” he said quietly. “Really good. Almost done—”
His hands were the most certain thing in the world. “Done,” he said. “Look.”
You looked in the mirror. A small flat-back surface bar, sitting in the hollow of your throat, exactly centred, exactly right. Just visible, subtle, perfect. Above it the collarbone piece. His work. All of it his work, accumulated on your skin over months. “Riki,” you said.
“I know,” he said. Quietly pleased.
“It’s good.”
“It’s good,” you said.
He was looking at you in the mirror — at the hollow of your throat, the bar, the stems, all of it together with an expression you recognised now. The specific one that was about more than the work. “I put a lot on you,” he said. Quiet.
“I said that before,” you said. “And you told me—”
“Not enough,” he said. You looked at him in the mirror. He looked back. “Still not enough,” he said simply.
You reached up and covered his hand where it rested on your shoulder. He turned it over, fingers between yours. “Move in,” you said again. Just to say it.
He pressed his mouth briefly to the top of your head. “I heard you the first time,” he said.
“I love you,” you said.
“I love you,” he said. Immediate, he pressed his mouth into your hair. The playlist rolled over. The red light under the door. Studio 13 went quiet around you both. And the card he handed you that first night was there in your bag.
Your childhood bsf is a player and hooks up with any girl he finds, however he will drop anything and everything for you because he has the fattest, most painfully obvious, crush on you, but you lowk blind and dont know how to take hints.
{01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05}
a/n: hi guys i was supposed to post the last part 2 days ago but i got stumped bc i didnt know how to end this and it was lowk annoying me so im sorry if the ending is lowk ass and rushed🫰🏼 i js wanted to get this over with bc i have other stuff i want to post and i felt the need to finish this one before posting anything else. thank u for all the love, i appreciate everyone💋❤️
{childhoodbsf!riki x femreader, explicit language}
Student Council President Nishimura Riki ──. ⋆༺♱༻⋆ .
nishimura riki's goal is to make the school succeed no matter what, but he can't help but also want the submission of the Student Council Vice President-you, with that..
nishimura riki x fem!reader
content warnings: smut, angst, slut shaming, ass and pussy spanking, he gets mean, oral (m receiving), pussy eating, fingering, squirting, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, heavy makeout, mild dubcon, jealousy, reader is avoidant, not a lot of aftercare, riki becomes unhinged, and possessive, he kind of manipulates her sexually, reader refers to him as nishimura, but later calls him riki, porn with a plot, lmk if I missed anything!
word count: 10981
──────── . ⋆༺♱༻⋆ . ────────
Ravenchrest Academy, the most elite school in the country, only the richest, smartest students are accepted. Including you, Student Council Vice President.
People tend to use the word “bossy” or “demanding” when talking about you, which isn’t entirely false, you just like getting your way
So why does Nishimura Riki, the Student Council President think it's okay to boss you around, while you have to hold your tongue through it, even though most of the time you don't.
Truth is, he sees it as a power imbalance, in the end you have no choice but to listen, you two have a…complicated relationship.
Even though its the most luxurious School in the country, you still have to work in the same office as him, irritatingly so.
“So you're saying you haven't printed, nor made the sign up sheet for the student leadership conference?” Nishimura says, not even bothering to look up from his papers
“That's what I just said.” You say from your desk, the space isn't too cramped but it wouldn't be able to fit another person, your desks are nearly across from each other.
“And you think you deserve being in this position?” You hate the way he talks to you like you're beneath him.
“I was voted for among the students, and teachers. I think I'm perfectly capable of being in this position.” You say resisting the urge to throw your keyboard at his face
“Well I think you are too, but you can't even perform a simple task like making a sign up sheet, it's pathetic really.” He says, that “nonchalant” attitude radiating off him
You inhale and exhale, trying to calm yourself down before speaking “I'll work on it right now.” You say through your teeth, biting back the long list of insults you’re holding back
“Good.” He simply says
Honestly, he acts unbothered and everyone around him believes it. Anyone would bend their backs just to do what he wants. Does he abuse the power? Yes. But there's only one person who can’t seem to back down, and it's you. No matter what he does, no matter how much he establishes his authority over you, no matter how much he punishes you, you still don’t respect him the same way the other students do.
He tries to hide his shock at the way you didn't insult him, opening his mouth to make a smart ass comment before a knock on the door cuts through the silence
“Come in.” You both say at the same time, glaring at each other
A shorter girl comes in, black hair cut in a short bob, she looks nervous. You're too focused on her to notice the way Nishimura's gaze immediately goes to her.
“Hi–I um, you emailed me to come here” She says, voice quiet
“Do you need help with something?” You ask, brow raising
“Sori, we can speak outside.” Nishimura says, standing up, you don't miss the way his hand guides her, resting on her lower back
You've noticed, he likes the shy ones, the girls who are willing to do anything for him at any time, you also notice the way he seems so gentle with them, almost like they're fragile. The complete opposite of how he treats you.
You also don't miss when he comes back, 20 minutes later, tie disheveled, lips slightly plumper than before.
“What did she need?” You press, your eyes focused on the computer
“Why? Jealous she took away from our precious alone time?” He says, watching your face for a reaction
“I just wish she would have kept you longer so I could enjoy my precious alone time.” You say calmly
You don't see the way his eye slightly twitches, annoyed with your need to be a walking disobedience to him. But he doesn't say anything, because he knows he'll eventually break you too.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Since your school is known for its large charity events, and fundraisers, you're not surprised when the reporters come around to ask you about it.
So here you are, standing outside in the irritatingly hot air with Nishimura's hand on your back, and a reporter who won't shut the hell up.
“Hm..Can you two scoot closer together? This is going on the front page of the Academy's newsletter." The one holding the camera says
You look at Nishimura, he looks down at you before pulling you flush against his side, his hand splayed at the waistband of your skirt
“Perfect! And smile!”
You take a deep breath before putting on that performative smile you always wear around teachers, and classmates
“Thank you, the letter should arrive later this week!” You and Nishimura just nod as they walk away
Pushing him from your side slightly “They’re insufferable.” You say using your hand to fan yourself
“Taking a picture with me is really that bad?” He says smirking
“Do you really want me to answer that?” your attitude spiking from the heat
his eyes lock on yours, an intensity you know so well glinting in them
“Careful, don't forget your place y/n.” He says, walking back to the door
You just stare at him in confusion as he walks away like the cocky asshole he is
Later that week you decide to go to school a little earlier than everyone, walking to the student council office, pausing when you see him already there
You step in, setting your bags down “Shocker that you're here.” you say, he doesnt even look up- is he laughing at you?
You stride to his desk to see what he's looking at before snatching the paper from his hands
“What the fuck!?” You practically yell and he bursts out laughing
Nishimura Riki is laughing. Which is odd considering what an uptight asshole he is
“I think they got it right” he says watching your face as you study the newsletter’s cover
“Nishimura Riki Student council President, and L/n Y/n The Vice president are the ultimate duo, chemistry unmatched as they work together to lead the Academy to greater heights–” You look at him eyes wide
“Is this official?” you ask, tone serious
He looks up at you through his black framed glasses
“It's already been given to the teachers to pass out” He checks the time “And right about now they should be given to the students.”
You look back down at the paper in horror
“Do you know what this means Nishimura?” You say, he asked you to use his first name before, but you refuse to call someone who you despise that
“That we have great chemistry? That we lead the school to greatness?” sarcasm leaking in his tone
“It means all your little girl toys are going to come for my throat.” You say slamming the paper on his desk in aggression
“Girl toys? Really y/n?” he says, brow raising, with that obnoxious smirk you want to slap off his perfect face
“That's what I just fucking said!” you yell, anger filling in your voice
He stands up, towering over you, the only thing between him and you being his desk
“I suggest watching your tone, especially if you don't want me to tell the headmaster that your skirt is 3 inches shorter than the required length, breaking the dress code. I'm sure they wouldn't want their star student– well besides me, to be known for being a slut who flashes her light pink lace panties, now do they?” He says, tone calm
You swear your face is red, and someone definitely turned up the heater.
You don't know what to reply to first- the fact that he knows so much about how long your skirt is, or the fact that he knows what color underwear you’re wearing right now.
“You fuck-” You stop when someone knocks on the door
He just looks at you, that stupid ass smirk on his face “Come in” He says, a little too calm for someone who just practically violated your entire ego.
A boy you recognize from the student council meetings comes in, pausing in the doorway looking at the both of you standing up
“Um- Sorry did I interrupt something?” He says fidgeting with his clip board in his hands
“No, you didn't." You walk over to him
“Well I have the list of places to go for the student leadership conference-” he hands them to you
“This is good.” you say, scanning the papers
Nishimura sits back down, watching the way the boy nervously picks his nails “Ill review them and let you know if we need to make any changes.” Nishimura says, holding his hand out for the papers
You hesitate a beat before giving them to him
He watches as the boys eyes linger on your skirt before snapping back to your face when you turn to face him, making him scoff under his breath. That was his last straw.
“Thank you. You can leave now.” He says watching the boy shut the door behind him
“Fix the skirt issue, it's clearly distracting for your classmates.” He says, writing on the paper
You let out a sour laugh "You're still on that? Are you fucking serious right now?”
His eyes snap up to your face “You think it's okay to talk to me like that?”
“Yeah, actually. Considering you're wrong.” You say crossing your arms over your chest in defiance
“y/n, I would suggest cutting this attitude of yours off before I do something I wont take back.” He says, eyes testing
“Oh please, you’re not going to do shit—just because you’re literally one rank higher than me doesn’t make you any better.”
No one is able to get on his nerves as bad as you.
He stands up, walking around his desk till he's directly in front of you, reaching behind you to grab a ruler
“You really want to test me right now?” He says holding the ruler up
Now you’re doubting yourself, you watch as he holds the ruler up to your skirt
3 inches too short.
He tsks looking at you “y’know, you've been testing my patience this whole semester, but it's been even worse this past week.”
He stands up to tower over you again “How should I punish you then?” he says, letting the ruler trail down your arm, letting the words sit. you don't know why you can't talk right now– maybe shock?
“Speechless now? Interesting.”
“You're a pervert.” you say through your teeth
He chuckles, pushing his glasses up his nose
“Bend over the desk.” He says, eyes locked on yours
“What?” you're not sure you heard him right
“Bend.Over.The.Desk.” spelling it out like you're a child.
“Nishimura-im not–” You don't even register when he pushes you down onto the desk, the edge of it digging into your stomach, before lifting up your skirt
“Pink lace, I knew it” He chuckles, almost to himself
“What the fuck are you doing-” he doesnt let you finish your sentence before landing a sharp slap to your ass with the ruler causing you to nearly yell
“That's for having such a dirty mouth.” He watches the way your ass reddens
He hits your other with the ruler, making you let out a whimper on his desk
“Oh? Don't tell me you're actually enjoying this?” He says rubbing your ass with the ruler, as if to sooth the burn
“I knew you were a slut, but this is just- filthy” He says using the ruler and his hand to spread your ass
You whimper as the ruler grazes over your wet cunt through your panties
“F-fuck you” you let out through uneven breaths
He doesn't hesitate before bringing the ruler up and slapping it right onto your pussy making you choke on a moan
“Still acting like a spoiled brat even when I have you like this? You're going to need some work hm?”
Both your eyes move to the sudden ring of the school phone on his desk
He lets out a breath of frustration before he grabs the phone, answering, hand resting on your back to keep you from standing up, you don't bother standing up either because some sick, twisted part of you likes this.
You hate it when people try to put you in your place, so why does it feel so good when Nishimura Riki does.
He moves his hand from your back to pick up the ruler again, petting your ass with it, letting it tease your cunt, multitasking. Another reason why he’s so good at what he does.
“No, we haven't decided on a city yet.” he says tone clipped
“Yes and we'll get to it right away. I'm aware it's due soon” He says, angling the ruler corner to rub against your throbbing clit, making you bite back a moan
“Yeah, you too.” He says sharply before hanging up and setting the phone down
He retracts the ruler looking at it, the corner of it soaked with your slick. “Making a mess on my supplies now?” He says looking down at your pathetic state
“Stand up. Start looking for the best hotels in the cities from the list. Narrow them down and report back to me when you've finished.” He says, putting the ruler on the table and walking back around his desk
“Go on, I need my desk to work on my own things” He says, You use your arms to lift yourself up, pulling your skirt down
He just watches you, the blush on your cheeks, your hair a mess, a tear threatening to fall from your eyes.
“You’re still an ass.” you mumble under your breath, walking around your desk to sit down
He sits down as well, getting his pencil to write something
“You’re lucky we both have work to do, after all it is our duties as President and Vice president of the student council.” He says looking at you, reminding you yet again of your ‘place’
You try not to wince at the slight sting as you adjust yourself in your seat, or the wetness that's still pooled in your panties.
Fine. If he wants to act like nothing just happened, you can do that too. You’ve always been good at pretending anyway.
“Ill have the papers on your desk at the end of the day, Nishimura.” You say, tone cold as ice
He tightens his lips. How can someone act so normal after what he just did– he needs you to be affected, apparently bending you over the desk and spanking you wasn't enough. He needs you begging for more, he needs you to feel humiliated.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
You don’t bring up what happened, neither does he. With having to deal with community service day, and the upcoming student leadership conference, you don't even have time to.
During times like this you get snappy, impatient, He doesn't like that.
But when you do listen, and you dont talk back, he fucking loves it. He likes seeing the defiance in your eyes, when he tells you to do something, and you can't say a damn thing to him. Especially in moments like these, where you're proposing the final cities for the trip in front of the whole student council body, and he interrupts saying he's already come to a decision.
You can't disagree with him either, so he watches as you open your mouth to speak then shut it
This is almost a mere experiment for him, he wants to see how far you will go so he knows exactly how to push you.
He speaks up, and everyone quiets down “New York, it's the perfect city for it. I've already talked to the headmaster, and the other Student Council Presidents from Thornewood, and Redmont. It's been approved.”
You watch from beside him as their smiles light up, and they begin talking amongst each other
“Well get the room situation dealt with later this week.” He says over the talking, making everyone quiet again
“Thats all, feel free to stop by our office if you have any questions.” He says, not sparing you a glance before walking out of the classroom
You follow him, slamming the office door behind you
“How come you didn't confirm with me about the city?” You say, your nails digging into the flesh of your palm
He looks up at you from his desk chair with a smug smirk
“I don't need to confirm anything with you y/n. Do you need a reminder of who’s in charge here?” He says, brow raised over his glasses
“Last time I checked we’re supposed to work together on this whole thing–you can't just go and make decisions and claim we decided-”
“Who are you to tell me what, and what not to do? As Student Council President, the final decision was New York, and im not changing it regardless-”
“That's not fair! You didn't even let me know prior to the meeting with the rest of the student council! It made me look unprofessional in front of them!” You say, watching the way he rubs his forehead in frustration
“Do you think it's okay to interrupt me y/n?” He says, watching your movements intensely
You swallow, he watches your throat bob
“So when I ask you a question you suddenly can’t speak?” He says calmly
“Come here.” He watches you walk around his desk till your standing beside him
“Get on your knees.” He says, scooting his chair back slightly
“You can’t be fucking serious Nishimura– I swear-” He holds his hand up
“You keep opening that mouth of yours, even when you're told to shut it. I think it just needs to be filled. So get on your knees.” He says, pushing his glasses up so their resting on his head
You don't know why you listen, it’s like something takes over your body when you lower yourself on the rough carpet beneath you
He looks down at you, leaning to move a stray hair out of your face, swiping his thumb across your lip, you part them slightly and he smirks at that, you’re stunning.
He moves his hand to unbuckle his belt, and pulls down his pants and boxers waisting no time. his dick hits his stomach with how long, and thick it is, and flushed red at the tip, who knew Nishimura Riki was packing, but you don't admit that.
He watches as you look at his cock, your facial expressions being so easy to read make him chuckle before he strokes himself slowly
“Open.” He says, tapping his dick on your cheek
You hesitate a second before opening your mouth slightly
“Go on, show me what else you can do besides run your mouth.” He says looking down at you, eyes almost siren like
You wrap your lips around the tip, the taste of his precum coating your tongue
“Mmm.. such a good little slut for me huh?” He says pushing your head down a little so you can take more of his cock in your mouth, making you gag
“Fuck–” He lets out through a deep groan
“You look so much better like this baby, taking my cock so well” He says looking down at the way your head moves in attempt to take him fully in your throat, the nickname he occasionally gives you making your heart skip a beat
You brace your hands on his legs to steady yourself
“Your mouth is so fucking small for all the big talk you do-” He says before biting his lip
You mumble something, the vibration making him groan louder
He wraps his hand in your hair, moving your head for you, making you take him deeper, His tip hitting the back of your throat, as your saliva seeps out the corners of your mouth
You curl your toes to try and not gag as he speeds up, interlocking both hands on the back of your head
“Im gonna cum y/n– swallow it for me” He says through uneven breaths before bringing your face down till it touches his navel and shooting his thick load in your mouth, he lets out the most deep, broken sounds as your throat milks him dry
You lift your head, looking up at him before licking your lips
He laughs “You’re a little cum slut huh? Only good girls take my load like that.” He says standing up and pulling back up his pants, fixing his belt, not sparing you a glance before he walks around you
“Where are you going?” You say, using his chair to help you stand up
“I still have important manners to attend to, did you forget we have the assembly in–” He checks his watch “Less than 10 minutes?” he says adjusting the end of his sleeve
He takes in your state “I would suggest cleaning yourself up, can’t have everyone knowing what a pathetic little slut you are.” He says, tone way too calm for your liking before he walks out, shutting the door behind him.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Fuck Nishimura Riki. Fuck his stupidly hot hair. Fuck the stupid way his glasses fit his face perfectly. And fuck him for being at your favorite convenience store at 11:43 pm.
You’ve never seen him outside of school, and this is ultimately the last place you think he’d be. With your house being just 15 minutes away of course you’re going to stop by when your hungry. After all your parents seem to think you’re top chef with the ingredients they left before they went on their fancy weekend trip.
Typical, considering they’re practically never home.
You curse yourself for going out in your pajamas and a hoodie. The outfit being something you would never wear out unless you were desperate. And right now with your stomach growling at the thought of eating, you sure as hell are.
Opening the door to the store, you flinch at the bell above it that rings before swiftly make your way to the ramen section, Nishimura is on the other side—plus he doesn’t seem like the type to even eat ramen at midnight-
“Y/n?” you hear the smooth voice you recognize too well say
You sigh before turning to face him in the cramped aisle
“Nishimura.” you say, trying to take in his outfit, baggy jeans, black long sleeve..who the fuck wears jeans for a midnight convienence store run-
He looks down at your outfit with obvious distaste
“hm..interesting.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” you say crossing your arms over your chest
His eyes snap to yours, that look of authority glinting in them
“What did I say about your tone when talking to me? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?” He says, brow raising
You scoff at his words “Seriously? It’s midnight. Im tired, hungry, and you’re actually talking to me about that right now?”
“Y/n, I dont care if we’re off school hours or not, you still have to respect me regardless.” He says tone clipped
“Yeah okay sorry Mr. Student council president.” you say turning back around, and grabbing two of your favorite ramen
He shakes his head, tongue pushing against the side of his cheek, watching as you walk towards the cashier to pay
Coming beside you immediately he places his item down, the cashier scans it
“What the hell are you doing?-“
He hands the cashier the money, and gives you your bag before leaning down to whisper in your ear
“Thats for the other day, im not a total monster y/n. You deserve some sort of award for sucking dick that good.” He straightens before heading towards the door, leaving you with a dumbfounded look on your face
“See you on Monday Mrs. VP.” He says before walking out.
Even as you watch the water boil, you still think about the way his lips ghosted your ear when he whispered that to you, your mind drifting to the odd moments you two have shared over the past few weeks—what the fuck is going on.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
“I mean seriously you two would make a really hot couple.” One of the two girls who came to the office claiming they had important manners to talk about says. You don’t even remember their names
“You’re sure you two aren’t like you know..” the other one says
You look at both of them, eye brow raised
“I mean with the news letter and all- great chemistry? More like sexual tension.” The first one says casually
Nishimura stops at the cracked door to listen closer
“I promise you it’s nothing like that. Nishimura is hardly even my friend.” You say eyes going back to your laptop
“Well you’re better than the both of us, if Riki was by my side all the time id be on that di-“ she stops when he clears his throat and pushes the door open
He looks at them confused as if he hadn’t just eavesdropped on the whole conversation “Are you here about the student leadership conference?” He says, setting his bags down on his desk before walking around to sit down
“Uh no—wait yeah we were just asking y/n about it” One of them says before mumbling something like “have a nice day” rushing out, shutting the door
You both busy yourselves with your assignments for your classes before he interrupts the silence “Hardly even your friend huh?” He says eyes on his computer, you look up at him
“You were listenting to that?” You say foot tapping on the ground
“Yes, this is our office.”
“Well yeah—but its true, are we not mere.. acquaintances?” you say testing
He laughs at that. “Do all your acquaintances get you wet?”
Your face flushes red when he looks at you “Nishimura thats not-“
“Riki.” He says, tone assertive
“I want you to call me Riki. Enough of this professional, formal shit you pull. We both know its all just a mask to cover up what a pathetic slut you are.”
“Fine. Riki.” You say before looking back at your computer
He smirks before going back to his work
“asshole.” you whisper under your breath
He cocks a brow “Do you really want a punishment that bad y/n?”
You don’t respond.
He rolls up his sleeves before standing up and coming to your side of the desk, you turn your head, not quite looking at him, he moves your chin to look at him instead
“Spread your legs for me” He says, you dont even hear his next words with how loud your heart is beating. He could probably hear it too.
“Are you playing stupid now?” he snaps in your face
“Huh-?” you say looking up at him
He crouches down before placing both his hands on your thighs “I said, stop fucking hiding yourself.” He says before spread your legs for you to see your most intimate part
He drags a finger up the middle to collect the slick soaking your panties “I knew it.” He says before spreading them wider and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, eyes locked on your as he does.
He watches you bite your lip, smiling against your skin before bringing his lips to your cunt, you don’t expect him to but he flattens his tongue against your clothed core making you moan right at the contact
“Look at you. What would all those who voted for you to be in this chair say if they knew how wet you got from a few words hm?” He says before flicking his tongue over your clit through your panties
“Fuck Riki-“ You whisper, hands gripping the chairs armrest
He presses feather light kisses to your cunt, his lips being exactly what you need to feel yourself getting closer
“You want me to take these off baby?” he says, teeth at the top of your panties waistband
You nod, eyebrows furrowed
He pulls them off your legs, before bringing them to his nose to smell, dick hardening at the scent of your arousal
You watch as he stands up, putting your panties in his pocket
“What?” He says tilting his head at your confused look
“You really think I’d eat your pussy here of all places?” He says like you weren’t just taking his cock in your mouth last week
“You literally-“
“Im not doing that here y/n. I have to finalize the hotel situation with the headmaster.” He says before bringing your legs down, and fixing your skirt
“Just in case someone comes in. I don’t want anyone knowing how desperate you get for me okay? So keep your legs closed.” You watch as he walks out, leaving you yet again with more confusion in your head and an ache between your legs.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
“Tommorow we leave at 7:00 am for the train, Remember we will be there for the weekend so pack accordingly. The room situation is figured out, I have the papers here of who your roommate will be, requests were accepted as well.” You say before passing them out to the other student’s
Riki watches from the front as you perform your required duties, he can't help but let a smirk show at knowing how hard you try to keep up this ‘good girl’ facade
With you two being in the positions you are, its natural that you where allowed to have your own rooms, so you don’t have a roommate thankfully.
That night you packed your bags for the trip, formal wear for the actual leadership events, casual clothes, pajamas, mentally preparing yourself for what you know is going to be a long weekend. And not because of the convention, but because you would have to be by his side the entire time.
You watch as the students board the train, checking off their names as Riki talks to the headmaster beside you.
“And one thing I want both of you to make sure doesn’t happen is room crossing, Im trusting that you will enforce that rule as well.” The headmaster says
“Yes sir” You say before focusing back on the students
“There will be photographers and such at the venue, considering this is an important event for the school, so I need you two to play the part of hardworking partners, which shouldn’t be an difficult. Your teamwork is not overlooked.” You hear him say to Riki before walking back towards the teachers
“Shouldn’t be difficult huh?” you say as Riki comes to your side and you check off the last name
“Are we not compatible y/n?” He says looking down at you with that knowing smirk
You feel your cheeks beginning to flush “Shut up—we’re going to be late” you say before mumbling something and boarding the train
You walk to your seat, passing by the other students before you find two empty seats at the back—fuck.
He watches you pause
“Get used to it, Well be by each others side this whole trip. I call aisle seat.” He says as he watches you sit down by the window. Fine. You wanted window seat anyway.
Since this is a long trip, 5 hours exactly, you obviously brought the book you need to read for one of your AP courses. The chatter had died down a bit, the classmates around you seemed to be sleeping or locked on their phones.
Riki is on his phone, scrolling uselessly. You hate that he doesn’t even have to try to be one of the top students in the Academy’s rankings.
You don’t miss the way his hand rests on your bare thigh, his thumb rubbing mindless circles, as if this was some everyday occurrence.
“What are you doing.” you whisper
He glances at you, and down at your book resting above his hand on your lap
He doesn’t say anything before bringing his hand under your book, and letting his hand graze your inner thigh, you gasp at the contact before he leans closer to you
“Keep reading, don’t want you to lose second place in the rankings.” He says watching your face as irritation washes over you
But you listen. Picking up your book and starting where you left off, trying to ignore his thumb inching closer to your heat
“Fuck—“ he breathes out when he makes slight contact with your clothed core “Does being touched like this in a train full of your classmates really turn you on that much?” He whispers into your ear quietly
“You want me to finger your pretty pussy infront of all them? Make you come so hard you wont even care that they’re watching?” He says, pressing the pad of his finger against your warmth making you bite your lip
Realisation dawns when you hear laughing from a few rows up. You’re in a train for fucks sake, you suddenly stand up making a few eyes go to you, before chuckling awkwardly and walking to the bathroom of the train.
You come back 10 minutes later, looking down at Riki on his phone, who doesn’t spare you a glance as you sit back in your seat. The rest of the ride is quiet, at least between you two..Did you make it awkward? Is he upset with you? But you brush those thoughts aside before picking back up your book and reading.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Once everyone got situated at the hotel, rooms were found, and bags were unpacked, you sent a message to the student council group chat
“We are going to the main venue for the conference at 4:00, the other academy’s should be there at the same time. The dress code is formal, remember to make a good impression, this reflects the whole academy. We will meet in the lobby at 3:30” You send the message and shut off your phone to worry about what the hell you were going to wear
Settling for some dress pants and a blouse from an expensive boutique back home, you put your hair in a half up half down, before making your way to the elevator and stopping when you see Riki. spam clicking the down arrow button, you look at his attire, from the black business pants he’s wearing to the black formal long sleeve before coming beside him.
“If you keep clicking it, it resets it. Shouldn’t that be obvious?” You say giving it 5 seconds before clicking it yourself, watching as the door opens
He lets his eyes roam down your body, from the way your blouse hugs your chest, to the pants that fit your ass perfect, he doesn’t hesitate before guiding you in the elevator like you couldn’t do it yourself, his hand dangerously low on your back.
“Im not going to check you for your tone, only because you look sexy as fuck in this” He says before trailing his hand down further to cup your ass in his hand making you gasp slightly
“You wearing these to impress someone?” He says, looking at your face when you don’t move to look at him
“These are just regular pants.” You say when the elevator dings, stopping on the 4th floor to pick up a few of your classmates, his hand makes its way back to his side
You make room in the elevator for your classmates, trying not to take too much space, but also trying not to touch him
You’re half listening to their conversation when you feel him, pressed behind you “Riki what the hell-“ you whisper so only he can hear
“Shhh” he whispers before subtly placing his hand on your waist and pressing his front into your back, claiming it’s too cramped in the elevator—if you make any sudden movements your classmates attention will be on you—
Your eyes flick up when the door opens and you practically jump out the elevator, smiling when you see everyone in the lobby on time, once again putting on that mask. Riki follows behind you, shaking his head with a smirk on his face
⋆༺♱༻⋆
“Yeah, I think the work of student councils vice president is severely underrated, it always gets pushed aside by everyone. So I try to give as much credit to ours as possible” Says the boy infront of you, Yang Jungwon, Student Council President of Thornewood Academy.
“Well she’s definitely lucky..” you say admiring the way he talks so passionately about it
“You see that guy over there?” You say subtly pointing at Riki, making Jungwons eyes go to him
“You probably already knew but hes the Student Council President at Ravenchrest.”
“The one who keeps looking at you?” He says, eyes back on you when Riki glances in your direction again
“Yeah..Hes got this like weird possessive thing..”You say, before turning back to Jungwon
“Right, I gathered that” He says nervously, making you laugh
Riki watches from the table hes seated at, the words of the girl talking to him going in one ear and out the other, whats so fucking funny? Is he really making you laugh that hard? How about you go and be vice president of that school instead since you’re already so buddy buddy with him.
He excuses himself from the conversation hes in, and walks over to you and Jungwon
You two are too busy talking about how your schools are extremely wealthy, yet you still have one office to work in, when Riki suddenly interrupts
“Y/n, you dont enjoy our shared space? because I could have sworn—“ you cut him off
“Nishimura, this is Jungwon!” you say a little to cheerfully
Riki glares at the use of his formal name
Jungwon holds out his hand “Nice to meet you, in person” He flashes a smile, dimple evidently clear, Riki shakes his hand before facing you
“I need to speak to you about student council.” He says turning to you
“Can you wait a few min-“
“Now. Its important.” He says eyes lowering on you
You hesitate before turning back to a very uncomfortable looking Jungwon
“Im sorry Jungwon, duty calls. Maybe we can talk over breakfast sometime yeah?” You say offering a small smile
He nods “I’d like that y/n” he says before Riki practically drags you across the venue to the side of the stage, where its dark and secluded
“You won’t be meeting him for anything.” His hand splayed on your waist possessively
“I will-“
“you wont.”
“Thats an order, as Student Council President. And you will listen to me.” He says, tone sharp like a knife
“You can’t do that, thats not fair-“ You say
His eyes drop to your lips “Do you want me to punish you here y/n? Of all places? Make you take my cock so deep you wont-“
“Riki?” you hear a small voice say, and he immediately pulls himself from you when a girl rounds the corner, the one from a few weeks ago, short hair, small frame
She pauses when she sees you, looking between you two, voice stammering as she speaks
“Um-the reporters are looking for you..They said they wanted a picture of all the student council presidents together but I can just tell them you’re busy-“
“Thats not necessary Sori, Thank you for coming to get me.”
You watch as he smiles sweetly, tone suddenly gentle like he’s talking to a baby deer who’ll run away from him the second he makes a sudden movement, it makes you scoff
He hands you a card before whispering in your ear “Nine. Since you’re looking to be put in your place so bad.” He says before looking back at Sori, placing his hand on her waist as they walk back to where everyone is, she hasn’t done anything to you but you want to pull her by her stupid hair so fucking bad right now.
You look down at the card in your hands—the hotel key card to be exact, with his room number on it, biting your lip as you put it in your pocket
The rest of the afternoon is a blur, from people asking you questions about the school, to students asking you permission for every little thing, like yes the food on the table is there for you to eat. You even decided to get Jungwons number so you can make breakfast plans, since Riki rudely interrupted you two.
Its not like he’s your boyfriend so it doesn’t even matter if you get food with another guy anyway.
But your mind cant stop replaying the interaction between you and Riki earlier, your heart beating at the thought of what would happen if you actually went, I mean his room is on the same floor so theres no harm in it..right?
⋆༺♱༻⋆
You’ve been back at your room since 8:15 pm, contemplating actually going, pacing around like an idiot. Its 8:52 now. Why is time moving so much faster right now!
Sitting on your bed in your bra and underwear, matching set..for no specific reason. Trying to figure out what to put on, maybe sweatpants? No that feels to casual, but is this not casual?
You settle for some shorts and a sweater, after second guessing it five times. Looking at your phone “Shit!” 9:08. You lock your room door behind you, awkwardly waving at one of the housekeeping ladies before making your way to his room
“715..710…705.” You whisper as you approach the door, knocking on it, waiting for any type of response
You lift the key card to the door and it unlocks, the cold handle biting your skin when you open it.
“Riki..?” you whisper before taking off your shoes and walking further in the room, shutting the door behind you quietly, like someone will know you’re here if you close it too loud. He’s sitting on the bed, scrolling on his phone as you approach him, he’s wearing some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Casual. Because this is all casual right?
“You’re late.” He says looking at you, glasses resting low on his nose
“It’s only like 10 minutes-“ you start
“I don’t want your pathetic excuses.” He says before putting his phone down next to him
You look like a deer in headlights, just staring at him, the silence is brief. “You we’re talking to him again.” He says, eyes locked on yours
“Who?” You say, knowing exactly who.
“Jungwon.”
“Am I not allowed to talk to him now?” You say brow raising, that familiar temper rising
“I don’t like when you don’t listen.”
“Come here.” He says, and you walk over, stopping at the side of his bed
“Are you going to listen to me now y/n?” he says, eyes trailing down to your legs
“Depends what you ask-“
“Take off the shorts and sweater, I want to see if im right.” He says watching your face
“Right about what?”
“I’d bet my position as Student Council President you’re wearing one of those little matching sets underneath your clothes right now. So I want to see if im right.”
You can feel your face flush. because he is right. your expression is all he needs to know for that.
You lift your sweater off your body, letting it fall limply to the ground, watching as his eyes drop to your chest in the white bra you chose, before you pull your shorts down, stepping out of them to reveal your white panties with a pink bow on the front
He lets out a knowing chuckle, “You wore that for me y/n?”
“No-“
He pulls you to his lap, his chest against your back before whispering in your ear “I don’t want your pathetic lies either.” He says, using his hand to spread your legs as the other trails across your collar bone
You watch as his hand inches closer to your core, his finger brushing it slightly making you gasp
“Sensitive are we now?” He says before pulling them to the side, the cold air making you whine as it hits your bare cunt
He brings his middle and ring finger to your mouth urging you to open
“Suck” He says before you take his long fingers in your mouth, sucking them as if they were his dick
“Look at you, you really miss my cock that much?” He says before pulling them out and bringing his hand back down to your core
He gathers the slick, mixing it with your saliva and making slow, agonizing movements on your pussy
“Riki-“ you let out through a breathless moan
He uses his two fingers to spread your pussy open more, and uses his middle finger to flick at your puffy clit, making you gasp, his other hand slides down to cup your tit in his hand
Your head is thrown back against his chest, your eyes rolling at the sensation, but his eyes are locked on the way your legs twitch everytime his finger makes contact with your sensitive bud
You’re moaning gets slightly louder when we rubs your clit with two fingers, pinching it between them, he smiles at that
“Are you gonna come just from me touching you like this?” He says, voice mocking
You try closing your legs but he brings his hand down from your chest to hold you open
“Yes- fuck im close” You let out as he rubs fast figure 8’s on your pussy, he watches your breath pick up, and how your hole clenches around nothing
“You wanna come baby?” He says, somehow his fingers are moving faster
“R-riki im gonna-“ you let out a moan that turns into a sob as he moves his hand from your pussy to slap your thigh
“You think you deserve to come from my fingers? After the shit you pulled tonight?” He says, rubbing the spot he hit softly, watching as your clit practically throbs at the loss of contact
“Little brats like you don’t get to come so soon.” He says before landing a sharp slap on your pussy, making your hips jolt, you let out a choked moan at the sting
“L-let me come—“ you say before he lands another sharp slap to your clit before rubbing it again, picking up his pace, bringing you closer to the edge and then stopping again
You swear you feel a tear slip from your eyes “Aw, are you crying?” he says, bringing his hand that was on your thigh up to wipe the tear
“I-I cant—“ You let out through a whine
“Thats too fucking bad.” He says before slapping your pussy again, with more force, your hands claw at his arm
He watches as your sensitive pussy flushes at the harsh contact, yet somehow you’re even more wet
“I-I wanna come..Riki” You say looking up at him, eyes watery
He begins rubbing small circles again, teasing you
“You’re going to have to beg.”
You hesitate and he notices immediately. Landing another slap to your cunt making you practically yell
“Fuck!- Please Riki!” You say when he traces your pussy lips with his fingers
“Please what?” He says knowingly
“Please..make me come from your fingers” You say, that pleading tone in your voice making him bite his lip before he plunges his two fingers in your hole, sliding in with how wet you are
You let out a sharp moan as he curls them just right—your eyes threatening to close from how good it feels to be filled
“Open your eyes. Look at how good your pussy takes my fingers.” He says, trying to hold his own composure as your walls flutter around his fingers
He makes a scissor motion in you, stretching you more, moving his fingers in and out, and curling them
“mm y..yes im gonna- come—“ you say through whimpers, your arms hugging the one hes using to finger you
“Yeah you wanna come baby?” He says curling his fingers deeper in you, making you hug tighter on his arm as he hits the perfect spot, he watches as you throw your head back, using his fingers to ride out your orgasm, his dick hardening at the sight
But he doesnt stop. Instead of curling his fingers he thrusts them in and out, pushing your arousal back in you, his palm hitting your clit over and over again as he pounds his fingers ruthlessly into you
“F-fuck! Riki!” You say through a string of moans
“You’re not done. I want to see if your pussy can squirt for me.” He says, fingers reaching deeper at each thrurst, the sendation of your clit being hit making it even more euphoric
“I-i have to-“ You scream- actually fucking scream as the clear liquid comes out of you, soaking his hand- your legs- the bed beneath you, he’s fucking his fingers in and out of you, trying to milk every last drop your willing to let out, you’re nothing but a pathetic whimpering mess when he finally stops moving his fingers, he inches them out slowly “I knew you could do it, you’re a good little slut right baby?”
“Y-yes Riki-“ you say, trying to catch up to your breathing as you come down from your high, your legs are practically limp, he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them to taste you, he closes his eyes as your flavor hits his tastebuds
“I want-“ He starts and then stops at the sudden ring from your phone, eyes glancing to the nightstand at the sound
He used his other hand to reachover and pick it up and his movements still. You sit up to see what he saw and your heart drops at the reminder you had set earlier
Make reservations for breakfast with Jungwon
and right under that is a text message
Jungwon: Hey it’s Jungwon, im exited to talk soon without any interruptions lol :)
Riki hates the way he added that stupid fucking smiley face, your frozen between his legs, glancing between his unreadable face and your phone.
He moves you off him to stand up, pushing his glasses higher up his nose, before finally making eye contact with you
“I want you to shower, and then get the fuck out. When I come back you better not be fucking in here y/n” He says, not even giving you time to reply before grabbing his own phone and shoes and closing the hotel door behind him.
You feel like theres a wire around your throat, restriciting your breathing as a tear falls from your eye, why do you feel so guilty right now—was it wrong to get Jungwons number and make plans?
You force yourself up, not daring to look in the mirror as you walk to his shower, cleaning yourself, putting back on your clothes that lay beside the bed. You walk to the door, putting on your shoes, and make your way back to your own room.
You force yourself not to cry. Even if the pain in your heart right now wants nothing more than that to relieve it. After changing into your pajamas you curl into the hotels blankets, trying not to think about tomorrow. The fact that you still have to remain professional, by his side the entire time. You still have to act like nothing happened, put on that stupid fucking mask yet again.
Riki cant help but feel the dissapointment wash over him when he walks back into his hotel room an hour later, with a bag full of convenience store ramen, because part of him hoped you would keep that stubborn attitude and stay here, waiting for him to get back just to call him an asshole, he can’t help but feel like he fucked up instead.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
The morning was hell. Getting ready felt like a chore when it was supposed to be one of your favorite things. You put on a similar outfit to yesterdays, just with a white blouse, and black pants instead, you don't know why you decided to wear heels either when there a pain.
Riki hasn’t even looked in your direction this whole time. He didn't sit with you on the way to the venue, he didn't even touch you when you two had to take a picture for the “Most successful StuCo President and Vice President” award. Was he really this fucking mad over a text?
You’re helping one of your classmates prepare for their speech, as one of the best event planners in student council, when you see Riki, laughing with that girl. Sori. How can he be so unbothered right now? Why does your chest hurt at the sight of her touching his arm. The same arm you were clinging to last night. You should just go over there and tell her exactly what-
“Y/n?” Your classmate says
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was asking if I should just bring the note cards with me just in case?” She says looking at you with a worried look
“Um- yeah, just do that” You say before excusing yourself, you need to talk to Riki. Now. You're walking closer, when someone stops infront of you, Jungwon.
“Hey, you didn't answer my text last night, are you okay?” he says observing the intense expression your face
You fully turn to face him “Yeah im just nervous I guess” You say chuckling to ease the tension
“You? Nervous?” he says brow raising
“Well yeah..?” you let out awkwardly
“Do you want to come sit with us? Not like one of those weird rival schools kind of way- it's just, you look like you could use a friend.” He says offering that kind smile
You look past his shoulder, Riki’s eyes locked on you. But his hand is on Sori’s back. You look back at Jungwon before smiling and nodding.
“And then he tripped- actually tripped over his own shoe after that whole ridiculous lecture” Thornewoods vice president says through a laugh
Jungwon can't help but laugh too, which makes you let out a giggle
“It was truly humiliating..” he says rubbing the back of his head
Riki glances at you every few minutes, jealousy boiling in his chest, but you can't see it because you're faced away. You did that on purpose though, the sight of him touching another girl used to not bother you but in that moment, it made you want to throw up the appetizers that where passed out earlier.
Maybe it was a friendly interaction you needed, you open your mouth to say something when someone from the podium speaks
“Everyone please head back to your assigned school areas, we have a few more things to get through.”
You smile at Jungwon and his friends before going back to your assigned section, looking down at the chair that says your name, and then the one next to it ‘Nishimura Riki’ plastered on it under the Student Council President title.
You sit down, crossing your legs, trying to seem less tense, even when you feel the shift in the air as Riki takes his seat beside you.
After what feels like 3 hours of speeches, awards, pictures, they finally pass out the dinner, the food was truly rich, which makes sense with how wealthy each of these schools are. You try to ignore his presence beside you, making conversation with your classmates instead, The only time you acknowledge eachother is when the woman who was speaking at the podium comes over to compliment you and Riki's work ethic, him claiming “he couldn't have done it without you.”, then going back to ignoring eachother.
By the time the event was fully over, you said your goodbyes to Jungwon and his friends, thanking them for letting you join them earlier.
On the ride back to the hotel, you check off the names of the student council members, making sure you didn't leave anyone, once you were finished you sat down, satisfied. But you could feel his eyes on you. Two rows back diagonal from you.
Thanking God as you get to the elevator first, 7 other of your classmates joining, looking exhausted, you watch as the elevator doors begin to close when a hand stops it, making it open back up. Riki.
“What floor?” He asks the boy next to him
“Level two” He says, voice small, and Riki clicks it
The short ride is silent except for the whisper from your classmates next to you.
You watch as the elevator door opens and resist the urge to pull them back in there with you when 5 of them get off on this level.
“Im floor 3” One of the girls says, before clicking the 3 button
You look down at your feet, silently praying that the other girl is magically on the same floor as you, when the door dings open again your heart drops to your ass as they both get off. Leaving you and him here, alone.
He doesn't click the 7 button on the elevator keypad. Instead, he settles for the ‘close door’ one, before turning to face you
“Y/n” He says looking down at you
“Look at me” He steps closer, lifting your chin, watching the way you cant even look at him
“Fuck- baby..”
You swat his hand away “Dont fucking touch me- y-you spent the whole night glued to her side, touching her even after last night” You say, the words tumbling out of your mouth without a thought
“Well you spent the whole night practically eye fucking Jungwon so you're not completely innocent!” He says voice louder than intended
“He’s my friend! You don't get to take that away from me.” You say pushing him back, trying to make space in this small ass elevator
“A friend doesn't look at you like that y/n.” He says, hands resisting the urge to touch you
“Like what?!” You say, practically yelling even though you two were already close
“Like they want you as bad as I do.” He whispers, vulnerability leaking through his tone, a tone you haven't heard before until now
You look up at his face before letting out a sour chuckle sound, making his eyes snap back to you
“Thats bullshit- Riki you can’t even fucking kiss me.” You say, watching the way his eyes darken
“Yeah?” He says, tone low before he steps closer to you, you step back, cursing the elevator for being to damn small when your back hits it
“Yea-” Your words are gone when he cups your face in his hands and presses his mouth to yours, you're frozen, in shock.
He pulls back looking at you with the most desperate look in his eyes, before you pull him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him again, your lips move like they were made for one another, his tongue brushes your bottom lip, before he pushes in, groaning into your mouth, his hand slips down to your waist, pulling you against him, but also pushing you against the wall more, as if it was the only thing grounding the two of you.
He steps back for a moment before clicking the ‘7’ button and then his lips are back on yours, your hand lifts his glasses so they rest on his head, even as the elevator door opens he's still trying to savor your lips on his, reaching into his back pocket to get his key card out, opening the hotel door and shutting it as he pushes you against it
He lifts your leg over his hip, rolling his hips into yours, making you both moan at the contact, you blush at the sound of him being so vocal, he pulls back, both of you breathing for a few seconds before he finally speaks again
“Ive been wanting to do that y/n- I was just..” He sighs looking down then looking back at you
“I was scared.” The Nishimura Riki just told you he was scared. The same person who takes what he wants and nothing more is opening up to you..
You respond by pressing a soft kiss to his lips
“Fuck–you’re going to kill me”
Then his lips are back on yours, the same passion leaking in from earlier, you both kick off your shoes, and clumsily try to remove the clothing off of each other's bodies without tripping, you fall softly onto the bed, he climbs on top of you, before kissing your neck, leaving sloppy kisses down your half naked body before unclasping your bra, his lips are on your nipple instantly, his hand coming up to knead the other one
Your back arches off the bed when he sucks your nipple between his teeth, gasping at the feeling of it, before he focuses on your other one with the same precision, your hands go to tangle in his hair when he kisses his way down to your core, watching as he slides your panties down with ease
“Riki-” You breath out when he takes the glasses off his head
He looks up at you
“Want you to keep them on-” You say through a breathless moan
He chuckles “You want me to eat your pussy with my glasses baby?” He says kissing your thigh
“Please-” You manage to say, he puts his glasses back on before attaching his lips to your clit, sucking and licking, the same way he was kissing you earlier
He flicks his tongue over your clit, watching the way your eyebrows furrow at the stimulation
“Mm- tastes so good” He mumbles into your pussy making your hips jolt up, he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the sight alone could make you come right now
“W-wait” you say and he pauses, breathing heavily on your pussy
“Hm?” He says tilting his head
“Want to come on your cock..” You say shyly when he smiles up at you
He doesn't hesitate one bit before pulling his boxers off and guiding his tip to your entrance, smearing his pre cum on your pussy, hitting your clit just right
“Stop teasing-” You whine
“Why? Its fun” He says laughing at the way you squirm beneath him
Your legs move to lock around his hips when his hand stops you “Stop being greedy y/n” that tone of authority seeping in
He positions himself, hands gripped on your thighs before he pushes the tip of his cock in “Fuck- loosen up for me baby” his hand moving to rub slow circles on your clit, making you moan
He slides in deeper, bottoming out, groaning at the warmth of you around him. He pulls out halfway before slamming back into you, making you let out a high pitched sound
“Riki–It f..feels so good” You make a wrecked sound as your fingers claw at his shoulders, he repeats the same motion, moving his hips and rolling them into you, his cock hitting you so deep you know you're going to be sore in the morning.
“This pussy was made for me baby- You’re taking me so well” He says kissing your shoulder, and gripping the pillow beside your head as he fucks in and out of you faster
He kisses your cheek, before his lips attach to yours, swallowing your moans, drinking them like water as he feels himself getting closer
“I-im gonna come ki..” legs locking around his hips, pulling him impossibly closer
“Fuck y/n-” He lets out before his thumb slips between the two of you and he presses your clit, your hole flutters around his cock as you ride your orgasm out, his thrusting doesnt slow down as he reaches his high, using your pussy to milk every last bit of come inside you, letting out the most desperate groans
His forehead rests on yours, you're both breathing heavily against each other before he pulls out slowly, the sensitively making you both wince
He moves to lay down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You two stay like that, in each other's embrace.
You don't know how long after, but you eventually got up to clean yourself, before he stopped you. Hand tight on your arm before he got up saying he wanted to help you this time, yes he rinsed your body in the shower, kneeling down, watching the water wet your hair as he looked up at you, before lifting your leg up and pressing gentle kisses to your core, the words "I'm making up for how many times I should’ve done this” rolling off his tongue
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Riki’s hand slides to your waist as the headmaster takes a spot next to him
“1..2..3, Alright, perfect!” The photographer says looking at the photo on his camera, before the headmaster turns to you and Riki
“I wanted to congratulate the two of you for the conference, the outcome was amazing- I mean the publicity too, the people truly see you two as the ultimate power duo, Great Job on your hard work.” He says smiling at the both of you
“Thank you” You nod
“I couldn't have done it without her” Riki says looking at you, because he truly does mean it
“Glad you're aware.” You say smartly, making the headmaster laugh before he walks away to talk to the photographer
Riki leans down to whisper in your ear “Careful y/n, I have no problem putting you in your place again.” He says before looking down at you
Your heart races at his words before you smile sweetly “I’d like to see you try” You say before walking back to the main building, he just watches, smiling because he knows he's going to do a whole lot more than ‘try’.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Thank you guys for reading!
Also, Thank you for 500 followers! 😊 if you guys have any requests on what you want to see next, I would love to hear it <3
OR . . . 5 TIMES EVERYONE THOUGHT JAMES WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND & THE ONE TIME YOU DIDN’T BOTHER TO CORRECT THEM
❤︎ c. yufan x reader
&&. friends to lovers. yearner bsf!james. non-idol au. mentions of parties + alcohol. brief mentions of violence + jealousy. fem-implied reader. can be read as a standalone fic, but is a continuation of hopelessly devoted requested by anonymous <3 all content is purely fictional !
-ˋˏ ✄┈ ONE
JAMES IS LATE. james was never late, not once since you’d known him. he was always five minutes early, annoyingly punctual even when you wish he wouldn’t be.
but today, james is late. and he’s not answering his phone, which is unlike him, so you finally get up from your chair and go downstairs to search the beyond-packed library for him.
when you come back up after the fruitless search, your friends have finally arrived. they’re mid laugh, sipping on some exorbitantly-colored boba drink, eyes widening when they see you come up the stairs.
megan nudges your shoulder, offering you a sip from her cup. “hey, tell your boyfriend thanks for the drinks!”
“my boyfriend?” you blink, blindly taking the drink she shoves into your hand. several of the others echo the thanks, but you’re stuck on the ‘boyfriend’ part another minute before james comes bustling in, balancing a pastry bag on top of a drink carrier full of the same beverage that’s currently in your hand.
he grins when he sees you, taking his wired headphones off his shoulder as he sets everything down. “hey! sorry i’m late, i saw your messages but my hands were kinda full.”
normally you’d crack a joke or tease him about his uncharacteristic tardiness, but you’re still thrown off by megan’s comment.
“i picked up that new drink they have at the cafe by my place, the one you said you wanted to try?” he continues, effortlessly passing around the drinks and pastries to your friends while he talks. “figured it’d be good study fuel, especially since you have all those exams coming up.”
“right, thanks!” you manage, your laugh coming out with a nervous tinge that makes you wince internally. james doesn’t seem to notice, tearing off a piece of his croissant for you to try. he holds the piece of bread to your mouth with that same easy smile, and you feel your cheeks heat up as you lean forward to bite it.
boyfriend…
“it’s good, right?” james insists, laughing at your mouth-full nod. as you sit back down, your eyes trace the lines of his whisker-dimples, the way his eyes close when he laughs. you keep staring from behind your laptop screen as he sets up his things, completely unaware of your unwavering gaze.
your boyfriend… what a concept.
-ˋˏ ✄┈ TWO
YOUR PHONE IS RINGING. you wince when you see your mother’s contact light up the screen. it’s been way too long since you called her, but exam season has you going absolutely insane.
“heeeyyy,” you greet, trying not to sound as guilty as you feel. (it’s not working).
“she’s alive!” your mother jokes, and you sigh as you fall back into the pillows on your bed.
“i’m so sorry, i promise i meant to call! it’s just with exams, i haven’t had any free time between studying and test prep, ugh, i feel like i’m losing my mind.”
“remember to keep taking care of yourself,” she chides, “don’t neglect your health just for some grades!”
“it’s not just grades, it’s my entire future.”
she clicks her tongue. “you’re too young to be worrying about your future. wait until your greys start to come in.”
“i’m going to put you on with my guidance counselors and see what they have to say about that.”
when she laughs, you do too.
“well,” she says, static crackling in your speaker, “how’s everything else? are you remembering to have fun and not just study? are you still seeing that guy?”
your nose wrinkles in confusion. “what guy?”
“the one you’re always talking about!”
“mom, the only guy i ever hang out with is james.”
“james! yes, that was it. you’re still together?”
“james and i are not dating,” you snort. “he’s my best friend.”
“you talk about him all the time. he drives you around, gets you coffee, takes you out to eat, he’s in every picture you send us!”
“that doesn’t mean we’re together,” you insist, rolling over on your side. true to your mother’s words, nearly every picture on the wall beside your bed is of you and james.
she gives a low hum, full of that motherly-knowing. “whatever you say, dear.”
she switches topics after that, but your mind lingers on her words from before, and your gaze on the photo wall.
-ˋˏ ✄┈ THREE
THE BIG ONE IS DONE. your ill-fated chemistry exam, the one you’d been studying for the entire last month, was finally over. you didn’t know how it turned out, but your chest felt lighter just getting the damn thing turned in.
you’d raced to james’ apartment, bypassing the knock and instead fumbling for the spare key he’d given you a few months back as you let yourself in.
“it’s over!” you yell, barging in after throwing the door open and tossing your book bag to the ground. “i’m free!”
an empty living room greets you. your lips pull into a pout. where was james for the celebratory hug and scream-cheering session? where was your sweet reward matcha latte and k-drama binge night?
you walk over to the calendar he keeps near the kitchen, every aspect of his schedule planned out in detail, complete with little spider-man doodles and positive manifestations.
hockey practice, tuesday 6pm.
great. you check the clock. 6:24 pm. he’d be gone at least another hour and a half if not more.
your mood sours just a little, but you move on to plan b. you go into james’ room, slide into whatever hoodie he’d left on his desk chair, and climb into his bed where you promptly fall asleep.
─────
james unlocks his door and heaves a great sigh, stretching his sore limbs after dropping his gym bag.
juhoon looks up from the couch, his eyes going wide at the volume of the subsequent groan james lets out.
“dude, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was crashing here! keep it down, you’ll wake her.”
“girlfriend?”
juhoon gestures to where the door to james’ room is still open. you’re still fast asleep under his comforter, in his university hoodie, mouth open and snoring.
james covers his mouth to keep from laughing. when he drops it, a fond smile has taken over his face. juhoon gives him a knowing look.
“are you ever gonna ask her out?”
james shushes him immediately, shooing the younger boy off as he goes in the bedroom and closes the door behind him.
he approaches the bed, where you’ve shifted to curl up in the corner, one pillow clutched in your arms. he perches on the mattress beside you, and your stir at the movement.
your eyes open to find his smile, so wide his eyes are nearly closed. “good morning.”
you punch his arm weakly, speaking through a yawn. “i waited for you.”
“clearly,” he replies, scooting back on the bed to lean against the wall. “so how was the big exam?”
you shrug, sitting up a little. “won’t know until next week, but i’m just glad that thing is over.”
he laughs. “i’m sure you did great.”
“how was practice?” you ask, cheek smushed against the pillow.
“boring. coach made us run drills almost the entire time ‘cause some guys were late.”
his fingers idly brush the hair from your face. the touch is so casual, nothing different than normal, but it makes your heart leap in your chest.
you burrow deeper into the covers, tugging on his sleeve. “come nap with me.”
“you won’t sleep tonight,” james chides, but he’s still smiling.
“i can sleep for ten days after that exam,” you retort, continuously tugging at his sleeve. “come on.”
james lets you pull him down beside you, laughing when his back hits the mattress.
“you smell good.” you cuddle closer, ditching the pillow to clutch his arm to your chest instead.
“i showered at the gym.”
you hum, falling into comfortable silence, feeling the residual energy of his strong heartbeat so close to you.
“goodnight, jjami.”
“goodnight,” he answers, grabbing for his phone with his free hand. your eyes are already closed, so you don’t see the text from juhoon that james opens.
girl + friend = girlfriend
-ˋˏ ✄┈ FOUR
THE BEACH WAS PACKED. it had been full-house all day, the waves crashing and sun beating down even though it was barely a few weeks into spring.
your friend group had decided on a bonfire once the sun set, and you and james had run out to pick up s’mores supplies — except that when you returned, there was almost no place for you to sit.
your hair was still damp from the water, smelling of sunscreen and tanning oil, and you were in cutoff jean shorts and james’ hockey team hoodie. you’d just finished unloading the snacks and look up to him with a questioning glance.
your friends are caught up in the fire and the food, not a care in the world for your little seating issue. you could just sit in the sand, but then it was already getting cold and you’d have to worry about the embers flying in your eyes and such.
you stand around for a while, but nobody gets up. and then james, ever the gentleman, gestures for you to sit first on the tiny sliver of log that wasn’t taken. you grin, grabbing him by the shoulders and plopping him down before settling comfortably on his lap, legs thrown over his without a care.
his cheeks are warm, either from the proximity or the fire, but his hands are strong and steady around you.
the firelight glints off his copper eyes. “you okay?”
you nod, gaze returning to the fire. you squeeze his hands, locked around your middle to keep you in place against him. “never better.”
the laughter and conversation keeps coming, and so do the toasted marshmallows.
some especially toasty, in your case.
“holy shit!”
you blow frantically on the squishy thing to extinguish the flame, to no avail. you nearly tumble off james’ lap in all the commotion, but he takes the skewer from you with a smirk and blows it out in one breath.
you make playful cutting eyes at him, but he’s redeemed as he holds the stick steady while you assemble the s’more around the burnt confection.
james laughs when you present it to him proudly and obediently takes a bite.
“it’s good,” he says through a mouthful of graham cracker, and you snort as you take a bite yourself.
you’re so caught up with the smoky taste of the treat that you don’t notice the way james is looking at you.
what you do notice, however, is that across the circle your friends and pointing and whispering and giggling. you can tell it’s all in good nature, that they’re probably on about “how cute you and james are” like they have been for weeks now, but it doesn’t bother you even one bit.
they could think what they want. you were just happy to be there with james.
-ˋˏ ✄┈ FIVE
THE PARTY WAS IN FULL SWING. it was one of the few times you’d managed to drag james out of his apartment on a friday night, and you were enjoying every second of it — until he ran off.
(an exaggeration. he’d only wandered off to get you another drink, but he was taking longer than normal and you were starting to miss him).
you’re too busy wallflower-ing to notice the guy that comes up to you until he begins to speak, leaning in to be heard over the music.
“you look a little lonely.”
he’s handsome, tall, good smile. not james, but still handsome.
“just waiting for a drink,” you reply coyly, nearly shouting as well. he holds up his cup, but you shake your head. “no thanks.”
“suit yourself,” he winks, taking another swig. “so, you having fun?”
“music could be better,” you admit. “but it’s a good time. you?”
he starts to answer but trails off when a pair of strong arms encircle your waist. you feel the familiar warmth and steadiness of james’ chest against your back, the sharp line of his chin settling on your shoulder.
the guy — the poor guy who hadn’t even gotten the chance to introduce himself — starts to back away.
“my bad,” he says, lifting his drink in salute. “didn’t know you were taken.”
james doesn’t say anything, just stares with that stone-cold gaze, and you’re too flustered to speak up either. the guy turns and leaves without another word, and you finally get up the bearings to pull away and shove james in the chest.
“you’re always scaring guys off from me!” you complain.
he barely budges from your actions, his eyes still fixed on the other guy’s retreating back. “i didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
“he didn’t even get a chance to look at me!”
“he wasn’t good enough,” james insists, leaning back against the wall.
you roll your eyes. “you say that about every guy.”
“it’s true about every guy,” he shrugs. he offers the can to you, taking it upon himself to fix up the little details in your outfit as you take a sip. he fixes a stray strand of hair, adjusts the strap on your top, tugs down at your skirt to ensure full coverage. he’s like a helicopter-best-friend. “and what was that with the drink? that’s dangerous.”
“i didn’t take it,” you huff. “i can look after myself.”
“i know you can,” he says. “but what’s wrong with letting someone help out?”
you huff again, but you don’t say anything else. you don’t want to ruin the night arguing, especially when you know he has the best intentions and went out of his way to come with you tonight.
“let’s just…enjoy the party, okay?”
james gives a resolute nod. “i can do that. you want to dance?”
that gets a smile out of you. “let’s do it!”
─────
it’s not like james to leave you alone, especially anywhere as crowded as this party. but the car was parked far down the dark street, and it was getting later and colder, and you insisted you’d be fine waiting on the porch while he went to go get it.
he shouldn’t have left you.
because when he pulls up to the driveway, ready to get out and walk you back to the car, there’s somebody in his place by your side.
it’s a different guy this time. bigger, stupider, and clearly not backing off.
you’re against a corner, smile stretched uncomfortably tight. your knuckles are paling around the can in your hand.
then the guy leans in, way too close for comfort, and you smile drops completely.
james sees the way your pupils dilate with panic, the way you try to duck away from the contact, and he explodes like a firecracker out of the car, keys still swinging from the ignition.
you yelp when the douchebag in front of you is yanked backwards, hands clapping over your mouth when you see james appear behind him and then—
WHAM!
his fist cracks against the guy’s jaw with scary precision.
shouts erupt from the partygoers who’d spilled outside, watching the fight break out.
you watch in horror as james shakes out his hand, easily ducking the retaliation punch the other guy swings out of instinct.
“what the fuck is your problem?!” the guy yells, advancing, but james is too quick. he shoves him again, eyes burning with rage, but a group of frat guys gets between them before things escalate even more.
“stay the fuck away from her!” he yells as the partygoers push him back towards the car.
james almost never curses. he never gets in fights. and he certainly doesn’t get into fights over you.
“what the hell were you thinking?!” you demand, anger rising in your voice. the fury vanishes from his eyes as soon as james looks at you, his gaze softening but eyes still wide with shock when you shove him in the chest too.
“i— i was—”
“are you insane?! you could’ve gotten hurt!”
your clenched hands fall weakly against him, your arms having begun to shake already. your vision is going blurry with tears and your resolve gives out, anger giving way to the fear and panic from before.
when you collapse forward into his arms, you’ve already started to cry. your arms clutch tight to his back, fists balled into his jacket as your shoulders shake.
“i’m sorry,” james murmurs quickly, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other tight around your waist. “i won’t do it again. i just didn’t want you to get hurt, and i was worried, and i saw him lean in like that and i just lost it—”
“thank you,” you whisper, and he falls silent. his arms wrap around you even tighter, and it’s like he’s the only thing holding you together when it feels like you’re falling apart.
the party rages on behind you, the fight long forgotten, but james keeps you wrapped up in his arms as he leads you back to the car.
he may not be your boyfriend, not exactly, but he sure as hell won’t let anything happen to you. not while he’s around. not on his life.
-ˋˏ ✄┈ THE ONE
SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING. not really, anyway.
it wasn’t a crime to sit too close, or to touch his arm while apologizing for nearly spilling her drink on him (even though the cup was miles from touching him), or to sneak less-than-subtle glances out of the corner of her eye.
she wasn’t the first one, and something told you she wouldn’t be the last. and that wouldn’t have bothered you normally, but this time you can’t escape the deep ache in your gut.
because it’s james. your james — sweet, oblivious james who had no idea he was being hit on and subsequently no idea why you were absolutely pissed.
except he’s not yours, which you had to remind yourself of, and had only served to further sour your mood.
that, james noticed.
what he didn’t notice was when he went to get his jacket after you told him with flushed cheeks and a delicate scowl, that you wanted to go — was that the girl apologized to you for not realizing he was your boyfriend. and you didn’t say one word to the contrary.
he just took your hand as you walked out like nothing had happened.
the fresh air feels good on your face, hot from anger and embarrassment and some guilt you were trying hard to push down.
“is everything okay?” james asks, ever thoughtful, ever patient. his pace matches yours, though with his longer legs it takes him half the effort — whereas you’re walking like you’re trying to run away from something.
“i’m fine,” you reply unconvincingly, arms crossed over your chest as your shoes knock against the pavement. you don’t look at him when you speak. you can’t. he’d see right through you.
james doesn’t press the issue. he just drapes his jacket over your shoulders, opens the car door for you, and takes you home.
when you get in the door, he stops you in the entryway. “you sure you’re okay?” his hands find your cheeks, hot under his touch as he smoothes the hair back from your face. “you didn’t have too much to drink? you’re all flushed.”
there’s no malice or judgement in his tone. just warm concern, and a hint of exasperated fondness underneath it. it does nothing to help your state.
“i told you i’m fine!” you insist, pulling back even though your body yearns for his touch. it’s true, your burning jealousy hadn’t allowed for much drinking. you weren’t exactly in a festive mood, then or now.
you go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, hoping for some reprieve to this ugly feeling. a soft quiet settles, the tension bleeding from the room as the frenzy subsides.
james sinks into the couch, just as home at your place as his.
you walk over slowly, dreading the question before it even leaves your mouth.
“james, can i ask you something?”
not jjami. uh oh, it’s serious.
he sits up straighter. “yeah, of course.”
“what are we?”
the questions hangs in the air a while before he can muster the breath to reply. “what do you mean?”
“i mean…you act like my boyfriend. everyone around us is convinced we’re madly in love. and…you look at me like…” you trail off, unsure of how to continue. “like that,” you reply helplessly, gesturing to his face. to his brown eyes, soft like melting copper in that way he only ever looks at you.
“so…so what are we?”
james swallows hard. “whatever you want us to be.”
“what do you want?”
his response is breathless, immediate. “you.”
that surprises you. it shouldn’t, but it does. by now, his fingers have laced into yours and you’re having trouble focusing.
“you…what?”
“i was scared it was obvious.”
“i…” it was. to everyone else, and maybe even to you too. but you were too scared to put your eggs in one basket, to let yourself think it was anything more than it was. “i don’t know.”
it’s too much. too many possibilities, too much change. you’d never been good at change. the only reason you could ever stand it was with james by your side. but now it’s different. now, the change is between you.
“that’s okay,” he says, quickly, softly. “you don’t have to know anything. we can pretend nothing happened. it’s still me.”
“it’s not that,” you whisper back. “it’s just…”
you’re flustered again, almost too embarrassed to bring it up. too late now.
“just what?” he asks gently. his hands are still warm in yours.
“those girls!” you burst out before you can stop yourself. you fight the urge to clap your hands over your mouth, mortified by the outburst.
james blinks. “what girls?”
you drag your hands over your face, your cheeks warm under the touch. “james, you can’t possibly be that blind.”
“from the party?”
“yes, from the party! they couldn’t have been more obvious!”
his only answer is a puzzled glance. you’d be infuriated if he wasn’t so beautiful.
“and it’s not just them, james,” you sigh, pressure building behind your eyes. “it’s every girl that passes you by, the baristas that put hearts on your cups, the gym receptionist that giggles when you say ‘good morning’, it’s everyone!”
“are you…you’re jealous?”
like it’s just dawning on him.
your face burns. “maybe.”
it takes a moment for him to reply — and to wipe the tiny smile off his face and get serious.
“i don’t see other girls. i mean, i see them with my eyes, but not…not with my heart.” he’s pulling you in with every word, like you were made to be in his arms. “you’re the only one i feel when i’m around you. my heart only beats for you.”
god, you could die. your heart thumps pathetically against your ribs like it’s about to combust. you wouldn’t be surprised if it did.
“you’re going to kill me,” you whisper, close enough now that your nose is practically touching his.
“not before i get a chance to kiss you,” he murmurs back, the ghost of a laugh escaping him as he pulls you in, in, in even closer, until you’re practically in his lap.
you could die. your hands are squeezing his shoulders for purchase so tight you’re sure it’s painful, but there’s nothing in his eyes but bliss.
“so…can i?”
his thumbs are tracing circles around the skin exposed on your waist where he’s shirt’s ridden up. you’re having trouble even following his words. “what?”
“kiss you,” he replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
it’s all you can do to nod shakily, and then you can’t even think at all.
it’s like fireworks exploding. it’s the kind of kiss where if you were in a movie, some grand piano and strings theme would be playing, and the audience would be cheering, and the screen would turn pink and red with flower petals.
but it’s more than a blown-out fantasy. because it’s james, which means that it’s real.
the warmth of his body under you is real. the smoothness of his skin, the soft hair on the back of his neck beneath your fingers is real. his lips on yours, the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks when he kisses you — it’s all real.
and it’s better than you ever imagined. because it’s james. your james.
then, now, and probably forever.
💭 — i really hope the anon who requested this finds it!! <3 thank you so much for the ideas and inspo, 100% of the cred belongs to ur beautiful brain. i think it really came together and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!
── sypnosis; when you accidentally send a not-so-innocent photo to Jake SIM and not your situationship SLIME.
warning; just… 18+/MDNI
note; i feel so popular rn. didn’t think this would be a hit fr. so…after 200+ likes, 20+ comments & almost 10 reblogs here’s part 3.
p.s. based off my last note, i have decided to redo what i already worked on. so… the original story/ending will never see the light of day. however, you’ll prob like this way better compared to how it would’ve gone.
in which - you drunkenly message your bestfriend asking him to pick you up from the bar, only for him to send his friend.
contains!! - (MDNI) (but i cant control you so you do you) very suggestive jokes and messages, angst, fluff, arguing, language, excessive drinking, jelousy, (will be updated as story goes on
authors note - hi!! this is my first ever smau im posting so im really sorry for anything that looks weird. ive written a couple but ive never posted any because its so time consuming but now that im off school i have too much time on my hands. i will try to update this story everyday or every other day. please help boost this by reblogging and liking🥹. tyy!!!❤️❤️
pairing: fashion pr! fem reader x idol! kim seokjin
summary: It all started as a silly joke between friends. One harmless unimportant conversation, one name thrown into the mix, and one boring late-night search that should’ve ended after a single Instagram post and not in thousand of hours stalking a famous idol. Looking back, maybe your feminine intuition already knew that the story wouldn’t stop there… because once Kim Seokjin crossed your mind, it seemed impossible for the universe to keep him out of your life.
warning! ── reader is obsessively and stupidly in love makes you want to puke. mentions of stalking. mentions of anxiety. nonchalant jin era but not really. he’s very shy and cute. a real man. this is very much inspired by candace and jeremy’s relationship (phineas & ferb) — literally like she will gaslight you into thinking he doesn’t like her.
author’s note: okay so i had to delete the smut part because when i paste the story here i realized i reached the limit and i didn’t want to make it a two-part one shot (i do love the smut and the original final i wrote so if u ever wanna see it lmk) i hope u still fuck with it tho i’ve been really excited about this one and i really like how it turned out without the smut too so i hope u enjoy it:( HI guys let’s pretend is the first of august okay?? happy first of the month yay!!!!!!
word count: +20k words.
──── pretty sad for a girl so in love (series)
The first thing you noticed when you stepped into Mina’s apartment was that she had definitely invited more people than her dining table could fit.
There were already six pairs of shoes scattered by the front door, music playing quietly from a speaker somewhere in the living room, and at least three different conversations happening before you’d even taken your jacket off. Someone waved at you from the kitchen, another person you vaguely recognized from college smiled in your direction before going back to whatever story they were telling, and the smell of garlic and takeout filled the apartment.
“She’s here!” Mina called the second she spotted you. She was balancing two bowls in her hands, somehow managing not to drop either of them as she crossed the room. “Finally. I was about to tell everyone you bailed.”
“I said I’d be late,” you laughed, slipping your shoes off. “Some people have actual jobs.”
“So do I.”
“Then act like it,” you joked harshly. “I have you at 10am on a Wednesday asking me to bring ice cream. Sounds very unemployed to me.”
“It was an emergency.” You raised an eyebrow. “The convenience store only had one tub left and you know I need to host perfect hangouts, okay?”
“Yeah, I know you’re a control freak.”
“See?” Mina pointed at you before turning to the rest of the room. “She gets me.”
Haeun looked up from where she was sitting on the floor beside the coffee table, her legs crossed underneath her. “No,” she said, completely unimpressed. “She enables you.”
You laughed as you walked over, dropping onto the empty spot beside her before kissing her cheek.
“That’s what real love means,” Mina said like it was obvious.
“It’s definitely not what it means.” Haeun rolled her yes. Mina disappeared back into the kitchen, already distracted by someone asking where the serving spoons were. “You came empty-handed?” Haeun asked.
“I brought dessert.”
“Where?”
You reached into your tote bag and pulled out two tubs of ice cream, probably already melted. Mina immediately reappeared. “I KNEW I invited the right people.”
“You invited everyone,” you looked around to your friends who all raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s true, I love you guys but really I can’t believe everyone agreed to hangout a Wednesday night. Do you guys need a job or a reference? I can help you with…”
“This is why we leave early when you come to the hangouts.”
“Hey!”
“Agreed.”
An hour later, dinner had turned int a bit of a mess. Half the food and dessert were empty and every plate on the table was being shared whether the person who ordered it liked it or not. You’d barely managed to keep more than three fries on your own plate before Mina reached over to steal another one. She had always being a pain in the ass, specially the days you met her in college together with Haeun— at least the one was more generous and didn’t steal your fries.
“I don’t know why I even bother ordering food for myself.”
“You don’t,” she answered easily, popping the fry into her mouth. “You order food for the community.”
“The community can buy its own.”
“It could.”
“It should.”
“It won’t.” Haeun smiled into her drink. “You promised once you’d became rich you were always going to invite dinner.”
“I’m not rich, even Mina makes more money than me.”
“Doubtful,” your friend smiled.
“You manage the biggest singer in Korea right now, I know you’re making bank.” You pointed at her accusatory.
“I’ve never said I wasn’t making bank,” she said immediately. “I’m just saying probably not as much as you. You had been making big deals later.”
“That’s true,” Jiho said— another close friends of yours— suddenly everyone was having interest in the same conversation. He leaned back in his chair, “how’s work? The glamorous fashion world.”
You laughed. “Doesn’t feel glamorous at all. I spend more time looking at calendars than clothes.”
“What were you working on this week?” Haeun asked.
“A campaign for a luxury brand. I’m working now with some actor I’m not legally allowed to tell yet.”
Mina immediately leaned forward with interest. “I love hearing about celebrity gossip.”
“You literally work for IU. That’s the biggest it can get.”
“She’s too nice, she never reveals anything,” she pouted.
“Maybe because there’s no actual gossip going around,” you tried again.
“You work with more celebrities than me you have to have some.” She insisted.
“I work with their managers,” you corrected. “Literally I’m mostly coordinating schedules between the brand, photographers, stylists, management… making sure everyone’s available on the same day.”
“That sounds significantly less fun.” One of your other friends said. “I thought you just picked pretty outfits.”
“I wish.”
“You don’t even get free clothes?”
“I get emails.”
“I’d rather have the clothes.”
“So would I,” you sighed dramatically and everyone laughed. “But it’s still fun,” you admitted after a moment. “I get to see campaigns come together from the beginning, and when everything actually works it’s really satisfying.”
“You always sound happier talking about work than dating,” Mina pointed at you.
“Maybe because work doesn’t suck as much as dating,” you stated.
“I don’t know what that says about you.”
“Probably something concerning,” Haeun nodded.
Before you could answer, Soomin let out the longest sigh you’d ever heard. “Speaking of dating…” Everyone turned toward her. “I finally went out with that guy from Hinge.”
“The accountant?”
“The accountant.”
“And?”
Soomin stared into the distance for a second. “I don’t think he asked me a single question.”
Haeun frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he spent an hour talking about himself.”
“That’s annoying,” you commented.
“He showed me a spreadsheet.”
There was a beat of silence. “A what?”
“A spreadsheet.”
“For work?”
“No. He tracks every restaurant he’s ever been to.”
Mina blinked and you tried not to laughed with Haeun “Actually…”
“No,” Soomin interrupted before she could finish. “Don’t even start.”
“I was going to say that’s kind of organized.”
“There was a section for him to rate the lighting!” she exclaimed frustrated.
“…Never mind.”
“I spent forty minutes pretending I cared about overhead lighting.”
You couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“It’s a good story.”
The table dissolved into laughter, and once everyone had recovered, the stories started coming one after another. One date had ended with someone accidentally running into their ex halfway through dinner. Another had spent the entire evening talking about cryptocurrency. Someone else admitted they’d been ghosted after what they thought had been the most amazing date ever.
“It feels impossible lately,” Soomin complained, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Either they’re creepy, they just wanna fuck or they’re trying to use you to make their ex jealous.”
“Usually all at once,” Jiho added.
“What about you?” Mina looked over at you. “Any exciting romantic developments?”
You looked up from your plate. “Not really.”
“None?”
“I’ve been on exactly one date this year.”
“The guy from the bookstore?” You nodded. “What happened to him?”
“He was nice but… I don’t know,” you thought about it for a second before shrugging. “He didn’t made me nervous or excited. I guess… he just wasn’t my person.”
“How do you know after one date?” Jiho asked.
“I don’t know.” You smiled a little. “You can usually tell if you actually want to see someone again and I didn’t.”
“So you’re taking a break from dating?” Haeun asked.
“I think so.”
“For how long?” she asked curious.
“I don’t know,” you said simply.
Mina rested her chin in her hand. “I’ve been saying this for years.”
“What?”
“You expect too much for a first date.”
You laughed. “I really don’t.”
“You do.”
“I have standards.”
“You have requirements.”
“I have normal requirements.”
“You eliminated a guy because you thought he was checking his reflection in every window you walked past.”
“He was.”
“You eliminated another one because he called every woman ‘female.’”
“That one was justified.”
“Okay, fair.” She frowned. “But one time you left a date because he was too perfect.”
“He was. He could definitely do better,” you nodded thoughtful.
“You know what?” Haeun grinned. “I support you for that one.”
“But,” Mina continued, refusing to give up, “my point still stands.”
“What point?”
“You’ve built this perfect imaginary man in your head,” she pointed at you. “After your ex boyfriend you’ve just put excuses for every new guy.”
“Not true and I really haven’t.”
“You have.”
“I just don’t want to date someone for the sake of dating.” The room quieted a little, everyone listening now. “I’ve done that before,” you admitted. “You convince yourself maybe the attraction will grow or maybe you’ll eventually have more in common, and then three months later you’re wondering why you stayed. I’d rather be single than settle because everyone thinks I should have a boyfriend.”
Haeun nodded. “I actually agree.”
“You always agree with her.”
“Because she’s right.”
Mina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine. I support healthy standards.”
“Thank you.”
“But you need to be a little more open,” she accused you.
“Sure, I’ll try.” You said without making it a big deal.
“I can help if you want me to. I can put you out with some friends.” Her smile started getting bigger.
You already knew where this was going. “No, thank you.”
“I absolutely can. I’m great at matchmaking...”
“Mina.”
“I know a lot of people who would be perfect for you,” she insisted.
“You know people who you think would be perfect for me.” You corrected her.
She ignored you completely. “What about my coworker?”
“No.”
“My cousin’s friend?”
“No.”
“The photographer I met last month?”
“You’ve run out of people already?”
She frowned, pretending to think. “Hm…” Then her face lit up. “Oh.”
“No.”
“What about Jin?”
You looked at her blankly. “…Which Jin?”
“Kim Seokjin.”
You stared at her for a second before laughing. “The idol?”
“Yes, the idol.” She said obvious.
“Mina,” you looked at her incredulous.
“What?”
“I’ve said hello to him, like… three times.”
“So you’ve met,” Mina took it as a win.
“I’ve greeted him.”
“Close enough.”
“It’s really not.”
“You literally worked with Taehyung,” she reminded you.
“I work with brands that hire Taehyung,” you corrected. “Those are two very different things.”
“But you’ve met Jin.”
“I’ve been in the same room as Seokjin.”
“And?”
“And that’s it.”
Haeun smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t even think he’s spoken more than five words to her.”
“He made me show him where the coffee station was once,” you told her. “And I think one time I probably bumped into him accidentally.”
“There you go,” Mina replied triumphantly. “You’re basically family.”
You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink. “I don’t even think he’d recognize me if we crossed paths tomorrow.”
“He might.”
“He absolutely would not.”
Mina insisted. “He’s a really nice person. Very shy but I know he would be perfect for you!. Ugh, I need to find an excuse to invite him to some hangouts now…”
“I’ll pass. Thank you.”
Your friend sighed dramatically. Like she had lost the war. “Fine. I tried.”
“You really did,” you said sarcastically.
“I’ll keep looking.”
“Please don’t.”
“Too late.”
By the time someone suggested opening another bottle of wine, the conversation had already moved on to something completely different. Jin’s name disappeared from the room as quickly as it’d come up, buried beneath complaints about work, arguments over which movie they should watch after finishing the dinner and if the next hangout would be this same month or the next one, trying to match schedules.
You didn’t think about him again that night. There wasn’t any reason to. After all, he was just someone you’d crossed paths with a handful of times through work— a polite face attached to brief greetings backstage or at brand events before you both disappeared back into your own schedules. The joke was exactly that: a joke. One of dozens exchanged over dinner that evening, forgotten almost as quickly as it had been said.
At least, that’s what you thought then.
——————————
Your apartment was completely dead by the time you arrived there. You dropped your keys into the ceramic bowl by the front door out of habit, kicked your shoes off somewhere behind you, and stood there for a second, stretching and feeling the weight of the day finally catching up to your body. After spending the last five hours surrounded by people talking over one another, laughing across the dinner table and arguing about movies nobody was actually going to watch, your own apartment almost felt unnaturally still. But you weren’t tired yet. Comfortably full, maybe. Socially exhausted definitely.
You changed into an oversized T-shirt, took your makeup off, tied your hair into a messy bun and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, your phone tucked underneath one arm. There were already three new messages in the group chat but you were too lazy to check, maybe it was just Mina planning the next hangout already.
By the time you crawled into bed, the digital clock on your nightstand had already slipped past one in the morning. You should definitely needed to sleep, however, sleep didn’t seem nearly as interested in finding you. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about some words that didn’t left your mind the entirely night after the conversation. Mina wasn’t entirely wrong, probably that was the most annoying part.
You really hadn’t been trying. For a while, you’d blamed it on work. Luxury fashion PR wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five job, especially once campaign season picked up. Some weeks you barely had time to eat lunch before someone called to tell you a fitting had been moved, a photographer had cancelled, or a celebrity’s schedule had changed for the third time in two days. It was easier to tell people you were busy than admit dating had quietly slipped to the bottom of your priorities.
But work wasn’t the real reason… or at least not completely. If you were honest with yourself, it had started long before your calendar became impossible. Your last relationship had ended almost two years ago. It didn’t really end in a dramatic way, nobody cheated and nobody threw plates across the room or begged anyone to stay, it had simply stopped working. Between different priorities, missed conversations and the slow realization spending time with someone was actually a big part for it to work, the relationship had quietly unraveled until one day you both admitted what you’d been avoiding for months.
Of course it hurt but the worst part hadn’t even been the breakup itself, it was everything that came after. Friends insisting you “just needed to get back out there,” blind dates, dating apps, conversations that felt more like interviews than actual conversations. Men who spent the entire evening talking about themselves. Men who seemed offended that you actually liked your career. Men who confused confidence with arrogance… Eventually, somewhere along the way, you’d stopped opening the apps, stopped agreeing to dates, stopped looking altogether.
It wasn’t that you’d decided to stay single forever. You’d simply gotten… comfortable in your own world, comfortable with your own routines, comfortable with dinners by yourself, comfortable enough that dating started feeling like another task to squeeze into an already busy week…. But Mina had been right, maybe you had checked out.
You reached for your phone on the bedside table and almost without thinking, you opened Hinge. Your profile was still there with the same pictures of months ago, the same prompts and a handful of likes waiting from weeks ago. You stared at the screen for maybe ten seconds before quietly laughing to yourself.
“Fuck no.” You closed the app.
You turned your phone over in your hands before another thought floated back into your head.
What about Jin? You actually laughed out loud this time. Mina’s ridiculous, you thought.
Of all the people she could’ve named… It wasn’t even that the suggestion was impossible— although it obviously was— it was just… random. You’d met him before… technically. The same way you’d “met” dozens of celebrities through work. A greeting backstage before a fitting, a polite nod while waiting for a meeting room to open, someone introducing you in passing before both of you were immediately pulled in opposite directions.
If you passed each other on the street tomorrow, you doubted he’d recognize you. You weren’t even sure you’d recognize him immediately either. Celebrities always looked different once they were standing three feet away instead of behind professionally edited photos.
Still… Why Seokjin?
You frowned slightly, unlocking your phone again. Purely out of curiosity you typed his name into Instagram. His account appeared immediately. Millions of followers and likes. Well, you couldn’t exactly say Mina had terrible taste. He was ridiculously handsome, that much was obvious.
You spent a minute absentmindedly scrolling through his feed, expecting to lose interest almost immediately. Instead… there wasn’t actually that much to see. A few campaign photos, brand collaborations, professional shoots, some travel and some silly pictures on tour. He looked exactly how you’d expect someone like Kim Seokjin to look. Polished, expensive and almost intimidatingly good-looking.
You were just about to close the app when your thumb drifted to the side to see his tagged posts. There were dozens of pictures and videos he was tagged from fans… One clip couldn’t hurt. It was only twenty seconds. A compilation of him throwing flower petals over him in award shows. You chuckled at his confidence and attitude, he was pretty funny.
“Cute,” you mumbled before catching yourself.
No, not cure. Funny. Endearing. There was a difference.
You scrolled a bit and another reel played. One that looked like it came from some variety show. He was laughing so hard he had both hands over his face, shoulders shaking as someone off-camera kept teasing him about something you didn’t understand. But he was so red and he laughed so loud it was really annoying.
You smiled. Then watched another… and another. One where he was stubbornly refusing to lose a game. One edit where he was winning a game and looked really hot. Another where he somehow managed to make everyone around him laugh within thirty seconds. One where he was confidently explaining something before immediately proving himself wrong.
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. He was… really funny. Not in the polished, media-trained way celebrities sometimes were, just naturally funny, comfortable in his own skin, a little too dramatic. The kind of person who didn’t seem embarrassed about laughing at himself or do something cringe just for the fun of it.
Later you were lying in the exact same position, phone balanced against your knees, smiling at a man you’d exchanged maybe three greetings with over the course of your entire career. You hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until Instagram reminded you you’d reached your three hours of the day. Your thumb hovered over the screen.
“Holy shit.” You’ve spent three hours watching videos of Kim Seokjin. You lowered the phone onto your chest and stared at the ceiling. “Ah, fuck.”
Now you understood why Mina had said it. Not because he was famous or because he was objectively attractive. From the little you’d seen… He actually seemed exactly like the kind of person you would’ve liked if he’d been anyone else.
Shit.
——————————
The next time you saw Seokjin was not really your doing. It was, for once, the universe deciding to be surprisingly generous. Well… generous was probably a strong word. Convenient, that sounded way better.
The invitation had landed in your inbox earlier that week, forwarded by one of the stylists your agency worked with every few months. It wasn’t a launch party or a brand event, nothing that required speeches, photographers or carefully prepared guest lists. Someone had wrapped up a successful campaign, someone else had just gotten back from a tour overseas, and somewhere along the way the excuse had turned into come over, bring whoever you want and let’s have a drink. Half the people attending knew each other from the entertainment industry, the other half from fashion, and after working in luxury fashion PR for long enough, you’d realized the two worlds overlapped far more than most people imagined. So you decided to attend for once since Mina was going too.
By the time you arrived, the apartment was already buzzing with conversation. Music drifted through the open balcony doors, low enough that people didn’t have to raise their voices over it, and every surface seemed to be covered in bottles, half-empty glasses and small plates of food that everyone kept picking at without remembering what was theirs. Someone from a magazine you occasionally coordinated shoots with greeted you on your way in, another stylist pulled you into a quick conversation about Paris Fashion Week before disappearing again, and not five minutes later you spotted Mina standing near the dining table with a wine glass in one hand, laughing at something a singer beside her had just said.
She noticed you almost immediately. “There you are,” she said, reaching over to squeeze your arm as you walked up. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“I almost didn’t,” you admitted with a smile. “I spent all afternoon fixing a schedule because one actor suddenly decided he’d rather shoot in Milan than Seoul.”
Mina winced sympathetically. “Please don’t remind me what was working with actors. I still have PTSD.”
“You’re lucky you got yourself a nice boss.”
“Still stressful sometimes,” she grimaced. “Today I’ve answered twenty-five phone calls since six o’clock.”
“You counted?” You raised your eyebrows, not really surprised.
“I was angry enough to.”
You laughed, taking the glass she silently offered you.“Everything okay?”
She nodded. “Fine now. Everyone was losing their minds because they thought she wasn’t making it in time to a big event after a rehearsal fit. Bitch, I did her schedule, she was going to make it on time.”
“Only took twenty calls.”
“Twenty-five,” she corrected, like it was something it needed to be remembered.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she sighed dramatically before taking a sip of her wine. “I’ve accepted that this is my life now.”
The two of you stayed where you were for a while, talking about work the way people only could when they understood each other’s jobs. Mina complained about artists changing their minds at the last minute, you complained about luxury brands insisting every campaign was somehow the most important project of the year, and somewhere between those conversations someone joined in to tell a story about a photographer who’d accidentally shown up to a shoot in the wrong country. You weren’t sure if he was joking. With this industry, it was genuinely difficult to tell.
At some point your conversation broke apart naturally as people wandered off into smaller groups, and you found yourself listening more than talking, occasionally adding a comment before someone else picked up the thread. It was comfortable, you liked those kinds of gatherings, nobody expected anything from anyone. People drifted between conversations, disappeared onto the balcony, returned twenty minutes later carrying dessert as if they’d never left. People knew each other.
You were halfway through listening to a stylist passionately explain why silver jewelry was making a comeback when the front door opened again. Someone greeted the newcomers loudly enough for half the apartment to glance over.
You looked up too. And there he was.
Kim Seokjin stepped inside with an easy smile, greeting the host before taking a moment to shake hands with someone near the entrance. He looked almost exactly the way you remembered him from the handful of events where your paths had crossed over the years, except this time your brain supplied far more information than it had any right to.
He really giggles like that. The thought appeared before you could stop it… But he really did.
The laugh you’d heard through your phone speakers more times that you would ever admit out loud, it was unmistakable, warm enough that it carried across the room for being too loud. It was strangely disorienting, recognizing something so familiar about someone you barely knew.
You looked away almost immediately. Not because you’d been caught staring— he hadn’t even looked in your direction yet— but because it suddenly felt ridiculous that your first instinct had been to compare him to internet clips.
Get a grip.
You took another sip of your drink and forced yourself back into the conversation happening beside you, although it lasted all of three minutes before your attention wandered again. It wasn’t intentional, not that you would admit anyway. You simply… noticed him more this time.
You noticed that he never interrupted people when they were speaking, even if they were telling a story that was clearly going nowhere. That when someone walked over to say hello, he turned his whole body toward them instead of trying to keep talking to someone else at the same time. Every now and then someone would laugh at something he’d said, but he never seemed interested in becoming the center of the room. If anything, he looked happiest standing slightly off to the side, listening.
It was odd. A month ago you probably wouldn’t have registered any of it. Now every little habit felt strangely familiar, as though you’d skipped several chapters of a book and were only now catching up.
You were still mentally scolding yourself for finding this amusing when someone asked if anybody wanted another drink. You looked down at your empty glass. “I’ll grab one,” you said.
The kitchen was thankfully quieter than the living room. Someone had left the balcony door open just enough for the cool evening air to drift inside, carrying the faint sound of conversation from outside. You set your empty glass beside the sink and reached for one of the bottles lined up along the counter, only realizing someone else was doing exactly the same thing from the opposite side. Your hands bumping into each other a little hard.
You looked up. “So, you finally found your way to the beverage station without any help?.”
The words slipped out before you thought about them. For a second Jin looked almost confused. Then recognition settled across his face and he laughed softly as he blushed slightly.
“I did it all alone.”
“So I’m not imagining it.”
“No,” he smiled, reaching for another glass. “The first time was over coffee, right?.”
“Oh.” You pointed at him. “You asked where it was and then your manager made me guide you to the station.”
“Yeah… that happened.” He chuckled nervously.
“Don’t worry, I know the importance of coffee in the morning.”
Jin nodded in complete agreement. “Thank you. Coffee is the most important thing to survive.”
“And now alcohol. We’re upgrading.” You joked and he smiled.
For a brief moment the conversation settled into a comfortable silence while the two of you poured your drinks. It wasn’t really awkward, just a bit weird.
He glanced toward the living room before looking back at you. “You still work at Étoile?”
The question caught you pleasantly off guard. He knew that?. Maybe he remembered you working with Taehyung a lot. “I do.”
“I wasn’t sure. I thought I recognized you at the Cartier event a few months ago. I wasn’t completely certain.”
“I spend most of those events trying not to look stressed so I probably had a completely different face.” You said truthfully and Jin chuckled.
“You hide it well.”
“I absolutely don’t.”
“You do.”
“I promise I don’t.”
“I’ve only ever seen you looking very calm.”
You laughed. “That’s because if I panic, everyone else starts panicking.”
“So you’re secretly panicking,” he hummed.
“Almost constantly.”
“That actually makes me feel better. I thought everyone in fashion had their lives together.”
You stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “I’m sorry… Who told you that?”
“A lot of people?” He obviously lied.
“They lied.”
“So none of you know what you’re doing?” He asked jokingly.
“Oh, we know what we’re doing.” You leaned against the counter with an amused smile. “We just happen to be doing it while answering twelve phone calls, rewriting schedules and praying nobody changes their outfit thirty minutes before a campaign. So we are always panicking while making everything work.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
“What keeps you there then?”
You thought about it for a moment. “I like watching everything come together.”
“The campaigns?”
You nodded. “People only ever see the finished product, but there are so many people behind them. Stylists, assistants, lighting teams, producers, makeup artists… I like being part of that.” He listened without interrupting, his attention resting entirely on you in a way that felt unexpectedly rare. “I don’t know,” you continued with a small shrug. “When something goes well, it’s satisfying.”
“I get that.”
“I would thought so,” you smiled slightly. “Fashion it’s a performance so you should know about that.”
He smiled at that. You liked his smile. “I do. And I know the feeling when people assume performing is only the two hours you’re on stage.”
“But it isn’t.”
He shook his head. “It’s months before that. Rehearsals, meetings, recordings, planning… by the time people finally see something, you’ve been living with it for a long time.”
“I never really thought about it like that,” you hummed.
“I guess we’re both in jobs where everyone only notices the finished product.”
You smiled. “I like that.”
“So do I.”
The conversation wandered from there almost effortlessly. Somehow it turned into travel after he mentioned how often work had him living out of a suitcase, which became a debate over whether airport coffee was actually drinkable, which then led to food recommendations in different cities and also about what was the best dessert to have after a big dinner, and before either of you realized it, the glasses you’d filled at the beginning of the conversation were nearly empty.
You found yourself laughing far more than you’d expected to. Not because he was trying particularly hard to be funny, but because talking to him felt very easy and comfortable.
He listened just as much as he spoke, asked questions that made it obvious he was genuinely interested in the answers, and had a habit of smiling halfway through your stories that somehow encouraged you to keep talking. Every now and then he’d tell one of his own, usually ending it with an expression that suggested he still couldn’t believe it had happened, and you understood almost immediately why people seemed so comfortable around him.
“Hey.” Both of you turned at the sound of Mina’s voice. She was standing in the doorway with an amused smile, looking between the two of you before raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said, directing the comment at you. “Apparently someone wants to talk to you about a campaign you did last year. Hey Jin,” she greeted him with a smile he returned.
You blinked a bit confused. “How long have I been in here?”
“I don’t know.” Mina glanced at Jin before looking back at you. “Long enough that I assumed you’d gone home already.”
You laughed, setting your empty glass on the counter. “I should probably go save my professional reputation.”
“Probably.”
You looked back at Jin. “It was really nice talking to you.”
“You too,” he said with an easy smile. “Hopefully next time it won’t be around coffee or water.”
“I can’t promise anything. I like drinks.”
“I guess we’ll find out then.”
You smiled once before following Mina back toward the living room, already letting yourself get pulled into another conversation before you’d made it halfway across the apartment.
The rest of the evening passed with too many conversations happening at once, people arriving and leaving whenever they pleased, someone ordering late-night food nobody needed but everyone ate anyway. You spoke to Seokjin once more before leaving, nothing more than a quick goodbye as people gathered near the front door, and by the time you stepped into the elevator you were convinced that was all the night would become.
It wasn’t until you were driving home with the windows cracked open and the music playing quietly in the background that you realized something had changed. It wasn’t that you’d spent the evening talking to someone super famous, that part genuinely didn’t matter. It was that, somewhere between discussing airport coffee, impossible work schedules and the strange satisfaction of seeing a project finally come together, you’d completely lost track of time.
You couldn’t remember the last conversation you’d had with someone new that had felt so effortless.
And, much to your own surprise, you caught yourself wondering what the two of you would’ve talked about if someone hadn’t interrupted. That thought stayed with you all the way home, quietly settling into the back of your mind.
For the first time in a long while, you found yourself hoping your paths crossed again. And, for the first time ever, you just knew it will happen again.
——————————
You could dress it up however you wanted, tell yourself you were simply becoming more social or that it had been nice meeting new people outside of work, but somewhere between leaving that apartment three weeks ago and accepting yet another invitation you normally would’ve declined, you’d become painfully aware of one very embarrassing fact.
You were trying to see him again. Not in a creepy way, of course… At least, that’s what you insisted every time the thought crossed your mind.
It just so happened that after that night you’d kept in touch with a few of the people you’d met. One of the photographers had sent you a meme after discovering you shared the same hatred for some kind of food, a stylist had invited you to lunch with a couple of mutual friends, and before long you found yourself in a group chat that seemed to organize dinners, birthdays and last-minute gatherings every other weekend.
You said yes to all of them.
Was it because you’d genuinely enjoyed everyone’s company? Absolutely. Was it also because every invitation carried the tiny possibility that Jin might be there? …That part didn’t need to be examined too closely.
By the third invitation you had accepted, even Mina had started looking at you suspiciously. “You’ve become weirdly available lately.”
You looked up from where you were digging through your wardrobe. “I’ve always been available.”
“You canceled dinner with me two weeks ago,” she reminded you.
“I had work.”
“You left work at six.”
“Then I was tired.”
Mina crossed her arms, watching as you held two nearly identical sweaters up against yourself before putting one back on the hanger. “And yet,” she continued slowly, “you’re apparently not too tired to drive forty-five minutes across the city for a casual hangout hosted by people you’ve known for…” She pretended to count on her fingers. “…Roughly three weeks?”
You didn’t even bother turning around. “I’ve known them more time, silly. We just started talking more since the hangout. We connected.”
“Right. I’m sure you did.” She said suspiciously.
“They’re fun.”
“Mhm.”
“And it’s good to make new friends.”
“Mhm.”
You sighed, finally looking at her. “Okay, what? What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything.”
“You’re humming like a bitch, just say it.”
Mina smiled into her coffee before taking a sip. “I just think it’s interesting.”
“What is?”
“That you suddenly have a thriving social life.”
“I’ve always had a social life.”
“You absolutely have not.”
“I did.”
“You’ve spent the last year declining every invitation that wasn’t work-related.”
You opened your mouth to argue before stopping halfway through. “…Okay, you’re right. But I’m just trying something different now.”
“I think that’s great.”
“I knew you’d understand,” you pointed at her with a cheeky smiled, turning around to keep looking for an outfit.
“I do.” She smiled sweetly. “I also think it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that a certain someone might be there tonight.”
You froze for a second before reaching for the nearest cushion and threw it at her. “Shut up.”
She caught it without much effort. “I knew it”
“You don’t know shit.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth ruined whatever annoyance you were trying to perform. “I cant believe I was right. Do you like Seokjin?”
“Of course not!” You laughed despite yourself, dropping onto the edge of your bed. “I barely know him.”
“But you wanna see him again,” she pointed out.
“… Yeah.” You couldn’t lie. “I don’t even know him enough to know if I like him but… I don’t know. He’s cute.”
“I haven’t see you interested in someone in so long!” She said excitedly. “I’m so happy. I’m sure he’s interested in you too.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I can feel a vibe.”
“I bet he barely remembers our conversation. He was probably being just polite.” You shook your head.
“Nah, people usually remember conversations. At least he had to remember a word or something.”
You groaned dramatically, burying your face in your hands. “You’re the worst person to ask for reassurance.”
“I don’t think he dislikes you.”
“That’s not reassuring at all!.”
“Okay, okay. I’m serious.” She set her coffee down before looking at you properly. “From what I saw that night, he looked comfortable talking to you.”
“He also looked comfortable talking to literally everyone.”
“Thats true but because he knew everyone. Usually with new people he’s very shy. So the fact that he was talking to you comfortably I think it says a lot.”
“So?”
“So go and find out. Talk to him more, see if you actually like him.”
You chuckled. “Okay, sure. Whatever I’ll just go. Worst-case scenario, I spend an evening with nice people.”
“And best-case scenario?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll tell you about it if it happens,” you said with a smirk.
Mina groaned so loudly that she nearly spilled her coffee laughing.
——————————
The gathering was even smaller than the last one. Someone had volunteered their apartment, someone else had ordered enough food to feed twice the number of guests, and by the time you arrived most people were already spread around the living room, talking over one another while music played quietly from the speakers. You recognized almost everyone this time. Not well enough to call them close friends, but enough that conversations started easily
The photographer from the previous party greeted you with a hug before immediately pulling you into a discussion about an impossible decision he had to make for his career, an stylist insisted you try whatever dessert she’d brought, and before long you found yourself laughing at stories from a recent campaign shoot that had apparently gone catastrophically wrong. It felt surprisingly natural and comfortable being with these people you never really had the chance to get closer to.
You were halfway through telling someone about a model who’d accidentally boarded the wrong train during Milan Fashion Week when the apartment door opened. You didn’t look immediately because you obviously weren’t waiting for anyone.
Then someone near the entrance said, “Jin!”
Your head turned so fast you almost broke your beck… Very subtle.
He stepped inside carrying a paper bag from a bakery, apologizing for being late before greeting the host. There was something oddly familiar about watching him move through the room now. A month ago he would’ve blended into the evening like everyone else. Now you found yourself recognizing little things almost unconsciously— the way he smiled before saying hello, the habit of slightly bowing his head when someone older greeted him, how he always seemed to listen before speaking.
You hated that your brain had memorized all of it.
He spotted you a few moments later. There was the smallest pause before recognition crossed his face, followed by an easy smile. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“You made it.”
The words were so ordinary that you almost laughed. “So did you.”
“I almost didn’t. Work really keeps you busy.”
“Were you actually working, or is that the excuse everyone in our industry uses?”
He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Both.”
“Fair enough.”
Someone called his name before either of you could continue. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said apologetically, nodding toward the group waiting for him.
“Yeah, of course.”
He disappeared almost immediately and you watched him walk away before frowning slightly. You weren’t entirely convinced if he was just being nice of if he also felt that weird vibe going between you two. Maybe you were just too delusional.
Over the next hour your paths kept crossing in the strangest ways. Every time you thought maybe you should walk over, someone else was already talking to him. When he finally looked free, another friend dragged you into a conversation on the balcony. Then, just as you managed to excuse yourself, Jin was helping someone carry drinks into the kitchen.
It was becoming almost comical.
You couldn’t help smiling when he finally made his way over, balancing two glasses in one hand after what felt like an entire evening of narrowly missing each other. It had almost become a running joke in your own head; every time one of you looked free, someone else inevitably appeared to steal the other’s attention. By now it was honestly impressive.
“I was starting to think this apartment was cursed,” you said as he stopped beside you, accepting the glass he held out. “Every single time I thought about coming over to talk to you, somebody got there first.”
“You wanted to talk to me?”
“Of course,” you didn’t shy away, trying not to make the situation uncomfortable. “We had a nice chat last time.”
A laugh escaped him, quieter than the ones you’d heard from across the room but just as genuine, and he shook his head before taking a sip of his drink. “Me too. And I thought that was only happening to me,” he admitted. “Twice I walked over because I figured everyone was finally done talking to you, and then someone else started another conversation before I made it halfway across the room.”
“Seriously?”
“Mhm.” He smiled, looking almost sheepish. “At one point I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”
You looked at him for a second before laughing “I thought you were avoiding me.”
For a moment he simply stared at you, almost as if he was trying to decide whether you were joking, before the corners of his mouth lifted again. “So we’ve both spent the last hour being wrong.”
“I guess we have.”
Whatever awkwardness had followed you around since he’d arrived seemed to disappear with that exchange. It wasn’t some magical shift where suddenly everything became effortless, but the uncertainty you’d both apparently been carrying dissolved enough that the conversation no longer felt like something either of you had to force. Instead of wondering whether you were interrupting him or whether he was only being polite, you found yourselves walking toward the quieter side of the balcony almost without thinking, making room for another group squeezing through the doorway while continuing exactly where you’d left off.
“So, what do you do for work?” You said almost jokingly.
He looked genuinely caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean? You already know.”
“I don’t know,” you laughed. “Everybody always asks what you do for work, but work is only part of your life. So I don’t know, maybe tell me something you like to do that is not working.”
He thought about it for a second, absentmindedly turning his glass in his hands. “I sleep.”
You looked at him. “That cannot be your final answer.”
“I’m serious.”
“I believe you. I just refuse to accept it.”
“It takes up a surprising amount of my free time.”
“I’m trying to discover your hobbies, Seokjin.”
Jin smiled to himself before giving in. “I play video-games.”
“You play video games?”
“I do,” he nodded confidently even when his neck started getting red. “And I’m really good at them. Computer games, play station. Everything.”
“That’s nice,” you nodded with a little chuckle trying to scape out of your lips. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“It’s pretty fun.”
“Yeah, I can tell by the way you talk about it.”
He laughed quietly, and there was something strangely endearing about how easily he laughed at himself. Most people, especially in your line of work, had a habit of polishing every story until they sounded impressive. Jin seemed to do the opposite. Every time he talked about something he’d done well, he somehow ended up mentioning the part that had gone wrong too, as though he didn’t really see the point in pretending otherwise.
“So what about you?” he asked. “What do you like to do?”
You smiled. “I like to read.”
“What kind of books?”
“Anything that makes me forget to check my phone.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I like movies like that.”
“The ones where you forget you’re watching one?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh my god. I actually have a section in my Letterbox like that. ‘Movies that feel like movies.’” You said excited.
“I’m gonna need you to send me your account then,” he said seriously.
The two of you ended up lingering near the balcony more minutes, just talking. Around you, people drifted in and out of the apartment with the same relaxed rhythm the evening had carried from the beginning. Someone stepped outside to answer a phone call, another group squeezed past on their way to refill drinks, music floated faintly from the living room, but none of it seemed to interrupt the conversation anymore. It simply became part of the background.
“I know this is going to sounds ridiculous.” He looked almost embarrassed. “But I’m not great with new people,” he admitted. “So I’m glad you’re easy to talk to.”
“Really? You said, shaking your head as you leaned against the railing. “You seem so in ease.”
“Nah. Two years ago you probably would’ve had to carry the conversation by yourself.”
“I feel like I already do that sometimes.”
He looked at you, amused. “You?”
“I overshare when I’m nervous.”
“I would’ve never guessed.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem, I just talk to much.”
Jin smiled to himself before taking another sip of his drink. “I get quieter.”
“So we’re opposites.”
“Maybe.”
“I fill every silence.”
“I wait for the other person to.”
“So we are a match made in heaven.”
“Exactly.”
You both laughed, and for a second you simply watched the people inside the apartment. Someone had convinced half the room to play some card game that looked increasingly chaotic with every passing minute. A girl was already arguing about the rules despite the game having barely started.
“You know,” you said, “It’s kind of funny. I would’ve guessed the complete opposite.”
“About me?”
You nodded. “I don’t know… I think because you’re around people all the time, I just assumed talking to strangers came naturally.”
“It doesn’t, at all.” He shook his head. “I still overthink almost every conversation.”
You frowned. “Seriously?”
“Mhm.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“But you seem…” You searched for the right word. “…Comfortable.”
“I pretend.”
“So you’re acting?”
He laughed. “I don’t know if I’d call it acting.”
“What would you call it?”
“I just… remind myself that nobody else knows I’m nervous.”
You looked at him for a moment, surprised by how simple the answer was. “I’ve never thought about it like that.
“It helps.”
“I usually assume everyone can tell.”
“I think everyone assumes that.”
You smiled. “I’ve spent half my career convinced people can see me panicking.”
He looked genuinely confused. “I thought you were one of those people who had everything under control.”
You laughed so suddenly you nearly spilled your drink. “I don’t think anyone who’s worked with me would describe me that way.”
“They would.”
“They absolutely wouldn’t.”
“They would.”
“Seokjin.”
“I’m serious.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only talked to me like twice.”
“I would say more.”
“Mm, not really.”
He nodded. “There was a campaign dinner last winter where we talked a bit.”
You blinked a little taken aback. “You remember that?”
“You were trying to find someone’s assistant. I remember because in that event you were working with Taehyung too.”
“Ah, yes. I was trying to find a missing garment bag.” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
He shrugged almost apologetically. “I remember weird things.”
“Apparently.”
There was something about that answer that stayed with you. Not because he’d remembered the event itself— that wasn’t impossible— but because he’d remembered you in it. You hadn’t been the client, you hadn’t been the center of the evening. You’d simply been another person running around making sure everything worked. Most people never noticed those things.
“You know what’s strange?” you asked after a moment. “I’ve spent years assuming nobody notices the people behind events.”
Jin tilted his head. “Some do.”
“You do.”
“People behind the scene make everything happen. It’s impossible not to notice.”
You smiled, a little uncertainly. “Most people only remember the face wearing the clothes.”
“I think that’s normal.”
“I know.”
“But…” He paused for a second, as though trying to explain something he hadn’t really put into words before. “I think once you’ve worked around enough productions, you start noticing the people who keep everything moving. You can usually tell who’s solving problems. I guess that’s why I noticed you.”
You looked down at your glass for a second before smiling. “I don’t think anyone’s ever complimented me like that.”
He looked almost surprised. “It was a compliment?”
“Yeah. For me it is.”
“I was just telling the truth.”
The conversation wandered somewhere else after that, not because either of you tried to change the subject but because that seemed to be how talking to him worked. One thought naturally led to another. You ended up discussing the strange satisfaction of crossing things off handwritten to-do lists, the fact that both of you still preferred carrying notebooks despite having every reminder imaginable on your phones, how much you hated the smell of beer, how much he loved snowboarding and the ridiculous amount of time people spent pretending to enjoy networking events.
“So you don’t like them either?” you asked.
“I like leaving them.”
You laughed out loud. “That’s such an honest answer.”
“I always tell myself I’ll stay for an hour. Then I look at the time and it’s three hours later.” He shook his head. “Every time.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
Jin smiled. “Because then I meet someone interesting.”
You felt your heart give one annoyingly noticeable beat. “Does that happen often to you?.”
“It doesn’t.” Before you could think of a response, someone called his name from inside. He turned instinctively. “What?”
“Your food is getting cold! Are you eating?”
“I’ll be there!” He looked back at you almost immediately. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“You were saying?”
The fact that he’d come back to the conversation instead of letting it die made something warm settle somewhere in your chest.
“I honestly don’t even remember.”
“You were probably making fun of me.”
“I probably was.”
“I think you were.”
“I’ll continue after you get food.”
He smiled. “Deal.”
And he did.
Five minutes later, after grabbing two slices of pizza and somehow convincing someone else to stop stealing olives off his plate, he walked right back over and picked up the conversation as though nobody had interrupted it in the first place. It happened again later. Someone asked him to settle an argument in the kitchen, another friend pulled him into a group photo. Every single time, he came back. Not tired or with some grand excuse, just quietly returning to where you’d been standing before asking, “Where were we?”
By the end of the night you realized you’d talked about almost everything and almost nothing. Childhood hobbies, the fact that both of you hated talking on the phone but would happily send ten-minute voice notes, how neither of you understood people who enjoyed going out every weekend to party, the weird satisfaction of grocery shopping late at night. You talked about the best convenience store snacks, whether pineapple belonged on pizza and more. The conversation never felt like it needed to impress the other person, it just kept going.
When people finally started putting on their jackets, you were genuinely surprised to see the apartment had emptied without you noticing. “I should head out too,” you said, slipping your phone into your bag.
Seokjin nodded. “Me too.” For a second neither of you moved. “I had a really good time,” he said, smiling in that same quiet way he always seemed to.
“Me too.” You stayed in your place, waiting for him to ask for your number.
“I’ll…” He hesitated just enough for you to notice it. “…I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
“Right,” you said, almost disappointed. “Yeah, I hope so.”
He smiled once more before following his friends toward the door. You watched him leave, waiting until the apartment had almost emptied before saying your own goodbyes.
The drive home was spent replaying conversations you hadn’t meant to memorize. Not because anything extraordinary had happened. He hadn’t flirted with you, he hadn’t asked for your goddamn number. Seokjin hadn’t looked at you in some life-changing, movie-worthy way. If anything, the evening had been remarkably ordinary. And maybe that was exactly why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
You liked talking to him, like a lot. There had been no awkward pauses to fill, no pressure to sound clever, no moments where you found yourself wondering what you should say next. Somehow the two of you had managed to spend hours discussing the most ridiculous, everyday things, and you’d still walked away feeling like there were another hundred conversations left to have. That should have been exciting. Instead, it left you hopelessly confused. Because Jin was nice. Painfully, consistently nice. He listened to everyone, he smiled at everyone, he remembered details about people that most would’ve forgotten. So how were you supposed to tell whether any of tonight had actually meant something?
Maybe he talked to everybody like that, maybe every person who left one of his conversations went home thinking they’d been understood, maybe this was just who he was. You couldn’t read him. Every time you thought he’d given you a sign, your brain immediately found another explanation for it, and by the time you pulled into your apartment building you were somehow even more confused than when the evening had started.
The only thing that wasn’t confusing anymore was yourself. There wasn’t any point pretending this was simple curiosity, that excuse had expired somewhere around the conversation about how much you loved strawberry cheesecake.
You liked him. Entirely, inconveniently and undeniably.
You smiled all the way upstairs because the realization was somehow equal parts embarrassing and exciting. And later, before you’d even finished getting ready for bed, you found yourself opening the group chat from the party. Your thumb hovered over the upcoming plans someone had mentioned earlier. A birthday dinner next week. A movie night the weekend after. A barbecue if the weather stayed nice. You stared at the messages for a moment before smiling to yourself. A month ago, you would’ve checked your calendar first or invent another excuse to not show up. Tonight, you were already trying to figure out how to make sure you didn’t have any plans at all so you could see him again.
——————————
Monday mornings at HYBE building looked exactly the way you imagined a music company would. Stylists hurried down the hall balancing garment bags over one shoulder while trying to answer phone calls at the same time, assistants walked briskly between meeting rooms carrying stacks of documents that somehow looked urgent regardless of what was inside them, and every few minutes someone you vaguely recognized from a campaign, a magazine shoot or an awards show passed by with a polite nod before disappearing around another corner. It was organized chaos, the kind that somehow managed to function despite looking as though everything was happening at once.
You’d been there often enough over the years that the receptionist greeted you by name before you’d even reached the desk. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” you smiled, accepting the visitor’s badge she handed over. “I’m here for the ten o’clock.”
“They’re already waiting for you.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Luxury fashion PR had a funny way of making every company building start to feel familiar. One month you were spending every afternoon at a magazine headquarters preparing a campaign, the next you were coordinating fittings at a fashion house, and then suddenly you were sitting in entertainment agencies discussing contracts between artists and brands. It meant learning hundreds of names, remembering dozens of schedules and somehow keeping track of who was available on which side of the world.
By the time you reached the conference room, three people from HYBE’s partnership team were already seated around the table, laptops open and coffees untouched.
The meeting itself was surprisingly straightforward. The agency had recently signed a new rookie group whose first luxury campaign was already attracting attention from several international brands, and your company had been hired to coordinate the negotiations and oversee the campaign schedule. Most of the creative decisions had already been approved weeks earlier, which meant your morning was spent going over travel dates, confirming fitting appointments, discussing possible magazine covers and making sure nobody had accidentally scheduled three different events in three different countries on the same day… It happened more often than people realized.
“I’ll send over the updated timeline this afternoon,” you said, closing your notebook once everyone seemed satisfied. “As long as the group’s comeback date doesn’t move again, everything should stay on schedule.”
One of the managers laughed. “Please don’t say that out loud.”
“I’m choosing optimism.”
“We’ve learned not to.”
You smiled. “Fair enough.”
Another hour disappeared into emails and final revisions before the meeting finally wrapped up. By the time you stepped back into the hallway, your shoulders already felt lighter. There were still a dozen things waiting for you back at the office, but the most complicated part of your week had gone considerably smoother than you’d expected.
You had just slipped your notebook and laptop into your bag when a familiar voice called your name from the other end of the corridor. You turned just in time to see Taehyung walking toward you, sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his T-shirt despite being indoors. For a second you simply stared.
“Well, that’s a face I haven’t seen in forever.”
He laughed. “I was about to say the same thing.” The two of you met halfway down the hallway, exchanging a quick hug before stepping back. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought your office was like 3 hours away.”
“It is. We were meeting with the partnership team.”
“For the rookie group?” You nodded. “Please tell me they’re behaving.”
“So far.”
“So they haven’t started changing schedules every six hours yet?”
“It’s only Monday.”
“There’s still time to run.”
You laughed. “You sound like you’ve been traumatized.”
“I’ve worked in this building long enough. Rookie groups are starting to be a nightmare.”
“That’s fair. I’ve seen some news.”
The conversation slipped back into familiarity almost immediately. You hadn’t worked together in nearly two years, but spending months coordinating the promotional aesthetic campaign for his first solo album had a way of making people remember each other. After that there had been fashion events, magazine dinners, a handful of award shows and enough passing greetings over the years that seeing him now felt less like bumping into an old client and more like running into an old coworker.
“So,” he asked, leaning casually against the wall, “how’s life?”
“Busy.”
“I expected a more exciting answer.”
“I coordinate luxury campaigns.”
“So… busy.”
“Exactly.” You chuckled. “What about you?”
Taehyung sighed dramatically. “We start rehearsals again next week.”
“For the tour?” He hummed in agreement. “I saw the dates.” You mentioned. “They look impossible. You have, what…” You frowned, trying to remember. “Three countries in a week and then another one next week in another continent?”
“Yeah.. I’ve stopped looking.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“You learn not to pay attention,” he smiled cheekily.
Before either of you could continue, another voice joined the conversation.
“I had a feeling I’d find you here hiding.” You looked up instinctively. Jin had just stepped out of one of the rehearsal studios further down the hallway, a black hoodie thrown over his shoulders. He slowed as he reached the two of you, smiling in quiet surprise when he noticed you standing there. “Oh.” His smile widened just slightly. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you smiled slightly, heart starting to beat a little faster.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
You lifted the visitor’s badge hanging around your neck. “Work.”
“That makes more sense.” He nodded knowingly.
“Lucky for her,” Taehyung interrupted, “she gets to leave.”
You smiled. “I do.”
“I’ve still got vocal rehearsal.”
Jin looked at him. “I thought you were eating first.”
“I was.” Taehyung glanced down at his phone before groaning. “…Actually, no, apparently I’m not. They just moved my reservation.”
“Again?”
He held up his screen dramatically. “I’ve officially given up questioning management.”
You laughed. “Some things never change.”
“They really don’t.”
He pushed himself away from the wall before pointing between the two of you. “I’m leaving you to catch up because if I’m late one more time they’ll start pretending I’m difficult.”
“You are difficult,” Jin said.
“But you love me anyway”
“Ew, don’t say that.”
“You do!” Taehyung looked back at you. “It was good seeing you again.”
“You too.”
“Don’t disappear for another two years.”
“I’ll do my best.” With one last wave, he disappeared around the corner, leaving the hallway noticeably quieter. For a moment you and Jin simply watched him go. “He hasn’t changed,” you said eventually.
“Not even a little.”
“I think that’s impressive.”
“I think it’s exhausting.”
You laughed. “I can imagine.”
The two of you started walking almost without discussing it, heading slowly toward the elevators at the end of the hallway. Neither of you seemed particularly rushed, and after the last few times you’d talked, it no longer felt strange to fall into conversation so easily.
“So,” he asked, glancing over at you, “how did the meeting go?”
“Better than I expected. I was preparing for at least one scheduling disaster but everything went well.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Nah. I like being pleasantly surprised. You shrugged. “What about you?” you asked. “Taehyung mentioned rehearsals.”
He nodded. “We leave in a few weeks.”
“You excited?”
“I am.” He smiled to himself before looking ahead again. “I think the rehearsals are always the hardest part.”
“Really?”
“I like performing but I don’t like preparing to perform.”
You laughed softly. “I don’t know why that makes perfect sense.”
“I spend weeks wondering if we’re ready. And then the first show starts and I stop worrying for about two hours.” He told you, a little exhausted. “Then I start worrying about the next one.”
You smiled. “I feel like that’s every job.”
“It probably is.”
By the time you reached the elevators, the conversation had wandered somewhere entirely different. Somehow you’d ended up talking about travel again, comparing favorite cities from work trips, complaining about airports, laughing over the fact that neither of you had figured out how people managed to sleep comfortably on planes.
The elevator arrived with a quiet chime. You both stepped inside. “Oh, I forgot to ask,” he said as the doors closed. “What are you doing this weekend?”
You looked at him, a little excited. “This weekend? I don’t really have plans. Why?”
“You wanna have dinner?.” He hesitated for a second before clarifying. “Everyone’s getting together on Saturday. Some close friends, Taehyung is also included. We’re going to a nice restaurant. I thought maybe you would like to come.”
“Oh.” You smiled. An invitation, as friends. Great. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there.”
“Great,” he said with a smile. “Nice.” There was a small pause, comfortable rather than awkward, before he looked at you again with the same thoughtful expression you’d started recognizing over the past few weeks. “Actually…” He rubbed the back of his neck almost absentmindedly. “I just realized I don’t have your number.”
You hummed. “Yeah… You don’t.”
“I probably should.”
“That would make things easier. You know, for the address of the restaurant and all.”
“It would. Yes.”
You unlocked your phone and handed it to him. “Here.”
Seokjin smiled as he typed his contact into it before giving it back. “I’ll text you,” he said simply. “To let you know it’s me and send you the address”
You nodded. “Right.” The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. You stepped out together before stopping near the entrance, where your paths naturally split in opposite directions. “I should let you get back to work,” you said before smiling. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
He nodded. “See you Saturday.”
You watched him disappear back toward the elevators before pushing through the glass doors into the afternoon sun. Halfway across the parking lot, your phone vibrated.
Unknown Number. You opened the message before you’d even reached your car.
Seokjin: Just proving it’s actually me.
A second message appeared almost immediately.
Seokjin: Don’t be late on Saturday. Taehyung will absolutely blame someone else if he is, and I’d rather it not be you.
Seokjin: [address]
You: Noted. I’ll arrive early just to preserve my reputation.
His reply came less than a minute later.
Seokjin: Smart girl
Okay, that was hot.
You know it wasn’t flirtatious, it wasn’t even particularly memorable. But as you slid your phone back into your bag, you couldn’t stop smiling. In all the times you had spent talking for hours at a friend’s apartment and now exchanging numbers in an elevator, things had quietly become very comfortable with him. You still had absolutely no idea whether Jin saw you as anything more than someone he enjoyed talking to. If anything, getting to know him had only made him harder to read. He was attentive with everyone, kind without making a performance of it, and thoughtful in a way that could easily be mistaken for interest if you weren’t careful.
Which was exactly the problem. You couldn’t tell whether he liked you like that. The uncertainty was still there, lingering in the back of your mind every time you replayed one of your conversations, but it didn’t bother you quite as much anymore. Because one thing, at least, had become impossible to deny. He liked spending time with you.
Saturday suddenly felt very, very far away.
——————————
The restaurant wasn’t particularly fancy, which somehow suited the group better than any upscale place ever could have. It was tucked away on a quiet street a little outside the city center, the kind of place people only seemed to know about through recommendations rather than advertisements. Warm lights hung above the terrace, the windows were thrown open to let the late summer air drift inside, and the steady murmur of conversations mixed with clinking glasses and the occasional burst of laughter from another table.
You spotted everyone almost immediately. There couldn’t have been more than ten people, already gathered around a long wooden table near the back of the restaurant. Someone waved the second you stepped through the door, and within moments three different voices were greeting you at once.
“There she is.”
“I told you she’d be late.”
“I am three minutes early,” you protested, laughing as you slipped your bag off your shoulder.
“You’re ten minutes late.”
“That’s early for her.”
You smiled, making your way around the table to greet everyone properly. A couple of faces were still relatively new, people you’d only met once or twice over the last month, while others already felt strangely familiar despite how recently they’d come into your life. It was funny how quickly comfort formed when everyone shared the same chaotic industry. Then your eyes found Jin. He was already seated halfway down the table, listening to something Taehyung was saying with that small smile you were becoming increasingly familiar with. When he noticed you looking over, he gave you an easy wave.
“Hey.” He smiled. “You finally found the place.”
“Barely,” you admitted. “Your directions were significantly better than my navigation.”
“I knew I should’ve sent more landmarks.”
“I still would’ve gotten lost.”
“I believe that.”
You caught yourself smiling at the quick exchange before you’d even reached your chair. When you looked around for somewhere to sit you noticed there was only one empty seat left. To the other corner of the table, directly across from him, not close at all. You stared at it for a second. “…Seriously?”
Someone looked up. “What?”
“Nothing.” You smiled, sliding into the chair. “I just thought I’d made it before everyone else.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
You reached for the menu before anyone could ask another question. Across the table, Jin looked briefly amused, though he didn’t comment, instead returning to whatever story Taehyung had been telling before you’d arrived. You tried very hard not to let the tiny disappointment bother you. It was ridiculous, really ridiculous. You weren’t in middle school. You weren’t twelve years old trying to sit beside your crush in class. You were a grown woman who coordinated campaigns worth more money than most people made in a year. You could survive sitting far from this guy …Probably.
Dinner started slowly, with everyone ordering drinks while waiting for the last two people to arrive. Once they did, the conversation settled into that familiar rhythm you’d started associating with this group. Nobody stuck to one topic for very long. One person would mention work, someone else would remember a completely unrelated story, and twenty minutes later everyone would somehow be debating whether overnight flights were worse than six a.m. call times.
Laughter rippled around the table. You found yourself joining in easily, adding comments here and there whenever the conversation naturally drifted your way. It felt comfortable, and yet every now and then your attention wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t. Across from you, Jin was talking to one of the producers about the upcoming tour. You couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but every so often he’d laugh quietly or shake his head at something someone else had said, and despite telling yourself not to, your eyes kept finding him. Once and then again. Then another time. It was becoming embarrassingly automatic. At one point he happened to glance up while reaching for his water. Your eyes met for barely a second and he gave you just a small smile. Then the conversation beside him continued, and he turned back toward it. You did the same.
See? He’s talking to everyone.
You forced yourself to pay attention to the conversation happening on your side of the table instead. For the next hour that became the pattern of the evening. Whenever everyone spoke together, it felt easy. You’d catch each other’s eye occasionally across the table, laugh at the same stories, tease Taehyung whenever he exaggerated something, but there wasn’t really an opportunity for the kind of conversation you’d secretly been hoping for.
The distance of a table suddenly felt much larger than it actually was. You hated yourself a little for caring. There were at least eight other people there and you liked all of them. You were having a genuinely good time. And yet some stubborn, irritating part of your brain kept thinking… I haven’t actually talked to him. Every now and then someone beside him would ask him something directly, another person would join in, and before long he’d be caught in another conversation while you were doing exactly the same thing at your end of the table.
Maybe this was normal, maybe you’d built up the last few weeks too much in your own head. Maybe they had felt significant because they’d happened one-on-one and your brain had made the situations feel extra intimate only becuase you liked him like that. Here, surrounded by everyone else, he seemed exactly the way he always had. Kind, relaxed and happy to talk to whoever happened to be nearby.
It occurred to you, not for the first time, that maybe this was simply who he was.
You were halfway through telling the photographer beside you about a campaign that had nearly fallen apart because a shipment had been sent to the wrong country when another burst of laughter echoed from Jin’s side of the table. Almost instinctively, you looked over. He was smiling at something a friend had just said. Nothing unusual, nothing you hadn’t already seen a hundred times. Still… A tiny, childish part of you felt oddly deflated.
You took another sip of your drink. Get over yourself. The evening wasn’t about you. You’d barely known him for a month. There was no reason to expect him to spend the entire dinner talking to you. Honestly, if someone else described this situation to you, you’d probably tell them they were overthinking it. Which, unfortunately, meant you were almost certainly overthinking it.
“You’ve gone quiet.”
You looked back toward the woman sitting beside you. “Hm?”
“I was asking if you’re coming to Milan next month.”
“Oh.” You laughed softly. “Sorry. I got distracted.”
“I noticed.”
“I probably am.”
“You probably?”
“My calendar changes every three days.”
“That’s the most PR answer I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s also the only honest one.”
The conversation picked back up, and eventually you stopped checking the other end of the table quite so often. Or at least, you convinced yourself you had.
Dinner stretched comfortably into the evening. Plates gradually disappeared, dessert menus appeared almost without anyone noticing, and one by one people started glancing at their phones, remembering early schedules or long drives home.
“I should probably go,” one of the producers sighed eventually, pushing his chair back. “I have a seven a.m. meeting tomorrow.”
“On a Sunday?”
“I know.”
“My condolences.”
Another person stood and some of them followed. Goodbyes started overlapping with fresh conversations, people lingering by the table while putting on jackets because nobody ever managed to leave immediately. You’d barely noticed how many people had already gone when the friend beside you launched into a story about their parents divorce.
By the time she’d finally reached the end of the story, probably regretting saying too much, the restaurant had become noticeably quieter. You looked around almost absentmindedly. The table that had been full less than fifteen minutes earlier was almost empty. Taehyung had already left, your photographer friend was gone, one stylist had disappeared after hugging everyone goodbye. Only one chair across from you was still occupied.
Jin looked up from the beer he’d been absentmindedly nursing for the better part of an hour and smiled. “I think everyone abandoned us.”
You blinked before looking around once more. “They actually did.”
He laughed quietly. “I didn’t even notice.” Neither had you. Jin glanced toward the front of the restaurant, where the last of your friends were saying their goodbyes near the entrance, then looked back at you with an expression that suggested he was just as surprised as you were. “I guess we were really invested in our conversations.”
You laughed, still looking around as if someone else might suddenly reappear. “I feel like there were ten people here five minutes ago.”
“There were. But I think they slowly escaped while we weren’t paying attention.”
“So we’re the last ones here.”
“I don’t think the staff minds.”
As if on cue, one of the waiters walked past carrying a stack of empty plates, offering the two of you a polite smile before disappearing into the kitchen. You glanced back toward the entrance. “I should probably head out too.”
Jin looked down at the beer still sitting in front of him before looking back up. “I mean…” He hesitated for a second, almost like he was debating whether to ask. “Would you mind staying for a bit? I haven’t finished this yet.”
You followed his gaze to the glass. It was still almost half full. “…Of course.”
“I don’t want to keep you if you have plans.”
“I don’t.”
“You sure?”
You smiled. “I’m sure.”
He smiled back, a little relieved. “Okay.”
Neither of you spoke for a moment, but unlike before, the silence wasn’t searching for a conversation. It simply existed while the restaurant slowly emptied around you. Someone in the kitchen dropped a tray, a waiter laughed at something another employee had said, and outside the windows the street had grown noticeably quieter than it had been when everyone first arrived.
Jin took another sip of his beer. You were almost certain it had to be warm by now. “So,” he said eventually, moving to seat next to you before resting his forearms against the table, “did you have a good time tonight?”
“I did.” You smiled. “I actually like this group a lot.” You thought about it for a second. “I feel like everyone already knows everyone else’s schedules are a mess.” He laughed. “So nobody gets offended when someone cancels.”
“They know what life is like this.”
“What about you?”
Seokjin shrugged. “I like that they remember you’re also a person.”
You looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
He smiled as he said it, but there was something thoughtful underneath the smile that made you think he wasn’t entirely joking. “I think when people see someone whose job is public, they forget that the rest of your life still exists.”
You nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“They just assume you’re always in your performing mood.”
You rested your chin lightly against your hand. “I prefer the honest side of people.”
“That’s even better then.”
The conversation drifted naturally from there, taking the same shape all of your conversations seemed to take. One topic quietly became another without either of you trying to steer it anywhere in particular. Somehow you ended up talking about childhood, about the strange jobs you’d imagined yourselves having when you were ten years old, laughing when he admitted he’d once been absolutely convinced he’d become a veterinarian despite fainting the first time he watched blood being drawn.
“You fainted?”
“I was twelve.”
“I don’t think age helps your case.” You laughed silently. “So what happened to becoming a veterinarian?”
“I realized animals deserved someone much braver.”
“I think that’s fair.”
“What about you?”
“I wanted to be a librarian or own a bookstore.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Really?” You hummed. “I can actually picture that. I feel like you’re the kind of person who probably organize everything alphabetically.”
You gasped dramatically. “I’m not. I’d organize them by genre!”
He snorted, blinking a little slow before biting his lower lip to not smile. You thought he was really handsome like that. “Of course you would.”
“Shut up, you don’t know me.” You said like a kid.
Seokjin looked down at his beer with the faintest hint of a smile before quietly saying, “I’m getting there.”
A waiter stopped beside the table before you could say anything. “Can I get you two anything else? Dessert, maybe?”
You instinctively shook your head. “I’m okay.” You glanced at Jin and he looked at you.
“You sure?”
“I don’t really have a sweet tooth.”
“I do.” He looked back at the waiter. “We’ll share one.”
You blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” He smiled. “But I want cheesecake. You said you like the strawberry one, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“I think dessert is always better with company.”
You laughed, accepting defeat. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Good.”
The cheesecake arrived a few minutes later with two forks. Seokjin ended up stealing exactly two small bites while you finished the rest while he insisted that if he was ordering dessert anyway, someone should help him justify it.
And by the time the plates had been cleared away, neither of you had noticed that the music inside the restaurant had grown quieter. It wasn’t until a chair scraped across the floor nearby that you looked around. The staff had started stacking the empty tables near the windows. Someone was wiping down the counter, another waiter was rolling silverware into napkins. You checked your phone. 10:54 p.m.
“We’ve been here for a while.”
Seokjin followed your gaze before looking down at the beer still sitting in front of him. He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve touched this in twenty minutes.”
You looked at the glass. “Longer. It’s definitely warm.”
“It probably is.”
“You should finish it.”
“I probably should.” Instead, he took the smallest sip imaginable before setting it back down exactly where it’d been.
You smiled to yourself. He wasn’t trying very hard but you weren’t about to complain. You were hoping he never finished that beer. You wanted to stay longer with him either way. Even if the restaurant closed at 11pm…. But the fantasy broke because few minutes later one of the waiters approached with the bill tucked neatly inside a black folder.
Seokjin reached for it before you even realized it had been set on the table. “I’ve got it.”
You looked up. “I took most of the dessert so I definitely should—” You reached for your wallet.
He shook his head. “You can get the next one.” The words came out so naturally that neither of you reacted immediately. He paid quickly with his card before looking at you with a small smile. “Although I’ll fight you again next time.”
Something warm settled somewhere beneath your ribs. “I can live with that.”
As you walked toward the door together, he stopped briefly near the counter where a small glass bowl filled with individually wrapped mints sat beside the register. He picked one up, unwrapped it as the two of you stepped outside and laughed quietly when he caught you watching him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled, shaking his head as he popped it into his mouth. “I just don’t like leaving restaurants smelling like beer.”
You stared at him for a second. “That’s oddly considerate.”
Did he really remember all you said? You were definitely making him up. He couldn’t be real.
“I’ve always done it.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket as the two of you started walking down the quiet street. “Which way are you parked?”
“I’m not.”
“You took a taxi?”
“I walked. Its only about twenty minutes.”
Jin looked ahead for a second before nodding once. “Then I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” he shrugged. His answer was immediate, almost matter-of-fact. “I’d like to. I live close this neighborhood anyway.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Okay.”
The streets had quieted considerably by then, the warmth of the evening lingering even as the city settled into the slower rhythm that only seemed to exist after ten o’clock. You walked side by side without rushing, continuing the same conversation you’d been having inside as though leaving the restaurant hadn’t interrupted it at all. You realized, somewhere between laughing about the worst movies either of you had ever paid to see and debating whether breakfast food should be acceptable at any hour of the day, that talking to him never felt like work.
By the time your apartment building came into view, you almost wished it were another ten minutes away. “So…” you said, slowing to a stop outside the entrance. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“Of course.”
“And thanks for dinner.”
“Don’t even mention it.” For a brief second, neither of you moved. Then he smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I hope so.”
“You will.”
He said it with such quiet certainty that it didn’t even occur to you to question it. You watched him disappear back down the street before finally heading upstairs. It wasn’t until you were brushing your teeth later that night that the entire evening replayed itself in your mind.
The conversation. The strawberry cheesecake, the warm beer he’d barely touched because he’d been too busy talking to you. The mint he took after. The way he’d said the next one as though another dinner between the two of you was already the most obvious thing in the world.
You still couldn’t tell if Jin liked you. Not in the way you wanted him to. He was still frustratingly impossible to read, still so effortlessly kind that every thoughtful gesture came with another explanation you could use to convince yourself not to overthink it. Maybe he walked everyone home, maybe he paid for everyone when he was feeling generous. Maybe he remembered everyone’s favorite dessert, maybe he was gentle enough to know what the other person dislike. Maybe this was simply who he was. But lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling with a smile you couldn’t quite get rid of, you admitted something to yourself that you hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud before.
Whether he liked you or not had almost become secondary. Because somewhere along the way, without even noticing exactly when it had happened, you’d stopped looking forward to seeing him but you started missing him.
——————————
By the time May rolled around, seeing Jin had stopped feeling like an event. It had happened so gradually that neither of you could have pointed to the exact moment things changed. One dinner became another, then someone suggested drinks after work one Thursday, a birthday turned into brunch the following weekend, and before long your names simply started appearing together in plans without either of you having to ask. If someone created a group chat to organize something, you already knew there was a good chance the other person’s profile picture would be somewhere near the top.
Somewhere in between all of that, phone calls had quietly become part of your routine too. It had started innocently enough. One evening he’d called because he couldn’t remember the name of a restaurant you’d recommended a few weeks earlier. Another time you rang him while walking home because you’d spent twenty minutes trying to decide between two birthday gifts for a friend and wanted a second opinion. Then, somehow, those practical conversations turned into hour-long calls that had very little to do with why either of you had picked up the phone in the first place.
You’d tell yourself you only had five minutes. An hour later you were somehow debating whether cereal counted as dinner, arguing over which city had the worst airports in Europe or listening to Jin explain, in alarming detail, why he believed every household should own at least three different frying pans.
“You don’t need three,” you’d laughed one night, curled up on your sofa with your laptop forgotten beside you. “No normal person owns three.”
“You own twelve mugs,” he fought back.
“Mugs are different.”
“How?”
“Each one has a purpose. They hold memories.”
He’d been quiet for exactly two seconds before laughing so hard you could barely understand what he was trying to say. “They hold coffee.”
“And memories.”
“I’ll pray for whoever has to move house with you one day.”
“I’ll make them carry the mugs.”
“You’ll have to marry someone very patient.”
“I know.”
There had been a tiny pause after that, neither of you had acknowledged it. Then the conversation had simply moved on. Moments like that happened more often now, little sentences that accidentally wandered somewhere dangerously close to something bigger before one of you quietly steered them back toward safer ground.
It was strangely comfortable, enough that, when one of your friends suggested meeting for drinks after work on Friday, you didn’t even think twice before sending Jin the details.
You: we’re at Kaqwi bar around 8 if ur free
Jin: I’ll be there :)
The smiley face shouldn’t have made your heart react the way it did.
The bar wasn’t particularly busy when you arrived, but it filled quickly as the evening went on. Music hummed softly beneath conversations, the terrace outside was crowded with people escaping the lingering starting of summer heat, and inside your group had somehow managed to claim one of the larger booths before anyone else could steal it.
You were already halfway through telling a story about one of your clients showing up to a fitting wearing two completely different shoes when Jin finally appeared. He apologized to everyone for being late before sliding into the empty space beside you like it was second nature. “Traffic?”
You looked at him. He nodded dramatically. “And one very determined taxi driver.”
“Well, you survived.”
“Barely.”
“You look alright.”
“I’ve been through a lot.”
“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “You texted me from the car saying you were buying chips because you were hungry.”
Jin looked genuinely offended. “I can have two problems at once.”
The people sitting across from you laughed. You glanced at Jin, unable to stop smiling. Three months ago you would’ve hesitated before teasing him. Now it came naturally. He teased you back just as easily too. He looked at everyone else. “Do you see what I deal with?”
One of your friends laughed. “You two sound married.”
You nearly choked on your drink, trying really miserably not to blush. Jin, somehow, stayed completely composed. “I think married people argue less.”
“Oh, definitely less,” you agreed.
“They eventually get tired.”
“We’re nowhere near that stage.”
“I wasn’t aware there were stages.”
“There are.” You nodded thoughtfully. Nobody took the conversation seriously and neither did you, moving to the next subject and pretending that you haven’t been daydreaming about him for the last couple weeks…. At least until you noticed that he’d stolen three fries from your plate while arguing. “You’ve been eating my fries this entire time?!”
“…Have I?” He said while grabbing another one.
“Yes. You’ve eaten half my fries. You didn’t even order anything!.”
“I genuinely didn’t notice,” he lied. “I thought they were ours.”
“There is no ‘ours. You owe me fries.”
“I’ll buy you fries.”
“I don’t want replacement fries.”
“Do you want me to throw up and give them to you then?”
“You’re disgusting.”
He smiled to himself. “I know.”
You stared at him for a second. It was becoming a problem. A genuine, actual problem. Because somewhere over the last few weeks you’d become frighteningly good at recognizing all the tiny expressions nobody else seemed to notice. The smile he did when he was trying not to laugh, the one where he ducked his head slightly whenever someone complimented him. The way he’d absentmindedly roll up the sleeves of his shirt whenever he got comfortable somewhere. How he listened with his entire attention, never looking over someone’s shoulder to see if another conversation was more interesting.
None of those things should’ve been attractive. And yet your brain had apparently decided they were the most charming habits any human being had ever possessed. It was honestly becoming ridiculous. You caught yourself watching him while someone else spoke, noticing the way he laughed with his whole face, the little crease that appeared beside one eye, the way he always pushed his empty glass a few centimeters away before leaning forward whenever he got interested in a conversation.
He wasn’t even doing anything, he was just existing. There were moments— small, completely insignificant moments— when you’d look at him and genuinely wonder if your body was capable of handling much more of this before simply giving up altogether. He was just so handsome and he got more prettier everytime you looked at him. He’d looked at you across a crowded table while stealing your fries and smiled like he already knew you’d forgive him. It was embarrassing, you’d never been this gone over anyone before.
The worst part was that nothing about it felt obsessive in the loud, dramatic way people usually described crushes. It was quieter than that. It lived in all the little things. You wanted to see him everyday, you wanted to spend time with him and talk to him almost every second. You liked seeing him even if your body went immediately into an intolerable nervous breakdown because he was so annoyingly handsome. It was frustrating.
As the evening stretched on, people naturally split into smaller conversations, the table growing louder without ever becoming chaotic. Someone suggested another round of drinks, someone else started planning a weekend trip that would almost certainly never happen, and at some point you found yourself sitting slightly turned toward Jin, the two of you talking while the rest of the table carried on around you.
“So…” you said, tracing absentminded circles through the condensation on your glass, “next month.”
He nodded slowly. “Next month.”
“The tour.”
“Yeah.”
“You finally sound excited.” You pushed him slightly with your shoulder. “How’s it going?”
He let out a quiet breath through his nose. “My legs hurt.”
You laughed. “That’s your review? I expected something more profound, Seokjin.”
“I’ll save the profound thoughts for next week.”
“You don’t have any.”
“I probably don’t.” For a moment, he watched the people around the table before looking back at you. “I am looking forward to it, though. I just…” He searched for the words. “It’s strange.”
“What is?”
“I’ve gotten used to being here.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Home?”
He nodded. “And…” He smiled. “…To seeing everyone.”
You knew he meant the group, even if he was only looking at you. So why did your stomach still flip? Well, you couldn’t control your reaction very easily. “Well,” you said lightly, “we’ll survive. You’ll be back before you know it.”
“I hope so.”
“You’ll call?”
“I will.”
“You better.”
“I was planning to.”
“You can tell me all about your glamorous airport meals.”
“They’re never glamorous.”
“I know.”
“And you can complain about work.”
“I always complain about work.”
“I know.”
You smiled. “See? Nothing changes.”
He smiled back, though there was something softer about it this time. “I guess not.”
Even surrounded by everyone else, the thought settled quietly between you. Next month would be different. And for the first time since meeting him, you realized there would soon be weeks where seeing Jin wouldn’t simply be a matter of waiting until the next weekend hangout. You’d actually have to miss him. The realization sat surprisingly heavy in your chest. You hid it behind another joke, another laugh, another stolen fry from his plate this time, but as you watched him throw his head back laughing because you’d finally managed to get revenge, one completely unhelpful thought echoed through your mind.
You’re in so much trouble. Because if you already felt like this now… You couldn’t imagine what a month apart was going to do to you.
——————————
The strange thing about missing someone wasn’t that one dramatic morning you woke up and suddenly realized two months had felt unbearably long. Instead, it settled quietly into your routine until one day you noticed you were reaching for your phone before anything interesting happened because you already knew who you’d want to tell first.
The first week after Jin left for tour had been easier than you’d expected. You’d both been busy enough that the time difference and impossible schedules almost worked in your favor. If he finished a show just as you were leaving the office, you’d call while walking home. If you happened to be awake when he landed somewhere new, he’d send you a blurry photo from the airport with a single complaint about the coffee. There were days when your conversations lasted forty minutes and others when they barely stretched past five, but somehow neither of you seemed bothered by it. The expectation wasn’t that you’d always have time; it was simply that, sooner or later, one of you would hear from the other.
Then Fashion Week arrived with its usual lack of mercy.
Your calendar became a wall of color-coded appointments, garment fittings, showroom visits and dinners with clients that somehow always ran longer than anyone intended. You spent more time inside black cars than in your own apartment, learned to survive on coffee and protein bars tucked into your handbag, and answered emails in elevators because they were sometimes the only quiet place you could find.
One evening, somewhere between a fitting that had overrun by an hour and a last-minute venue change for a presentation, your phone buzzed in the pocket of your blazer.
Jin: Are you alive?
You: Debatable.
His reply came almost immediately.
Jin: That’s not very reassuring.
You: Fashion Week.
Jin: Good point.
You laughed softly to yourself while stepping into the back of a waiting car.
You: What are you doing awake?
Jin: Airport
You: Again?
Jin: Again
The conversation drifted from there, as it always seemed to. He complained about delayed boarding, you complained about a designer deciding fifteen minutes before a campaign shoot that he no longer liked the original styling direction, and somehow twenty minutes disappeared before either of you realized you’d both reached your destinations.
That became the rhythm of the following weeks. He called from hotel rooms that all looked vaguely identical no matter which country he happened to be in. You answered from backstage corridors, quiet taxis or empty office kitchens long after everyone else had gone home. Sometimes you talked about work. More often you talked about absolutely nothing.
One night he spent almost fifteen minutes trying to convince you that cereal counted as a perfectly acceptable dinner after ten o’clock. “It absolutely doesn’t,” you insisted, balancing your phone between your shoulder and your ear while searching your apartment for clean pajamas.
“It does if you’re tired.”
“That’s not how nutrition works.”
“It does for me.”
There was something strangely comforting about those conversations. You’d never imagined that spending so much time talking to someone who wasn’t physically there could make them feel even more present in your everyday life. You started recognizing the sounds in the background before he mentioned where he was, could tell whether he was tired just from the way he said hello, and without consciously trying, both of you began remembering the smallest details about each other’s days.
By the middle of the second month, it felt unusual not to hear his voice. Which was precisely why your eyebrows lifted when his name appeared on your screen one Tuesday afternoon while you were standing outside a showroom in Paris. You answered almost immediately. “Hi.”
“Hi.” There was a pause. “Are you busy?.”
“I little.”
“So am I.”
You smiled. “Then why did you call?”
“Why did you answer?”
“Touché,” you giggled a little. “I’ve been working nonstop for this fashion week events. But I don’t know what’s worse the people or the heat in Paris—”
“Wait, wait…” His voice changed completely, a little hurried and surprised. “You’re where?”
“Paris.”
“Right now?”
You frowned. “…Yes?”
He stumbled into his words. “I’m in Paris.”
You stopped walking. “…No, you’re not.” You blinked at absolutely nothing. “I thought you were in Amsterdam.”
“That was yesterday.”
“I’ve completely lost track of your schedule.”
“I think I have too.”
You laughed. “So you’re actually here?”
“I’m literally looking at the Eiffel Tower.”
“No way.”
“What about you?”
“I’m near Place Vendôme.”
He laughed, he sounded happy. “I can’t believe we didn’t know. How long are you going to be here?”
“I leave the night after tomorrow.”
“So do I.” There was a small pause, one that somehow felt different. “Do you have any free time?”
You smiled before he had even finished asking. “I actually do.” You checked your calendar. “I’ve got one meeting tomorrow morning, then I’m free after lunch.”
“So am I.”
“…Seriously?” You laughed. “That’s almost suspicious.”
“I know.” He hesitated for just a second. “So… Do you want to hang out?”
Your answer came so quickly that it surprised even you. “Yeah.”
“I was thinking maybe Versailles?”
You looked down the street, smiling to yourself. “I haven’t been since I was seventeen.”
“Perfect. I’ll meet you there then
The rest of the afternoon disappeared in a blur of meetings you barely remembered.
The following day was one of those rare Paris afternoons where the sky seemed almost impossibly blue, the late summer sun soft enough that walking outside actually felt pleasant instead of exhausting. By the time your train pulled into Versailles, you had changed out of your work clothes and into something far more comfortable— a simple summer dress, comfortable enough for hours of walking but still presentable enough that your professional instincts didn’t entirely panic.
You arrived first, for the first time ever. You wandered toward the entrance, watching groups of tourists gather beneath colorful umbrellas held high by guides speaking half a dozen different languages. Families posed for photos in front of the gates, children complained about the heat, and somewhere nearby someone was playing violin badly enough that it somehow added to the charm rather than taking away from it. You checked your phone.
Jin: Two minutes.
You smiled. Exactly three minutes later, you spotted him. He was walking across the courtyard with one hand tucked into the pocket of a pair o white summer linen pants, an oversized white linen shirt shifting gently in the breeze as he looked around searching for you. A pair of sunglasses rested on top of his head, pushing his dark hair back from his forehead, and for one completely unfair moment you simply stood there watching him weave through the crowd. He was just so pretty you wanted to eat him whole.
It wasn’t until he caught sight of you that you started walking again. His face brightened immediately.
“There you are.” You both laughed at saying exactly the same thing.
For a second, neither of you seemed entirely sure what people who had spent two months talking almost every day but hadn’t actually seen each other in person were supposed to do. Then you stepped forward first and hug him, he held you back with easy, his hands wrapping around your shoulders and pushing you a little too hard to his chest. You giggle a little from the action, his broad shoulders and back feeling too good against your body and arms.
The hug lasted just a fraction longer than a polite greeting without either of you acknowledging it. “You look tired,” he said as you pulled away, taking his time to look at your face without fully taking his arms off of you.
“I was going to say the same thing.”
“I’ve been rehearsing.”
“I’ve been surviving Fashion Week.”
“So we’re both victims.”
“I think we are.”
You smiled. “I’ve missed you.”
The words were so simple that they slipped past you very easily. Your heart gave one completely unreasonable thud when he answered immediately. “I’ve missed you too.” For a second, all the noise around you seemed to fade into the background. Then someone brushed past with a stroller, breaking whatever strange little bubble you’d accidentally stepped into. Jin cleared his throat lightly. “So…” He held up two tickets. “I may have already bought the audio guides with translation.”
You laughed. “You came prepared”
“You said one time that you actually like listening to museum tours.”
“I do,” you smiled softly, your heart beating so loud you almost thought he would be able to hear it. “Thanks for remembering.”
“Of course.” He handed you one of the devices. “Although I figured we’d probably spend half the time talking anyway.”
“You know us surprisingly well.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “I would hope so.”
And somehow, within less than five minutes of seeing each other, it already felt like no time had passed at all.
The palace unfolded around you one room at a time, each grander than the last, but after the first few minutes you realized you were paying remarkably little attention to the gold ceilings or painted frescoes the audio guide seemed so determined to explain. Not because they weren’t beautiful, they absolutely were. It was simply difficult to concentrate on eighteenth-century French history when Jin was walking beside you after two months apart, occasionally stopping to look at a painting with the kind of genuine curiosity that always made him tilt his head ever so slightly, as though he was trying to understand not just what he was looking at, but why someone had chosen to create it in the first place. He looked like an angel every time your eyes wandered to his figure.
“Do you understand what they’re saying or I’m just that bad at the language?” he asked after removing one side of his headset.
You looked at him with amusement. “I’ve listened to several words… I heard ‘Louis.’”
He laughed. “I don’t think that narrows it down.”
“There were numbers too.”
“You’ve learned nothing.”
“I’ve learned the ceilings are expensive.”
You smiled to yourself. Talking to him still felt exactly the way it had over the phone, except somehow easier. There was no delay before one of you answered, no crackling signal, no wondering whether the other person had gotten distracted by work or simply lost reception. Every joke landed immediately, every smile came without having to imagine it on the other end of the line, and every now and then one of you would point at something entirely ridiculous just to hear what the other would say about it.
“I think I’d get lost in here,” you said as you stepped into another enormous gallery.
“You absolutely would.”
“You agreed with that a little too quickly.”
He laughed at you but didn’t say anything else, and the sound echoed faintly through the room before dissolving beneath the quiet voices of the other visitors. The more you walked, the more obvious it became that something had shifted between you over the last two months. The conversation no longer needed a beginning. There was no catching up in the traditional sense because neither of you had really disappeared from the other’s life. You already knew how rehearsals had been going, which city had unexpectedly become his favorite stop on tour, how exhausted you’d been during Milan Fashion Week and even what you ate last week. Instead, you filled in the little gaps. The expressions that texts couldn’t capture, the stories that were funnier in person, the tiny details that somehow never made it into phone calls. And at one time you laughed so hard you had to steady yourself against his arm for a second before realizing what you’d done. Your hand lingered for the briefest moment against the fabric of his sleeve. His bicep was surprisingly strong and warm. You pulled it back almost immediately.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“I practically used you as furniture.”
“I don’t mind.”
He said it so casually that it almost made it worse. You nodded once, pretending to be far more interested in the next doorway than in the fact your pulse had suddenly become embarrassingly noticeable.
The palace gradually gave way to the gardens, where the afternoon sun spread across endless stretches of perfectly trimmed hedges and fountains that glittered beneath the light. Compared to the crowded galleries inside, everything outside felt slower. There was more space between people, more room to wander without constantly stepping aside for another tour group. You fell into step beside him and somewhere along the gravel path your shoulders brushed. Neither of you moved away. You kept talking and he did too. It happened again a few minutes later when the path narrowed between two rows of hedges, your fingers moved a little trying weakly to catch his so he would take the hint. But again, nobody acknowledged it.
It was ridiculous how aware you had become of every tiny point of contact. You wondered if he noticed, and you also wondered if he didn’t. He had made time for you despite living on the opposite side of the world half the year. He called, he listened, he laughed at jokes that weren’t particularly funny simply because you were the one telling them. And yet… He’d never crossed that invisible line, not once. Which left you trapped in the world’s most exhausting guessing game. Maybe he was just wonderful and charming with all people... which, honestly, you didn’t like.
As you rounded another corner, he reached out without thinking and lightly touched the middle of your back, guiding you aside as a large tour group swept past in the opposite direction. “There you go.”His hand disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived. You tried not to think about the fact you could still feel it. You thought how his fingers would feel around your waist or touching your bare skin.
“This place is busier than I remembered,” you managed.
“It’s because everyone had the same idea we did and decided to come on the nicest afternoon of the week.”
“This was poor planning.”
“It was.”
You smiled. “I’d still choose today.”
He looked at you. “Me too.”
You looked away before your face had the chance to betray you.
By late afternoon the palace had begun to empty, the crowds thinning just enough that you could finally stop lingering behind slower groups. You’d walked for hours without really noticing it, your conversations interrupted only occasionally by the audio guide insisting on explaining another room or another portrait neither of you had been paying enough attention to appreciate.
Your feet, however, had started protesting. “I need five minutes,” you admitted with a laugh as you sat down on a stone bench overlooking one of the fountains.
“Tired?”
“I’ve been standing in heels for all week.”
“You’re wearing sandals.”
“For the first time all week.” Jin smiled quietly before sitting beside you. For a few moments neither of you said anything. Not because there wasn’t anything left to say, quite the opposite, the silence had simply stopped needing to be filled. You watched families wander through the gardens, children racing one another across the paths while parents unsuccessfully attempted to keep up. “I forgot how nice this is,” you said. “I’m glad we came.”
He turned slightly toward you. “So am I.”
Something about the way he said it settled softly in your chest. He looked at you for a second longer in silence and you wondered if he was really thinking the same as you. Eventually you stood again, deciding to make your way back through the palace before heading toward the station. But halfway there you stopped abruptly.
“I need the bathroom.”
He nodded immediately. “I think there was one near the entrance.”
“There was.” You looked ahead. “Okay seemed like everyone else also wanted to use the bathroom.” The line stretched embarrassingly far down the corridor. You sighed. “Of course.”
“I’ll wait.”
You glanced at the queue again before groaning. “This is going to take forever.” Jin looked around thoughtfully, his eyes wandering down a quieter side hallway. “What?”
“I might know another one.”
“You do?”
“I saw a staff sign earlier.”
“You think you saw one?”
He smiled. “Come on.”
Before you had the chance to question him further, he reached for your hand almost absentmindedly, weaving your fingers together with his as he led you down the quieter corridor. Your entire brain stopped functioning. He was holding your hand. Just like that. As though it were the most natural thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been throwing hints all those hours so he would do it.
You stared at your joined hands for half a second before looking back up, praying he couldn’t somehow hear your heartbeat. “You realize,” you said, trying very hard to sound normal, “if we get caught wandering through staff corridors, we’ll be in big problems.”
“Isn’t that more fun?”
You both started giggling out of nowhere, trying —and failing— to keep your voices down as you wandered through the quiet hallway. He checked one door that was locked. Then another one that was a storage. “This is going well.”
“Just trust me.” He looked at you with a grin that made it impossible not smile. A few steps later he stopped in front of another door. “This has to be it.”
“You’ve said that twice.”
“I feel better about this one.”
“You’ve become overconfident.” He reached for the handle, still locked. You shook your head before laying back in the door. “I would be already in the front of the line.”
“I was close with this one.”
“You were nowhere near.”
You were still smiling when he looked back at you. His smile slowly fading as he saw you against that door. Suddenly you were seeing a face of him that you haven’t seen ever. Your smile slowly faded too as he took a step closer. The hallway around you had gone unexpectedly quiet, the distant sounds of the palace reduced to little more than an indistinct murmur somewhere beyond the walls. Neither of you spoke. “I’ve missed your face,” Seokjin admitted in a low voice.
The words were so quiet that, for a second, you almost wondered if you’d imagined them. You looked up at him, and for the first time since you’d met him, you weren’t trying to figure him out anymore. It was all there, written across his face so plainly that you almost laughed at yourself for every hour you’d spent wondering whether he liked you or whether he was simply the nicest man alive. He looked at you the way you’d been looking at him for months. Like you were the only person in the room, like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there. His thumb absentmindedly brushed against the back of your hand, still intertwined with his, as he took another small step closer until there was barely any space left between you. “I’ve…” He smiled to himself, almost embarrassed by what he was about to admit. “I’ve been dreaming about doing something all day after months of not seeing you.”
You tilted your head. “What?”
His eyes dropped, just for a second, to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. Your entire body forgot how to function. “…This.” Your heart lurched so violently you were convinced he had to hear it. It wasn’t beating anymore, it was galloping. Somewhere in the back of your mind you thought, completely irrationally, this is it. This is actually how you’re gonna die. You’re gonna drop dead if he kissed you.
He hesitated for only a heartbeat, giving you every opportunity to move away. Instead, you found yourself closing the last inch between you. His lips met yours softly, almost carefully, as though he’d imagined this moment so many times that he was afraid reality wouldn’t live up to it. But it did, it definitely did. The second you kissed him, every thought that had been racing through your head for the last two months simply… disappeared. There was no overthinking, no wondering if he liked you anymore, not trying to read between the lines of every text message or every smile. There was only him, his warm hands sliding from your cheeks to every part of your body until they settled on your waist. The man you’d spent months convincing yourself not to fall too hard for was kissing you back with the same certainty, pressing you against a bathroom door that couldn’t be open. Like he wanted nothing else to do that for the rest of his life.
When you finally pulled away, it was only enough to catch your breath before he smiled— that same shy smile you’d loved from the very beginning. You didn’t say much, you giggled into each others mouth, the sound echoing softly through the empty corridor, before he kissed you again. This one was slower and less hesitant. As though the first kiss had answered every question either of you had been too afraid to ask.
Your fingers found the front of his linen shirt almost without thinking, bunching the fabric lightly as he smiled against your lips. His hand romearirng around your body like he couldn’t push you any closer to him. “I think,” you whispered while he kissed your jaw, “we should— we should probably leave before someone catches us.”
“Probably.” Neither of you moved. “…Definitely.” Still neither of you moved. Seokjin laughed quietly. “I don’t really want to.”
“Neither do I.”
He bit down your neck and your hands sinked into his hair to push him a little so you could see his pretty face. You gave him little pecks on his big lips as his eyes narrowed, dark pupils looking at you brightly. But he still looked at you with that same soft expression he’d been wearing all afternoon.
“You should come back to the hotel with me.” Your stomach immediately filled with butterflies. He continued before you had the chance to answer. “You don’t have to leave tonight if you don’t want to.” His smile widened just a little. “Honestly… you should spend the night there.” He paused, looking almost amused by his own train of thought. “And the next hotel if you want.” You raised an eyebrow. “And the one after that.”
You couldn’t help laughing. “Jin…”
“I’m serious.” He kissed your lips again. “I like having you around.” He shrugged as though that explained everything. “I think I’d like having you around in every city.”
For a moment, you simply stared at him. If he kept talking like that, you really were going to end up following him across Europe and staying with him… well, forever. You forced yourself to recover just enough to tease him. “Hm…” You pretended to think about it. “I don’t know.”
He frowned slightly. “No? Too fast?”
“I think…” You smiled innocently. “you’d have to ask me on a date first.”
He looked genuinely confused. “…A date?” You hummed and for the first time he took a little step back to looked better at your face, hands still over your sides. There was a beat of silence before he blinked, really unsure. “I thought we were dating.”
You stared at him confused. “What?”
“I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking adorably uncertain. “We call each other every day.”
“I call all my friends.”
“We’ve been having dinner together.”
“With friends.”
“I walked you home.”
“I thought you liked to walk.”
“I really don’t.” He looked at you as though the conclusion was obvious. “I thought we’d been dating for weeks… Or, at least, I don’t know, seeing each other.”
You looked at him so deadpan your face almost froze. “Are you stupid?”
His expression softened into a grin. He took your hand again, squeezing it gently. “Okay, okay. My bad. Let me start again… Would you like to go on a date with me?”
You looked at him, at the man who had somehow turned months of stolen conversations and phone calls into the easiest love you’d ever known, even when distance could have been an end. So you just smiled so widely your cheeks already hurt.
He was actually really stupid. “I thought we already were in one.”
!! synopsis: almost everyone sees you as the innocent campus sweetheart, especially jake, your best friend of three years. he'd never believe you've done anything with anyone. but when your sexual past becomes a topic, jake defends you without hesitation. because you're just an innocent girl right?
!! a/n: this was supposed to be for jungwon oopsiess also first time releasing something in a bit gulp
To Jake, you were the campus sweetheart. The girl who brought homemade cookies, who helped freshmen find their classes. A teachers pet who always had the right answer and a soft smile to go with it.
And you let him believe it.
Because it was easier that way. Because if Jake Sim really saw you he'd either run away or never look at anyone else again.
You weren't sure which option scared you more.
You met in the library every Tuesday afternoon. Same table, same corner, same routine. You were already there when he walked in, and you felt that familiar flutter in your chest.
He dropped his bag on the floor, and you watched him settle into the chair across from you. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked tired but happy, that easy smile already on his face.
"Professor let us out early," he said, grinning.
"Lucky you."
"Lucky us." He leaned forward. "Now I get to spend extra time with my favorite person."
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. The usual performance.
"Your favorite person? What about Heeseung?"
"Heeseung doesn't bring me cookies."
"You only like me for my baking."
"And your cute personality." He grinned.
You laughed softly, the soft, sweet laugh you'd perfected. It made people think you were shy and made them want to protect you.
Jake fell for it every single time.
"You're studying already?" He peered at your notes. "Midterms aren't for another week."
"I like to be prepared."
"You're going to get a perfect score. You always do."
"It's not about perfect scores." You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's about understanding the material."
He chuckled then his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. "Hey, are you free this weekend? The boys are having a party, nothing crazy. Just people."
You tilted your head. "People?"
"Okay, lots of people. But it's at Jay's place, so it'll be chill. Well, as chill as Jay's place gets."
You considered it. You'd been to a handful of parties with Jake before, and you'd spent the night in the corner, sipping water and smiling politely while his friends tried to talk to you.
"Maybe," you said. "I'll think about it."
"Don't think too hard." He grinned. "You might hurt yourself."
You swatted his arm. He laughed.
And you watched the way his eyes crinkled, the way his whole face lit up and you thought about how easy it would be to tell him the truth.
But you didn't. Because whatever this was, was too much fun.
The party at Jay's house was on a Saturday night.
You wore something soft and innocent. A pale pink loose top that fell off one shoulder, jean skirts that were just tight enough to be cute but not too tight. Your hair was down, and you'd put on just enough makeup to look like you weren't wearing any.
You fitted the image of the innocent sweetheart so perfectly but deep down you were a girl who was anything but innocent.
The house was packed when you arrived. Music vibrated through the walls, and the smell of cheap beer and drunk students filled the place. You pushed through the crowd, smiling politely at people who recognized you, nodding at the ones who called out your name.
Y/N! Hey! You made it!
The sweetheart is here!
Where's your boyfriend?
You laughed at that one. Soft and shy. "Jake's not my boyfriend. We're just friends."
"Sure," the guy said, winking. "Whatever you say pretty."
You found Jake in the kitchen, surrounded by his friends. His head was thrown back laughing at something, his whole body relaxed in a way it never was around you. Around you he was careful and gentle. Like you might break.
It used to make you feel special. Now it just made you want to scream.
"Y/N!" He spotted you and crossed the room in quick strides. "You came."
"Told you I would." You smiled up at him. "You look nice."
He always did but tonight he'd made an effort dark baggy jeans, a fitted white shirt, his hair pushed back from his forehead. He also looked like he'd been drinking.
"You look nice too," he said. "You always look nice. But like. Tonight. You look really-" He stopped himself, clearing his throat. "Do you want a drink?"
"Water's fine."
"Of course it is." He grinned, reaching into the fridge. "Water for the sweetheart."
You watched him, your expression soft and eyes wide. The perfect picture of innocence. Jake's hand found the small of your back, a warm, possessive weight as he introduced you to yet another friend whose name you'd forget in seconds. You smiled, demure, your fingers curled around a glass of water that had long gone warm. You were the perfect picture of sweetness, his sweetheart, the girl who sipped water at a party full of cheap beer and bad decisions.
"I'm gonna grab another round with the guys," Jake leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You okay here?"
You nodded, your lashes fluttering. "I'm fine. I think I'm going to find the bathroom."
He kissed your temple, a soft gesture that made something in your chest tighten, though you weren't sure if it was guilt or amusement. "Don't wander off too far."
You gave him a delicate smile, the kind that made him melt and slipped through the crowd. The hallway to the bathroom was darker, the music muffled by the walls. You pushed the door open, but before you could step inside, a hand shot out, caging you against the wall.
"Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart."
Your heart didn't jump. You knew that voice, the voice that had haunted a handful of late nights a couple weeks ago.
Jeno. A knowing smirk curling his lips as he looked down at you. He was taller than you remembered, or maybe you just forgot how he towered.
"Jeno." You let his name roll off your tongue. "What are you doing here?"
"Same as you, probably." His eyes dipped down, tracing the short of your skirt and the way your chest rose and fell. "Looking for trouble."
You laughed, a soft breathy sound that wasn't quite innocent. "I'm not looking for anything."
"No?" He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours. He tilted his head, his gaze sharp. "Does he know what you look like when you're not playing the part?"
A shiver ran down your spine and he saw it. The way your breath hitched and he laughed. His hand slid to your waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of your hip.
"Been thinkin about you," he murmured, his mouth trailing down the column of your neck. "Thinking about that night. You remember?"
"Which one?" you whispered, your voice dipping into something husky, something that wasn't the sweet, water drinking girl Jake thought he knew. "You'll have to be more specific."
"Fucking brat." He nipped at your collarbone and you arched into him, a soft, approving hum escaping your lips.
You let him push you a little farther into the shadows, let his hands wander, let his mouth find yours. It was all heat and teeth and a quiet desperation. His tongue swept against your lower lip, and you bit down, just hard enough to make him groan.
"Still a menace," he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
You licked your lips, tasting him, tasting the lie you were about to tell. "Maybe," you said, tilting your head, all innocence and invitation. "Catch me later."
He grinned, a flash of white in the dim light. "Count on it."
And then he was gone back into the party, leaving you pressed against the wall, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You took a moment to compose yourself. You smoothed your skirt, ran your fingers through your hair, and checked your reflection in the tiny, cracked mirror by the bathroom door. Your eyes were bright, your lips a little swollen, your cheeks flushed.
You walked back to the living room, weaving through the crowd until you found Jake. When he saw you, his whole face softened.
"Hey, you okay?" He asked, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.
You leaned into him, letting your body sag against his like you were exhausted and overwhelmed. You pressed your face into his shoulder, and you could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat, so steady so trusting.
"Just a lot," you murmured, your voice muffled. "Can we go? I think I need some air this party is a lot for me."
His hand came up to stroke your hair, gentle, so fucking gentle. "Of course. Let's get you out of here."
He said his goodbyes, slapping backs and shaking hands, his arm never leaving your waist. You walked out into the cool night air, and he opened the car door for you, his eyes soft with concern.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, buckling his seatbelt.
You looked at him, the streetlights casting shadows across his earnest face. You smiled, slow and sweet, and reached across to squeeze his hand.
"I am now," you said. "Let's go."
And as he pulled away from the curb, you let your head fall back against the headrest, your lips curling into a secret, satisfied smile.
The warm morning air hit you as you walked across campus, your bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Jake walked beside you, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, rambling about something his professor said that made no sense. You nodded along, making the right sounds of interest, your mind still half asleep.
Then you saw him.
Jeno was leaning against the brick wall near the exit, his arms crossed, that lazy smirk already in place. His eyes found you instantly, dark and knowing, and your step faltered for just a fraction of a second.
"Hey, sweetheart," he called out, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. "Been looking for you, as always."
Jake's brow furrowed. He glanced between you and Jeno, his posture straightening. "You know him?"
Before you could answer, Jeno was there, too close, his voice dropping low. "Where were you last night? I waited."
You felt your stomach flip. "I left early," you said, keeping your voice even and your eyes innocent. "I wasn't feeling well."
"Bullshit." Jeno laughed. "You weren't feeling well, or you were feeling too good? Because I remember you feeling pretty damn good when we were-"
"Back up," Jake cut in, stepping between you and Jeno. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, almost like a warning. "She said she wasn't feeling well. Take the hint."
Jeno's eyes flicked to Jake, assessing him. A slow grin spread across his face. "Oh, this is him? The best friend?" He looked past Jake, straight at you. "You didn't tell him, did you? About us?"
Your heart hammered, but you kept your face soft, confused. "There's nothing to tell. We talked a few times. That's all."
"Talked?" Jeno's laugh was louder this time. "Is that what we call it now? Because I remember your mouth being pretty busy for just talking."
Jake tensed, his jaw clenching. "What are you talking about?"
"Jake, ignore him," you said quickly, reaching for his arm. "He's just trying to cause trouble. He's always been like this."
Jeno's eyes narrowed. "Always been like this? Baby, you used to love the way I am." He stepped closer, ignoring Jake entirely. "You gonna pretend last night didn't happen too? Or the other nights when-"
"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, your voice trembling just enough. You pressed closer to Jake, letting your fingers curl into his sleeve. "You're scaring me."
Jeno's smirk faltered. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes confusion, maybe even hurt. But then it was gone, replaced by cold amusement. "Right. Of course. You're so good at that, aren't you? Playing the victim."
"Get lost," Jake said, his voice hard. He stepped forward, putting himself fully between you and Jeno. "She said she doesn't know you. That's enough."
Jeno held up his hands, backing away slowly. His eyes never left yours. "Fine. But you can't run forever, sweetheart." He winked, a cruel, knowing gesture. "We both know you'll come back eventually."
He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some tune.
Jake stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he turned to you, his expression softening, concern replacing the anger. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"
You shook your head, letting your eyes well up just a little. "I don't know why he's like that. We barely even talked. He just... he won't leave me alone."
"Hey, hey." Jake pulled you into a hug, his arms warm and solid around you. "It's okay. He's gone. I'm not gonna let him bother you."
You buried your face in his chest, letting out a shaky breath. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Always," he murmured into your hair. "Come on, let's get you to class."
You walked together, your hand in his, your steps slow and careful. Jake kept glancing at you, checking, making sure you were okay.
"Oh, by the way," he said, breaking the silence. "I'm going out with the boys for dinner tonight. But I was thinking after, I could come over? Watch the new Toy Story with you?"
You looked up at him, your smile soft and grateful. "I'd like that."
"Cool." He grinned, squeezing your hand. "I'll bring snacks. The good popcorn."
"My favorite," you said, your voice sweet as honey.
You walked into the building together, and Jake held the door for you, his gaze warm and trusting. You stepped past him, and for just a second, over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Jeno across the quad. He was watching you still, arms crossed, that smirk firmly back in place.
You turned away, your smile never wavering. You let him watch. You knew exactly what you were doing.
The restaurant was buzzing, warm light spilling over the table where Jake sat with his friends. The whole crew, all of them crammed into a corner booth, drinks half empty.
Ni-ki was scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention to the conversation, when he suddenly burst out laughing. Like, full on wheezing, slapping the table, tears forming in his eyes kind of laughing.
"Bro, what the hell?" Jay asked, reaching over to smack his arm. "You good?"
Ni-ki couldn't even speak. He just shoved his phone across the table, pointing at the screen. "Look. Look at this idiot."
Sunghoon grabbed it first, his eyebrows shooting up. Then he started laughing too, shaking his head. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD."
"What? What is it?" Sunoo leaned over, and within seconds, he was cackling, covering his mouth.
Heeseung took the phone, read whatever was on it, and let out a low whistle. "Damn. Jeno's down bad."
Jake frowned, setting down his beer. "What about Jeno?"
"Your girl's got that man whipped," Ni-ki said, still giggling. "Look."
He passed the phone to Jake. It was Jeno's Instagram story a photo of him looking all love sick, texting someone, with the caption: "She left me on read again. Should I double text? Asking for a friend (it's me, I'm the friend)."
Jake stared at it for a second, then let out a weird laugh. "Wait, you think he's talking about-"
"Bro, who else would it be?" Jay laughed, grabbing the phone back. "Your girl's got him wrapped around her finger. It's actually kinda sad. Look at him bro he's a mess."
"Okay, but that's crazy," Sunghoon said, scrolling through more of Jeno's story. "Like, look. He's posting thirst traps now, because she didn't reply."
Ni-ki was wheezing again. "Bro is on his hands and knees for her. Literally posted a black screen with 'come back' in the lyrics of some sad song."
"He's got it baaaad," Sunoo added, wiping his eyes.
Jake was quiet, but he was smiling, a little confused. "I mean... she's sweet, but she's not like... she's not that type of person to entertain him. He's such a fuck boy and well she's innocent, she's never even-"
"Wait, wait, wait." Jay held up a hand, choking on his drink. "Did you just say innocent?"
"Yeah?" Jake blinked. "She's shy. She's not into all that stuff. She told me-"
"Bro." Heeseung leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. "Are you serious right now?"
"What do you mean?"
Ni-ki was still scrolling on his phone while laughing. "Okay, okay. Let me tell you something. Do you know Yeonjun? Basketball guy?"
"The star player? Yeah, I know him. What about him?"
"You know the championship game last semester? The one where he went crazy and dropped like 40 points?"
Jake nodded slowly.
Ni-ki was barely containing himself. "Apparently, your sweet, innocent girl gave him a little pre game 'motivation' in the locker room. If you know what I mean."
Jake stared at him. "What?"
"Like," Sunghoon made a gesture with his hand near his mouth, "you know. The good luck kind."
"Bullshit," Jake said immediately. "She would never."
"Oh, she would." Heeseung was laughing now too. "And she did. The whole team was talking about it. Walked out with her lipgloss smeared and everything. He played like a god that night."
"There's no way-" Jake started, but Jungwon cut him off.
"Okay, okay, but that's just the start. You guys heard about the threesome rumor, right?"
"The WHAT?" Jake's voice cracked.
Sunghoon was wheezing now. "Oh my god, yes I have. Bro, there was a rumor going around last year that she-"
"Okay, I don't think it was confirmed," Jay interrupted, still grinning. "But people were saying she had a thing with two guys from the soccer team. At the same time. In the equipment room."
"THAT'S NOT REAL." Jake's face was red now, his eyes wide. "That's literally not real. She wouldn't- she's not like that."
"She literally gave good luck head to a basketball player," Ni-ki said flatly. "In a locker room. Before a game. With other guys in there."
"I could've sworn she told me she was studying that night!" Jake yelled, throwing his hands up.
His friends all looked at each other for a second. Then they burst out laughing again.
"Bro..." Sunghoon shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. "I hate to break it to you, but your girl is far from innocent."
"She's literally got Jeno begging and Jeno never begs," Heeseung added. "And you're over here thinking she's never been touched? She's been touched, man. By a lot of people probably."
"And you think she's shy," Sunghoon added, snickering. "She's got three different guys on the line and you think she's shy."
"That is crazy," Ni-ki laughed even more seeing Jeno post a picture of you and him cuddled up with a corny caption in attempts to get you back. "Bro is literally the backup option and he doesn't even know."
"I am not the backup option," Jake snapped. But even as he said it, his voice wavered.
They all stared at him for a second.
Then Heeseung lost it. "Oh my god. You are the backup option!"
"NAH, HE'S THE SAFETY NET," Jay shouted, cackling.
"The nice guy," Jungwon added. "The one who takes her to dinner and walks her to class while Jeno gets the late night texts."
"This is the funniest thing I've ever heard," Ni-ki wheezed, slamming his hand on the table. "Bro thought she was saving herself for him!"
"Guys, she literally has Jeno posting love songs for her at 1 AM," Sunghoon snorted. "And she's probably still responding to him. While you're over here playing Toy Story with her."
Jake's face was burning. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched under the table. "Okay. That's enough."
But they couldn't stop laughing.
"This is insane," Heeseung said, shaking his head. "You were out here thinking she's this innocent little angel while she's got damn near the whole campus on speed dial."
"I'm leaving," Jake muttered, pushing back from the table.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Ni-ki called after him. "Bro, don't be mad. It's just funny! She's got you both wrapped around her finger and you don't even know."
Jake grabbed his jacket, his face of embarrassment. "I'm not wrapped around anyone's finger."
"Sure you're not," Jay called after him, still laughing. "That's why you lend her your sweaters and she wears them while making out with Jeno!"
"SHUT UP!" Jake yelled back, but his friends just howled with laughter as he stormed out of the restaurant.
The cool night air hit his face. He stood there on the sidewalk, breathing hard, his phone feeling heavy in his pocket.
He pulled it out. Your message was still there, sitting pretty: "Can't wait to watch Toy Story with you tonight. You're the best <3"
He stared at it for a long moment.
And then, despite everything, despite all of it, he laughed. A dry, humorless, disbelieving laugh.
He was literally the backup option. The nice guy. The one you watched Disney movies with while you're out there doing all that.
He shoved his phone and started walking to your place despite his head and heart racing.
The door clicked shut behind Jake, and you were already there, all soft smiles and warm eyes, your hair falling in gentle waves around your shoulders. You were wearing one of his hoodies and you looked so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that something twisted painfully in his chest.
"Hey, you're early!" you said, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. "I was just getting the popcorn ready. Toy Story's all queued up."
He didn't hug you back. His hands stayed at his sides, stiff and unmoving.
You pulled back, your brow furrowing. "Jake? What's wrong? You seem off."
He walked past you into the living room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.
"Jake, you're scaring me," you said softly, coming up behind him. "Talk to me."
He turned around slowly, his eyes searching your face. "My friends told me some things tonight."
"Okay?" You tilted your head, that perfect confused expression on your face. "What kind of things?"
"About you." His voice was tight. "About Jeno. About... a lot of stuff."
Your face didn't change. Not even a flicker. "Jake, I already told you. Jeno's obsessed with me. He's been spreading lies-"
"They weren't lies." His voice cracked. "They showed me his story. The picture of you. On top of him. Wearing my hoodie."
You went very still.
"They told me about Yeonjun too," he continued, his voice getting stronger, harder. "The basketball player. The locker room. Before the championship game." He laughed bitterly. "And I was sitting there telling them you were innocent. That you'd never been with anyone. That you were shy and sweet and-"
"Jake-"
"And then Sunghoon mentioned the soccer players," he cut in, his eyes burning. "The threesome rumor. And I didn't want to believe it. I thought they were messing with me.
You opened your mouth, but he kept going.
"They were laughing at me, you know. All of them. Because I was sitting there defending you like an idiot. Ni-ki was literally crying he was laughing so hard. Saying I was the backup option. The safety net. A nice guy who takes you to dinner and watches Disney movies while everyone else gets-" He stopped, his voice breaking.
Your face had gone pale, but you recovered quickly. You stepped closer, reaching for him.
"Jake, listen to me-"
"Why did you lie to me?" His voice was quiet now, raw. "Why did you make me believe you were someone you're not?"
"Because I was scared." you said, your voice trembling. "Jake, I was so scared. I knew what you thought of me. You looked at me like I was this... this pure, good person. And I wanted to be that for you. I wanted to be the girl you thought I was."
"But you weren't."
"I know, and I hated myself for it. Every time you looked at me with those eyes, like I was something special, I felt so guilty. Because I knew I didn't deserve it.
He stared at you, his expression unreadable.
"But I wasn't pretending about you," you continued, your voice breaking. "I wasn't pretending about how I feel. You're the only one who's ever made me feel like I mattered. Like I was worth something. All those other guys? They were nothing. They were distractions. But you-" You reached up and cupped his face. "You're everything, Jake. You're the only thing that's ever felt real."
He didn't pull away. He stood there, frozen, his heart warring with his head.
"I don't care about Jeno," you whispered, your thumb stroking his cheek. "I never cared about him. He was just someone to pass the time. But you? You're the one I think about when I can't sleep, the one I want to come home to. You're the one who actually sees me."
"I don't even know who you are anymore," he said, but his voice was weaker now.
"Yes, you do." You pressed closer, your bodies almost touching. "You know me better than anyone. You know I make bad choices because I don't think I deserve good things. But when I'm with you, I feel like maybe I could deserve them. Like maybe I could be better."
His hands came up, hesitantly, to rest on your waist.
"I was so scared you'd leave if you found out," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I couldn't handle that. I can't lose you, Jake. You're all I have."
He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can trust you."
"Then let me prove it." You rose on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.
He didn't respond at first. He just stood there, stiff and uncertain. But you didn't give up. You kissed him softly, gently, your fingers threading into his hair, your body pressing against his.
"Please," you murmured against his lips. "Please don't leave me. I can't- I can't do this without you."
"Baby..." His voice cracked.
"Let me make it better," you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Let me make you forget all of it. Everything they told you. Everything you saw. Just let me show you how much you mean to me."
"I don't know-"
"Shh." You pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't think just feel."
You kissed him again, deeper this time, your tongue tracing his lower lip. His hands tightened on your waist, and you felt the tension in his body start to ease.
"Jake," you breathed against his mouth. "I only want you. I've always only wanted you."
He let out a shaky breath. "You mean that?"
"I mean it with my whole heart." You pulled back, looking up at him with those big, wide eyes. "I know I messed up. I know I lied. But I'll spend as long as it takes making it up to you. Just please don't leave."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then slowly, his hands slid up your back pulling you closer.
"I'm so stupid," he muttered.
"No." You shook your head, pressing another kiss to his jaw. "You're not stupid. You're kind, and sweet. You're everything I don't deserve."
"Stop saying that."
"It's true." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "But I want to try. I want to be the girl you think I am."
He cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up. His eyes searched yours, looking for something. Whatever he found, it must have been enough, because he let out a long shaky breath.
"God, I'm so whipped," he muttered.
You let out a soft laugh, pressing your forehead to his. "Good. Because I'm whipped for you too."
And then his mouth was on yours, hungry and desperate, all his doubts and fears melting away. You walked him backward until his knees hit the couch, and he fell back, pulling you down with him.
You straddled his lap, settling comfortably against him, your hands resting on his chest. His hands gripped your thighs, his breathing uneven.
"Let me make you forget," you whispered, leaning down to kiss his neck. "Let me be the only thing you think about."
"You already are," he breathed. "You always have been."
You smiled against his skin, your fingers working at the buttons of his top.
"Good," you murmured. "Then let me show you what you've been missing."
Jake's hands were already pressing into the warm skin of your waist. You could feel him hard beneath you, his breath coming faster as you grind down against him.
"You gonna take care of me?" he asked, voice rough, hands sliding up your back.
"Mmhm," you hummed against his neck, kissing a slow path up to his ear. "But you gotta tell me what you want. I don't know anything, Jake. You gotta show me."
He let out a breathy laugh, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're so full of shit."
"Am I?" You pulled back, looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes. "I'm just a sweet innocent girl who never did anything with anyone. Remember? Never slept with Jeno, never gave Yeonjun good luck head, and never ever did I have a threesome. You told your friends that. You told everyone that."
His jaw tightened. He flipped you over so fast you gasped, your back hitting the couch, his body caging you in.
"You wanna play that game?" His voice dropped low, dangerous. "Fine. Let's play."
He yanked the hoodie up over your head, tossing it aside. Your chest was bare underneath, and his eyes darkened immediately.
"Look at you," he muttered, his thumb brushing over your nipple. "You been hiding these under my hoodie this whole time?"
You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Jake..."
"Shh." He leaned down, his mouth hovering over your nipple. "I'm showing you, remember? Since you don't know anything."
His tongue circled your nipple slowly, teasingly, before he took it into his mouth and sucked hard. You cried out, your fingers gripping and tugging his hair.
"Fuck," he breathed, pulling back to look at the wet mess he made all over your chest. "So perfect. I've been thinking about these for months. Dreaming about them. And you just let me walk around like an idiot while you were letting everyone else-"
"Jake, please-"
"Please what?" He pinched your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. "Please stop? Please keep going? Use your words, baby. Since you're so innocent."
"That's more like it." He lowered his head again, switching sides, his mouth hot. His hand traveled down your stomach, slipping past the waistband of your shorts.
"So wet," he murmured against your skin. "For someone who doesn't know anything, you're pretty good at soaking through your panties."
His fingers found your clit, circling slowly, and you bucked against his hand.
"That's it," he coaxed. "Show me what you like."
You rolled your hips, chasing his fingers, your head thrown back. "More, Jake. Please. I need-"
"You need what?"
"You. I need you inside me. Please."
He pulled his hand away, and you whined at the loss. But then he was standing, pulling you up with him, his eyes dark and hungry.
"Bedroom. Now."
You stumbled down the hall, his hand on your ass, pushing you forward. The second you reached the bed, he had you face down on the mattress, your shorts and panties ripped down your legs.
"Look at that," he breathed, his palm smoothing over your ass. "All mine. You know how long I've wanted this? How many nights I've laid awake thinking about bending you over."
He smacked your ass hard, and you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure jolting through you.
"Count," he commanded.
"One," you gasped.
He spanked you again, the sound echoing in the room.
"Two!"
Another. Harder.
"Three!"
"Good girl." His hand soothed over the reddened skin. "See? You can follow instructions when you want to."
You heard the rustle of his jeans, the sound of his belt unbuckling. Then the mattress dipped, and his body was behind you, his chest pressing against your back.
"You want this?" he asked, his lips at your ear, his cock pressing against your wet folds. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes," you breathed. "Please, Jake. I need it."
"Need what? Say it."
"I need your cock. Please. I need you to fill me up."
He pushed inside you in one smooth stroke, and you both moaned. He was thick, stretching you, and you gripped the sheets as he bottomed out.
"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "So tight. Fuck, baby. You feel so good."
He pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, and the sound you made was almost inhuman.
"That's it," he grunted, setting a brutal pace. "That's my good girl. Taking it so well."
His hand snaked around your front, finding your clit, circling in time with his thrusts. You were already close, the pressure building.
"Please don't stop," you begged. "Please, I'm gonna-"
"Cum for me," he commanded. "Cum on my cock."
And you did, with a cry of his name, your walls clenching around him. He didn't slow down, fucking you through it, chasing his own release.
"Jake," you whimpered as he kept going, overstimulated but not wanting him to stop. "Jake, it's too much-"
"One more," he moaned. "You can give me one more."
He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back. Before you could protest, his head was between your thighs, his mouth on you.
"ohh-" You jolted, your hands fisting in his hair. "Jake!"
He was relentless, his tongue lapping at your folds, his lips sucking your clit. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body.
"Taste so sweet," he murmured. "Could eat you all fucking night."
And he did. He worked you with his mouth until you were an absolute wreck, until your thighs were shaking, until you came again with a broken sob, your hips bucking against his face.
He pulled back, his chin glistening, and kissed his way up your body.
"One more," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need one more, baby. Can you do that for me?"
"I don't- I can't-"
"Yes you can." He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his lips. "You're gonna take it. All of it."
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, but before he could even unlock it, it started buzzing in his hand. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening slightly.
"It's Heeseung," he muttered, looking at you with an unreadable expression. "They're probably checking on me. Making sure I didn't do something stupid."
He answered the call, bringing the phone to his ear, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah?"
You could hear the muffled sound of voices on the other end, laughter in the background.
"Bro, you good?" Heeseung's voice crackled through. "You stormed out so fast. We were getting worried."
"I'm fine," Jake said, his voice steady, calm. "I'm at her place."
"Oh shit, really?" Jay said, yelling in the background. "Did you confront her? What happened? Is she crying? Did you-"
You watched him, a slow smile curling on your lips. He was so composed, so in control. It was almost cute.
You shifted on the bed, crawling toward him on your hands and knees. His eyes flickered to you, a warning in them, but you just tilted your head innocently.
"Jake? You still there?" Sunghoon's voice came through.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm here."
You reached out, your fingers trailing up his thigh. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
"Okay, well, we just wanted to make sure you were okay," Heeseung said. "You seemed pretty wrecked earlier."
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. His hand came up, trying to push you away gently, but you just smiled against his skin.
"Bro, you sound weird," Ni-ki's voice chimed in. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, just tired." Jake's voice was strained now, his jaw clenched. "Listen, I gotta go. We'll catch up tomorrow."
"Wait, wait, wait-"
But you were already sliding down his body, your fingers wrapping around his cock. Jake's hand shot out, grabbing your shoulder, trying to push you back.
"Behave," he hissed under his breath, his eyes wide.
You just grinned up at him, all innocence, and lowered your mouth to him.
Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his hand flying to his mouth to muffle the sound.
"Jake? Hello?" Sunoo's voice piped through. "You still there?"
"Y-yeah," he managed, his voice cracking. "I'm here."
You took him deeper, your tongue swirling, and his hips bucked involuntarily. He gripped the sheets, his knuckles white.
"Just... just tired," Jake choked out. "Long night."
You hummed around him, a soft, satisfied sound, and he nearly dropped the phone.
"Okayyyy," Jay said. "Well, we'll let you go. But seriously, if you need to talk about what happened-"
"Don't need to talk," Jake cut in, his voice strained. "I'm good. Everything's good. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Alright, bro. Take care."
"Bye."
He hung up and threw the phone onto the bed, his head falling back as a groan escaped his lips.
"What the fuck," he breathed, his hand coming down to grip your hair. "You're insane you know that?"
You pulled off just long enough to look up at him, your lips swollen, your eyes wide. "I just wanted to help you relax. You seemed so tense."
"Tense," he repeated, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. "You're going to be the death of me."
You smiled and took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, your hand working what your mouth couldn't reach. His hips bucked again, his fingers tightening in your hair.
"That's it," he groaned, his voice dropping lower. "You want everyone to know what a slut you are? Huh? You want them to hear?"
You moaned around him, loud and deliberate, your eyes fluttering closed.
"Fuck," he hissed. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You want them to know. You want everyone to know exactly what you are."
You pulled off again, a string of saliva connecting you to him. "Maybe," you whispered, your voice husky. "Maybe I want them to know who I really belong to."
He grabbed his phone unlocking it, his thumb swiping to the camera. He held it up, angling it so it captured you perfectly on your knees. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and your hair tangled in his fist.
"Open your mouth," he commanded.
You obeyed instantly, your tongue darting out.
"Good girl." He smirked, pressing the record button. "Now show me what you do best."
You took him into your mouth, your eyes locked on the camera, a practiced, hungry look on your face. He let out a low groan, his free hand tightening in your hair.
"That's it," he breathed. "Look at you. So desperate for it. So hungry."
You moaned around him, your throat working as you took him deeper.
"Fuck," he gasped, his hips starting to thrust. "You love this, don't you? Love being on your knees for me."
You hummed in agreement, your hands gripping his thighs, pulling him closer.
"God, you're so good at this," he panted, the phone shaking slightly in his hand. "Look at you. Look at how well you take it."
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard, and his head fell back with a broken moan.
The room was thick with heat, sounds of your ragged breathing and the slick, wet noises that filled the space between you. Jake had you positioned just how he wanted. On your knees, your lips stretched around him as he fucked your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained. "Eyes on me."
You obeyed, looking up at him through your lashes, tears streaking your cheeks, saliva dripping down your chin. The sight of you like this, all wrecked, desperate, utterly his made his head spin.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice tight. "You want it? Want me to-"
You nodded frantically, your eyes begging, and he let out a strangled cry as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed everything, your eyes never leaving his, and when you pulled off, you licked your lips clean.
He pulled you up onto the bed, pushing you onto your back. "Open up," he said, and you obeyed immediately, your mouth falling open. He stroked himself a few times, then painted your lips, your cheeks, your chin with thick ropes of white. He moved lower, aiming for your chest, letting it drip down onto your tits, watching it pool in the hollow of your collarbone.
"Fuck," he breathed, his chest heaving. "Look at you. Look at what you let me do to you."
You were a mess with his cum splattered across you, dripping down your neck, pooling on your skin. And you loved every second of it.
He reached for his phone. "Don't move," he said. "I need to remember this."
He snapped a few photos of your ruined face, messy chest, the way you looked up at him like he was the only person in the world. His thumb swiped through the gallery, admiring his work.
You watched him, your heart racing. "Who are you gonna send those to?"
Jake glanced at you, his brow furrowing. "Huh? No one. They're for me. I was just gonna keep them."
You sat up slowly, letting the sheets fall away from your body. You reached out, trailing a finger down his chest. "Really? Just for you?"
"Yeah." He shrugged, setting the phone down. "Why? You want me to-"
"Maybe." You bit your lip, looking up at him through those innocent eyes that he knew by now were anything but innocent. "I want everyone to know who I belong to. Wouldn't want them to think I still belong to Jeno."
Something dark flickered in Jake's eyes. "Such a whore. You want everyone to see you like this? Want the attention?"
"Maybe," you repeated, your voice dropping to something low and sultry. "I want everyone to know I'm yours. Not his. Not anyone else's."
He swallowed hard, his cock twitching at your words.
"You want me to send it to the group chat?" he asked, his voice rough. "The boys? Want them all to see what you look like when you're being Jake's good girl?"
You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Send it," you whispered. "Show them. I don't care. I just want them to know. I want everyone to know that I'm yours and only yours."
He pulled back, searching your face. "You're serious?"
"I've never been more serious about anything." You reached for his phone, pressing it into his hand.
He opened the group chat, the one with his six friends from the dinner. His thumb hovered over the screen.
"This is crazy," he muttered. "They are hornballs they're probably gonna-"
"Send it," you urged, your voice a low purr. "Don't you want them to see what you do to me? Don't you want them to know I'm yours?"
He selected the photos, your ruined face, messy chest, and desperate eyes. His thumb hit send.
"There," he said, tossing the phone aside. "Now they know exactly who you belong to."
You pulled him down into another kiss, your arms wrapping around him. "Good," you whispered against his lips. "Because I was always yours."
His phone started blowing up on the nightstand notifications piling up one after another. Jake reached for it, but you grabbed his hand, threading your fingers through his.
"Leave it," you murmured. "Focus on me."
He looked at you messy, ruined, beautiful and something possessive flared in his chest. He forgot about the phone, forgot about the boys, forgot about everything except the girl in front of him.
"Yeah," he breathed, leaning down to kiss your neck. "Yeah, okay. Just you."
The phone kept buzzing, but neither of you cared.
You positioned yourself on top of him, your hands resting gently on his chest. The weight of you settled against his thighs, and you could feel him beneath you, still hard and ready. But you didn't rush. You took your time, letting the moment stretch, letting him watch you.
"Hey," you whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Look at me."
His eyes found yours, hazy and warm, full of something that made your chest ache. You kissed him again, slow and deep, your tongue sweeping against his in a lazy rhythm.
"I've got you," you murmured against his mouth. "Just relax."
You reached down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. The tip pressed against you, and you let out a soft breath, your forehead falling against his.
"Ready?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, princess. I'm ready."
You sank down onto him, inch by inch. Your mouth fell open, a quiet moan escaping your lips as he filled you. His hands came up to grip your hips, but he didn't push or pull. He just held on, his thumbs stroking gentle circles against your skin.
"Fuck," he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. "You feel..."
"Good?" you finished, a soft smile playing on your lips.
"Incredible," he corrected.
You stayed still for a moment, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of him inside you. Your hands cupped his face, tilting his head up so you could look into his eyes.
"You're so beautiful," you whispered, and you meant it. In this moment, with his lips parted and his hair sticking to him, he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.
He let out a shaky laugh. "You're the one who's beautiful."
You shook your head, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "No, it's you. It's always been you."
And then you started to move.
Slow at first, your hips rolling in a gentle, circular motion. You rose up and sank back down, letting him feel every inch of you. His hands slid to your waist supporting you.
"Jake," you breathed, and his name on your lips made his eyes flutter shut.
"I'm right here," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."
You kept your pace slow, unhurried, savoring every moment. Your bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm, like you'd done this a thousand times before.
You leaned down, pressing your lips to his neck, trailing soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He turned his head, catching your lips in a sweet soft kiss.
"This is..." he started, but he couldn't finish.
"I know," you whispered against his lips. "I know."
You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his breath caught with every movement.
"Don't stop," he breathed. "Please love don't stop."
"I won't," you promised. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
You could feel yourself getting close, the warmth building low in your belly. Your movements became a little more urgent, a little more desperate, but still slow.
"Jake," you gasped. "I'm close."
"Me too," he managed. "Together. I want to feel you cum with me."
You nodded, your forehead pressed to his. "Okay. Together."
And then it hit you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you. You cried out, his name a broken whisper on your lips. You felt him follow, felt his hips buck up into you as he came, a groan escaping his throat.
You collapsed against him, your bodies tangled together, both of you trembling and breathless. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
"Stay with me," he murmured into your hair. "Just stay here. Please."
You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "I'm not going anywhere."
He tilted your chin up, catching your lips in a soft, tender kiss. Then another. And another. Each one softer than the last, each one saying everything words couldn't.
Then he laughed, a disbelieving, breathless sound.
"What?" you asked, propping yourself to look at him.
"I was so mad at you," he said, shaking his head. "And then you-" He gestured vaguely. "And now I barely even remember what I was mad about."
You smiled, innocent as ever. "That was the point."
He pulled you down, kissing you softly.
"I love you," he murmured against your lips. "I know I shouldn't. I know you're probably gonna destroy me. But I love you."
You kissed him back, your fingers carding through his hair.
"I love you too," you whispered. "And I'm never going to hurt you, Jake. You're mine. And I take care of what's mine."
—𝑶𝑹 𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑵 you walk into a tattoo shop drunk just to prove a point, and walk out with the best thing to ever happen to you. Except he’s hiding something. And between the secrets and your stalker classmate closing in, you get it twisted before you get it right.
playlist… hanging out to dry — florence road // vampire — dominic fike // addicted — lovelace // fallen star — the neighbourhood // real people — hozier // nothing’s gonna hurt you baby — cigarettes after sex
pepa speaks!! hii so this is my first time writing a fic and I’ve been working on this for like a longgg time and decided to post bc I’m a bit nervous LOL uhm so yeah there will be a part 2 btw and also my taglist is open! pls enjoy and I’d really appreciate likes and reblogs 🤭💐
The thing about a girls’ night with Ria was that it always ended somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. The club had been Hana’s idea. The fourth round of shots had been Soo’s.
The part where all four of you ended up on the pavement at eleven-forty-five, heels in hand, looking at a tattoo shop with a red light glowing in the window like it was personally inviting you in — that had been Ria. “We’re going in,” she said.
“We are not going in,” Soo said.
“It says open.” Ria pointed at the sign. Studio 13. Like that settled it.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“They put the sign out.”
“Ria—” But you were already looking at the door and thinking why not, which was the alcohol talking, and also you were cold and your feet hurt and the red light looked warm from out here on the pavement. “I want a piercing,” you said.
Ria grabbed your hand. “She wants a piercing.” Soo looked at the sky. Hana was already moving toward the door.
The club outfit had been Ria’s fault entirely. The top was small — that was the only word for it, small and black and doing everything a top could reasonably be asked to do. The skirt wasn’t much better. You’d spent the whole night at the club feeling like the main character, which was the intended effect, and the cold air outside had done nothing to make you feel less exposed.
You pushed the door open and the warmth hit you first. Then the smell — ink, clean soap, something faintly chemical underneath it. Black walls covered in flash art. Low red lighting that made the whole place feel like a deliberate secret. Something slow playing from speakers you couldn’t locate.
Two guys inside. One in the back with his head down over a drawing tablet. One at the front counter. The one at the front counter looked up.
He was tall even on the stool, long legs stretched out in front of him, forearms resting on the desk like he owned the surface and everything past it. Full sleeve on his left arm. Silver rings on most of his fingers. Dark hair pushed back slightly. One earring. The kind of face that got you in trouble if you looked at it for too long — sharp jaw, dark eyes, a mouth that was currently sitting in the very early stages of a smirk.
He took in all four of you in about two seconds. Then his eyes found you and the smirk finished forming. “We’re open,” he said. “Barely.”
Ria and Hana peeled off toward the flash wall immediately. Soo planted herself near the door with her arms folded. Which left you walking up to the front counter alone, bare legs, tiny skirt, heels clicking on the concrete floor.
You watched him watch you walk over. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t watching. Didn’t do the polite thing where you glance away and back. He just watched, easy and unhurried, the way someone looks at something they find genuinely worth looking at, and when you got to the counter and leaned on it his eyes moved — slowly, and with complete lack of apology — from your face down to your chest and back up again. Held eye contact like nothing had happened. You’d been looked at before. This was different. This was a man who had decided he wasn’t going to pretend. “Hi,” you said.
“Hi.” His voice was low. Even. The smirk hadn’t moved. “Can I help you?”
“I want a piercing.”
“Yeah?” He leaned back on the stool, arms folding across his chest, the sleeve shifting with the movement. His rings caught the red light. “What are you thinking?”
“Tragus.” You reached up and tapped the outer ridge of your ear, which meant your arm lifted and your top shifted and you watched his eyes drop again, briefly, before they came back to yours like he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about it. “I’ve been putting it off. I’m in a decisive mood.”
“Decisive,” he said.
“Very.”
“I can see that.” He said it like it meant something else. Then: “How much have you had tonight?”
“Enough to be excellent company.”
He looked at you. Really looked — quiet and thorough, taking in your face, the flush across your chest, the way you were leaning on his counter in that top — and then his tongue pressed briefly against his cheek like he was trying not to smile properly. “Can’t pierce you with alcohol in your system, baby.”
Baby. Like he’d been calling you that for years. Like it was already established. “That’s a rule?” you said.
“That’s the rule.”
You leaned further onto the counter, closing some of the distance between you. His eyes went exactly where you expected them to go and stayed there for a beat longer than was professional before dragging back up. His expression didn’t change. He was completely comfortable with being caught, which was — honestly — impressive. “What if I promised to be very good?” you said.
“I’m sure you would be.” His voice was smooth, unhurried. “Still no.”
“What if—”
“You can come back tomorrow,” he said. “Sober. I’ll pierce your tragus.” A pause, his eyes dropping once more, quick and deliberate, before landing back on yours. “Or whatever else you want.”
The air between you did something. “That sounds like more than a professional offer,” you said.
“I’m a professional.” The smirk was fully settled now. “The offer’s professional. What you do with it is up to you.”
You held his gaze. He held yours back without any effort at all, completely at ease, like this was just how Tuesday night went for him. It was annoying. It was also working. “I don’t know where this place is sober,” you said.
He was already reaching under the counter. He slid a card across the desk with two fingers — didn’t look down to do it, kept his eyes on you the whole time. STUDIO 13. NISHIMURA RIKI. PIERCING.
You picked it up. “Your personal card,” you said.
“Goes straight to me.”
“Bold.”
“Efficient,” he said.
You looked at the card. Then at him. “I’m Y/N.” His eyes went down again — unhurried, completely unapologetic, a slow look that started at your face and made its way south before coming back up — and then he said, “Y/N,” like he was just trying the name out. Like he’d be using it again. “You gonna remember that?” you said.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’m going to remember that.”
The way he said it made it about more than your name. Behind you, Ria made a noise she covered poorly with a fake cough. You didn’t turn around. “Come back sober,” Riki said. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I’m going to do it.” He picked his phone back up, easy as anything, like the conversation was filed away now and he was done performing — except the smirk stayed. “Get home safe, Y/N.” Dismissed. Warmly, cockily, with complete confidence that you’d be back.
You picked up the card, slid it into your bag, and let Soo steer you to the door because your own legs had made a decision to co-operate with his energy and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Outside Ria grabbed your arm with both hands. “Y/N. The way he looked at you—”
“Ria.”
“He looked at your tits like—”
“Ria.” Hana was fanning herself. Even Soo was quiet, which was its own verdict. The Uber was three minutes away and you looked at your phone and felt your face doing something warm that you were crediting entirely to the alcohol.
Inside, Heeseung finally looked up from his drawing tablet. He’d watched the whole thing. Ten feet away. Nobody had noticed. He looked at Riki.
Riki had his phone in his hand but he was looking at the door — at the space where you’d just been standing in that top, leaning on his counter, letting him look — with an expression Heeseung couldn’t quite name. Something had landed and settled behind his eyes.
“Who was that?” Heeseung said.
Riki looked down at his phone. “Some hot girl.”
“Some hot girl,” Heeseung repeated.
“Wanted a tragus piercing.”
“Uh huh.” Heeseung looked at the counter. At the space where Riki’s personal card had been sitting ten minutes ago, now somewhere in your bag on the way home. “You give clients your personal card often?”
Riki said nothing. Heeseung looked back at his tablet. “Right,” he said quietly, and said nothing else.
Three weeks later you were standing outside Studio 13 again and this time you were completely, annoyingly sober. “I don’t know why I’m here,” you said.
“Because Riki said come back sober and you kept his card for three weeks,” Ria said, pushing the door open.
“I kept it by accident.”
“In your purse.”
“That’s where cards go.”
“You don’t keep any other cards in your purse, Y/N. I’ve seen your purse. It’s a graveyard of receipts and one lip liner.” You followed her inside because the alternative was standing on the pavement arguing with her and you’d already lost this argument six times on the way over.
Ria had a tattoo appointment. That was the reason you were here. You were just here for moral support. You were going to sit in a chair and look at your phone and not think about the guy who had looked at you like that and said I’ll take care of you with complete sincerity and a smirk that should have been annoying.
The door swung shut behind you. Same as before — black walls, flash art, red light, the slow dark playlist. A different energy in the daytime though, busier, more lived-in. Jay was at the side counter doing something with ink caps, talking loudly to no one in particular. Jake was sweeping near the back. Heeseung was visible through the half-open door of the back room, head down, working.
No one at the front desk. You relaxed slightly. Ria was already at the counter, checking in for her appointment, and you drifted toward the flash wall and started looking at the art because it was genuinely good and also because you needed something to do with your eyes.
You heard the door from the back open. Heard footsteps. Heard someone say, “Riki, someone’s here—” You turned around because you were a person with normal human reflexes and not because your body had already clocked the name.
Riki came through the back door with a pair of gloves half-on, looking down at the appointment book, and then he looked up.
He saw Ria first. Then his eyes moved — one smooth, unhurried slide — and found you standing by the flash wall in your jeans and your jacket looking like someone who was absolutely only here for moral support. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” you said. There was a pause that lasted slightly too long for two people who didn’t know each other.
“You came back,” he said.
“Ria has an appointment.”
“Right.” He looked at you. “And you’re just here for Ria.”
“Correct.”
“Nothing to do with the card.”
“I forgot I even had it.”
“Uh huh.” He pulled the second glove on, still looking at you, and the smirk had settled into something warmer now — less performance, more genuinely pleased. “How’s the tragus feeling? Still decisive?”
Ria made a sound from the counter that she turned into a cough. You didn’t look at her. “I’m considering my options,” you said.
“Good answer.” He turned to Ria, professional now, easy switch. “Ria, yeah? Heeseung’s got you, he’s just finishing up. Five minutes.”
“Perfect,” Ria said, and then immediately looked at you with an expression that meant she was storing everything and you would be debriefed extensively later.
Riki came around the counter. Didn’t go back to the desk — came and stood near the flash wall, close enough to talk, far enough to be plausibly looking at the art. “You look different,” he said.
“I’m sober.”
“That’s probably it.” His eyes did the thing — a brief, easy drop and return, taking in the jacket, the jeans, the way you were standing — and then he was looking at your face again like that was just how he operated. Open about it. Unbothered. “Still good though.”
“You’re very confident,” you said.
“I’m accurate,” he said. You looked at Riki. He looked back. This close you could see the bar through his tongue properly — silver, subtle when his mouth was closed, noticeable when he talked — and the ring in his ear and the way his rings shifted when he crossed his arms.
“So,” he said. “You actually want the piercing or did you come all the way here just to tell me you forgot my card existed?”
“I could still want the piercing.”
“You could.” He tilted his head slightly. “Do you?”
You held out for three more seconds. Then: “Yeah.”
His smile did the thing again — the slow, settled version, the one that looked like satisfaction and something warmer underneath it. “On the house,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He was already moving back toward the piercing station, unhurried, like it was decided. “Come on.”
The piercing chair was in a partitioned section near the back — semi-private, its own mirror, a tray of tools laid out with the kind of precision that told you he took this seriously. He snapped a fresh pair of gloves on and gestured to the chair and you sat down and tried to look like you were not thinking about the last time you’d been in this general vicinity, considerably less sober, telling him he had criminally pretty eyes. You were thinking about it.
He adjusted the chair height without asking, tilted the light, and then stepped in close to look at your ear. His fingers were gentle when they touched the outer ridge — thumb pressing lightly to test the cartilage, professional and careful — and he was close enough that you could smell whatever he was wearing, something dark and clean. “Tragus is a good choice,” he said, still examining your ear. “Suits you.”
“You can tell that from my ear?”
“I can tell from your face.” He stepped back, reached for the marking pen. “You’ve got good bone structure. Something small here draws attention without being loud.” He met your eyes in the mirror. “You’re already loud enough.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“It was one.” He marked the spot with the pen — quick, precise — and then held up a small mirror so you could check the placement. His hand was steady. Everything about him was steady, which was both reassuring and slightly irritating. “Good?” he said.
“Good.”
He put the mirror down. Reached for the needle. And then paused, looking at you in the main mirror with an expression that was more direct than the smirk — more level. “You nervous?” he said.
“No.”
“Your jaw is doing something.”
“My jaw is fine.”
“Y/N.”
“I’m a little nervous,” you said. “About the needle. Not about—” You stopped.
“Not about?” he said.
You looked at him in the mirror. He looked back. The smirk was quiet right now, just his face, just the question sitting there. “The needle,” you said. “I said what I said.”
He let it go. Looked back at your ear, positioned his hands. “Breathe in,” he said. You breathed in. “Out.”
You breathed out and he moved — quick and precise and over before you’d finished processing it. A sharp bite of pressure, brief, clean, and then his hands were already switching out the needle for the jewellery, smooth and practiced. “Done,” he said.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He stepped back to let you see in the mirror. Small flat-back stud, exactly where the mark had been, sitting perfectly. “What do you think?”
You looked at it. Turned your head slightly. It was — actually exactly right, the placement, the size, the way it sat. “I think you’re good at your job,” you said.
“I know.” But he said it lightly, without the edge, and when you looked at him in the mirror he was looking at the piercing with something that read like quiet pride. Like he actually cared that it was right.
He peeled his gloves off. Started going through aftercare — saline spray, what to avoid, how long to leave it — and you listened and watched his hands and thought about how he’d looked at you when you walked in. That slow, settled smile. You came back. Like he’d known you would. “Any questions?” he said.
“No.”
“Good.” He handed you the small aftercare card. His fingers brushed yours when he passed it over and he didn’t move his hand immediately, just let the contact sit there for a second before stepping back. “You should come back in four weeks so I can check it.”
“Is that standard?”
“For you it is.”
You looked up at him. He was close still, leaning against the counter beside the chair, arms crossed, completely at ease with the proximity and what he was saying and the way he was looking at you. “That’s a very smooth way to make a follow-up appointment,” you said.
“I’m a smooth guy.”
“You’re a cocky guy.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” He smiled properly. “Four weeks, Y/N. I’ll be here.” From the main floor, very clearly, you heard Jay say to Jake in a voice that carried: “Twenty says she’s back in two.”
Heeseung appeared in the doorway of his room as you were walking back out to wait for Ria. He looked at you. Then at Riki, who was cleaning up the station behind you. He said nothing.
When you were out of earshot, he leaned in the doorway and looked at Riki with a level expression. Riki didn’t look up. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Heeseung was quiet for a moment. “She coming back?”
Riki stacked the packaged jewellery back in the tray. “Four weeks.”
Heeseung looked at the ceiling. Looked back down. “Right,” he said, and went back into his room.
Riki looked up once — just once — at where you’d gone back to sit with Ria, talking and laughing, your hand coming up to touch the new piercing gently like you were checking it was real. He looked back down at the tray. Picked up his phone. Set it down again. Four weeks was a long time.
You were back in two weeks. You told yourself you had a legitimate reason. The piercing felt slightly tender on one side and the aftercare card said to come back if anything felt off and this was a medical concern, essentially, and had nothing to do with anything else. Ria, when you told her this, said “uh huh” in the exact same tone Riki had used and you’d hung up on her.
You pushed the door to Studio 13 open at four on a Thursday afternoon.
Jay was at the front counter this time. He looked up, recognized you, and his whole face did something delighted. “Y/N,” he said, like you were a returning champion.
“Hey.” You unwound your scarf. “Is Riki—”
“In the back.” Jay was already leaning back in his chair, tilting toward the hallway. “Riki.”
“I could have just—”
“RIKI. Your girl’s here.”
From the back, a pause. Then footsteps. Riki appeared in the doorway with a black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other and when he saw you something moved across his face — quick, controlled — before it settled into the usual. “Two weeks,” he said.
“I know.”
“I said four.”
“The piercing felt off.”
He looked at you. You looked back. He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Come here,” he said. Back in the piercing section again. The chair, the mirror, the tray. He set his coffee down on the counter and snapped gloves on and tilted your chin to the side with two fingers, turning your head so the light hit the piercing properly.
He was quiet while he looked. Close, the way he’d been last time, close enough that you were aware of exactly how tall he was and exactly how little space existed between you. “Looks fine,” he said.
“It felt tender.”
“New cartilage piercing. It’s going to feel tender.” He turned your head a fraction more, examining the entry and exit points. “You sleeping on it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Don’t.” His thumb pressed gently just below the piercing, checking the tissue. “You’re not rotating it, are you?”
“The card said not to.”
“People do it anyway.”
“I follow instructions.” He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. His fingers were still at your jaw, light but there, and in the mirror you could see him looking at the piercing with that focused, careful expression he got when he was working — like the rest of him went quiet and it was just this, just the task, just making sure it was right.
“It’s fine,” he said again, quieter this time. “A little irritated but nothing bad. You’re cleaning it?”
“Twice a day.”
“Good girl.” He said it the same way he said everything — even, unbothered — and went right back to examining the piercing like he hadn’t just said it, like it was nothing, like your entire nervous system hadn’t just done something embarrassing.
He stepped back. Pulled one glove off. In the mirror you watched him look at you — your face this time, not the piercing — and the focused work expression shifted back into something more personal. His eyes moved down briefly, back up. Unhurried. Unapologetic. “You didn’t just come for the piercing check,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. “I was in the area,” you said.
“Y/N.”
“I was.”
“Okay.” He pulled the second glove off, dropped them both in the bin. Leaned against the counter beside the chair with his arms crossed, looking at you with that steady, patient expression. Like he had all the time in the world and was fully prepared to wait you out.
The rings on his fingers caught the light. The bar through his tongue was visible when he spoke and sometimes when he didn’t, a small flash of silver that your eyes kept going back to without your permission. “Can I ask you something?” you said.
“Go ahead.”
You nodded toward his mouth. “Does it affect anything? The tongue piercing.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. He knew exactly what you were asking and you both knew you both knew it. “Depends what you mean by anything,” he said.
“Talking,” you said. “Eating.”
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t affect talking or eating.”
The way he said it made the implication sit in the room like a third person. “And what about—” you started.
“Yes,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back at you, completely relaxed, the smirk at about thirty percent, like he was letting you sit in the answer rather than pushing it.
“That was going to be a different question…” you said.
“Was it?” It wasn’t.
You looked away first, which you were counting as a tactical retreat rather than losing, and he made that almost-laugh sound again and pushed off the counter. “Come out front,” he said. “I’ll get you the saline to take home.”
Jay was now pretending to organize a drawer he had clearly already organized when you came back out. Jake had appeared from somewhere and was leaning on the wall near the door with his phone out. The effort to look casual was extraordinary.
Riki went behind the counter, got the saline, slid it across to you.“Stop sleeping on it,” he said.
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Just don’t do it.”
“You’re bossy,” you said.
“I’m thorough.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms were right there, the sleeve on full display this close — you’d been trying not to look at it properly but it was a lot of work. Intricate blackwork, something that looked botanical near his wrist, darker geometry climbing toward his elbow. “Like the sleeve?” he said.
You looked up. He’d caught you. “It’s good work,” you said.
“Heeseung did most of it.”
“Heeseung tattooed you?”
“First one when I started here.” Something shifted slightly in his face — not closed off, just more considered. “Kind of a thing between us.”
You wanted to ask what kind of thing. Something in how he’d said it made you not push. “You do your own piercings?” you said instead.
He tilted his head so you could see the earring. “This one.”
“Doesn’t that hurt more when it’s yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“I do most things anyway,” he said. He said it lightly but there was something under it, something matter-of-fact about pain being a variable he’d simply accounted for. You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to. “Four weeks,” he said, quieter now, just to you. “Come back in four weeks and I’ll check it properly. And if you’re in the area before that—” he held your gaze — “you know where we are.”
“Very smooth,” you said.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep proving it.” He smiled. The real one — not the smirk, not the performance, the actual smile that did something to his whole face. You’d only seen it once before, the night you came in drunk when he laughed at something Ria said, and it was worse up close and sober.
You picked up the saline. Shouldered your bag. “Thanks for checking it,” you said.
“Anytime.”
You were halfway to the door when Jay said, loudly, to no one: “Two weeks. Called it.”
“Jay,” Riki said, flat.
“I’m just saying—”
“Jay.” You pushed the door open and let it close on whatever Jay said next. On the pavement you breathed in cold air and stood there for a second. I do most things anyway. You thought about that the whole way home.
You texted Ria that night.
you: the piercing was fine btw. just irritated.
Ria: sure
you: it was a legitimate medical concern
Ria: how did he look
you: that’s not relevant
Ria: how did he LOOK
You stared at your phone. Put it face down. Picked it up again.
you: good. he looked good. go to sleep.
Ria: 😭😭😭 Y/N YOU ARE SO DOWN BAD
You put your phone on the charger and lay on your back in the dark and stared at the ceiling. The bar through his tongue caught the light when he talked. Yes, he’d said. Like it was nothing. Like he said it every day. You put a pillow over your face.
Across the city, Studio 13 was closing up. Heeseung was cashing out. Jake was wiping down surfaces. Jay was retelling the afternoon to Sunghoon, who had come in for his evening shift and was listening with the specific expression of someone enjoying information they could use later.
Riki was at the piercing station. Cleaning the tray. Doing the same task he’d done a hundred times. “She came back in two weeks,” Jay said.
“I heard,” Sunghoon said.
“I called it.”
“You did call it.”
“Riki,” Jay said. “You owe me twenty.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Riki said. “We didn’t make a bet.”
“Spiritually we did.” Riki said nothing. Put the tray away.
“She’s coming back in four weeks,” Jay told Sunghoon.
“Or two,” Sunghoon said.
“Or two,” Jay agreed.
“Both of you,” Riki said, without heat, “can shut up.”
They did not shut up. He let them talk and went back to the tray and thought about the way you’d looked at his mouth when you asked about the piercing. The way your eyes had gone somewhere specific and come back and you’d tried to cover it with a different question.
He’d watched the answer land. Had watched you process it and look away and call it a tactical retreat when it wasn’t. He was good at reading people. He’d had to be, for a long time, for reasons that had nothing to do with tattoo shops or piercing chairs.
You were going to come back before four weeks. He put the tray away and picked up his coffee and didn’t say any of that out loud.
You were back in ten days. You didn’t have a reason this time. You’d run out of reasons. You showed up at three on a Wednesday with two coffees and the vague awareness that something had shifted from I’m in the area to something you didn’t have a word for yet. Jay opened the door before you reached it. “She’s got coffee,” he announced into the shop.
“Jay—”
“Is one of those for me?” He was already holding the door open, looking at the cups in your hand with genuine hope.
“No.”
“Y/N.”
“I brought two.”
“There are multiple people here who drink coffee.”
“There are two coffees,” you said. “Do the math.”
Jay looked wounded. You walked past him into the shop and he let the door close and called after you: “I’m telling Riki you were mean to me.”
“Please do.” Riki was at the front counter. Actually at the counter this time, not coming through from the back, sitting on the stool with his forearms on the desk and his phone in his hand. He looked up when you came in and his eyes went straight to the cups. Then to your face. Then he smiled — not the smirk, not the performance, just a real and immediate thing that he didn’t seem to think about first. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You put one of the coffees on the counter in front of him. “I didn’t know how you take it.”
He looked at the cup. Looked at you. “Black is fine,” he said.
“Lucky guess.”
“Is it?” He picked it up. His fingers overlapped yours on the cup for a second before you let go — brief, probably accidental, neither of you addressed it. He took a sip. Put it down. “Ten days.”
“I know.”
“Getting closer to two weeks, not further.”
“I’ve been busy,” you said. “This was the first chance I had to—”
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“You don’t need a reason,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back, completely even, like he’d just said something neutral about the weather. “Sit down.”
That was how it started. Not with anything dramatic. Just you sitting on the other side of the counter on a Wednesday afternoon with a coffee while Riki worked through his admin, and the conversation that happened around it — easy and unhurried, drifting from one thing to another, the kind of talk that didn’t feel like it was going anywhere because it didn’t need to.
You learned things without asking for them. That he’d been at Studio 13 for two years. That he and Jay had met here. That he had opinions about piercing placement that were borderline philosophical and he’d share them unprompted if you let him.
He learned things back. That you were in your final year. That Ria had been your best friend since you were sixteen. That you had three other piercings already and had done two of them yourself, which made him look up from his phone with an expression that was equal parts impressed and horrified. “You did your own helix,” he said.
“With a kit.”
“A kit.”
“People do it.”
“People also do a lot of things I have to fix,” he said, and leaned across the counter to look at your ear without asking. His fingers found the helix piercing, examining it with the same careful focus he brought to everything, and you sat very still. “It’s crooked,” he said.
“I know.”
“I can fix it.”
“I know.”
He was still looking at your ear, close, his thumb light against the cartilage. “Why haven’t you?”
“I kept meaning to.” You paused. “And then I found Studio 13 and I figured I’d—”
You stopped. He pulled back just enough to look at your face. His expression said he’d heard the end of the sentence even though you hadn’t said it. “Figured you’d what?” he said.
“Come here eventually,” you said. “For things.”
The smirk appeared. “For things.”
“Piercings.”
“Right.” He stepped back, let you breathe, picked his coffee back up. “I’ll fix it whenever you want.”
“Add it to my tab.”
“You don’t have a tab. Everything I do to you is on the house.” He said it completely straight and then looked at his phone, leaving you to sit in the everything I do to you by yourself.
Jay appeared from the back at that exact moment, looked at you both, looked at the counter between you, and went directly back the way he came without saying anything, which was somehow more powerful than if he had.
Hana came with you the following Wednesday. She had been angling to see the shop since Ria had described it in approximately four hundred texts and the second she walked in she stopped in the middle of the floor and looked around with wide eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Oh this place is cool.”
Jake, who was at the side counter, looked up. Hana looked at Jake. Jake looked at Hana. You filed that away.
Riki was with a client in the piercing section — you could see him through the partition, gloved up, talking the client through something in that low steady voice. You hadn’t told him you were coming. You weren’t sure why, except that you’d wanted to know what it felt like to walk in and see him before he saw you. It felt like something, as it turned out.
He was focused on his client, head tilted, hands precise. He’d pushed his sleeves up and the full length of the tattoo was visible now — blackwork that climbed from his wrist to somewhere past his elbow, detailed and dark. He was saying something that made the client laugh. Patient and calm and completely in his element.
You stood there and looked at him for maybe four seconds too long.
“Y/N,” Hana said quietly beside you.
“What.”
“You’ve got a face on.”
“I don’t have a face.”
“You’ve got a very specific face.” She looked at Riki. Looked at you. “Oh you are done.”
“I’m looking at the flash art,” you said, and turned to look at the flash art.
Jay materialized at your shoulder. “She does this every time,” he told Hana, like you weren’t standing right there. “Comes in, looks at him, then looks at the wall.”
“I can hear you,” you said.
“I know.” Jay smiled. “Coffee?”
Riki’s client left at half past three. He came through from the partition still pulling his gloves off and stopped when he saw you and Hana at the counter with Jay. The gloves came off slower. “You didn’t text,” he said to you.
“Spontaneous visit.”
“Hm.” He dropped the gloves, came around to the main counter. His eyes moved to Hana briefly, assessing, friendly. “Friend?”
“Hana,” you said. “She wanted to see the shop.”
“Welcome.” He said it to Hana and then his attention came back to you in that way it always did — like you were the fixed point and everything else was peripheral. “How’s the piercing?”
“Fine. Good.”
“You sleeping on it?”
“Mostly not.”
“Y/N.”
“Mostly not. I’m a side sleeper, it’s a process.”
He leaned on the counter. His coffee was cold by now but he picked it up anyway. “I’ll fix the helix today if you want. While you’re here.”
“Yeah?”
“Chair’s free.” Hana’s elbow found your ribs with surgical precision. You ignored it.
“Okay,” you said.
The helix took ten minutes. Precise, careful, the same focused quiet he brought every time. Afterwards he checked the tragus — habit, he said, like that was a normal thing, like of course he was checking it — and you sat in the chair and let him and looked at his face in the mirror while he was looking at your ear.
Up close like this you could see things you couldn’t from the other side of a counter. The small scar through his left eyebrow, barely visible. The way his jaw set when he was concentrating. The rings on his fingers — he took them off for client work and put them back on after, and watching him slide them back on was a thing you were apparently noticing now.
He caught you in the mirror. Didn’t call you out. Just held your gaze for a second and then looked back at the piercing, and the corner of his mouth moved slightly. “Good,” he said. “Helix looks better. You’ll need to re-do the aftercare cycle.”
“I know.”
“You actually know or you’re saying you know?”
“Riki.”
“I’ll write it down.”
“I literally work a piercing counter in my memory called things Riki has told me,” you said.
He went still for a half second. Then: “Yeah?”
“You’re very thorough,” you said. “It sticks.”
He looked at you in the mirror. Steady, quiet, something behind his eyes that was more than the usual easy confidence — something that had weight to it. “Good,” he said, quieter.
He stepped back. Started cleaning up. Normal, routine, the way he always moved through the shop like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. “Same time next week?” he said. It wasn’t really a question.
“Sure,” you said.
In the main shop, Hana was sitting on the counter watching Jake explain the difference between traditional and neo-traditional tattooing with the energy of someone who had found religion. Jay was watching this with profound satisfaction. When you came back out Hana looked at you and then at Riki behind you and then at you again. “We should go,” you said.
“Should we,” Hana said.
“Yes.”
“Jake was just explaining—”
“Hana.” She got up, reluctantly, and said goodbye to Jake in a way that suggested she was also going to be back before four weeks. Jake watched her go with an expression that Riki clocked and then looked away from like he hadn’t seen it.
At the door you turned back. Riki was at the counter, already on his phone, or pretending to be. “Thanks for the helix,” you said.
“Anytime.” He didn’t look up. “Wednesday?”
“Wednesday,” you said. Jay made a noise. Riki didn’t look at him. You pushed the door open and the cold air hit you and behind you you heard Jay say, quiet and satisfied to no one in particular: “Regular.”
The Wednesday visits became a thing. Not every week, sometimes every ten days, but consistent enough that Jay started having your coffee order ready. Consistent enough that Jake stopped looking surprised when you walked in. Consistent enough that Heeseung, who said little and noticed everything, started nodding at you when you arrived like you’d passed some quiet assessment he’d been running.
Riki never texted first. You did sometimes — nothing significant, a meme about piercings, a question about aftercare that you probably knew the answer to. He always replied. Never with much. But always.
The counter between you was becoming a problem. Not the physical one — the metaphorical one. The distance that was exactly the right size for this isn’t anything yet and felt increasingly inadequate for what was actually happening in the space between you every Wednesday afternoon. He looked at you like you were a decision he’d already made. You were starting to think you had too.
Daniel texted on a Thursday.
Daniel: hey, haven’t seen you around much. you ok?
You stared at it. You and Daniel had two seminars together and a loose group chat and approximately nothing else, and this was the third text this week.
you: yeah all good, just busy
Daniel: we should get coffee sometime
you: I’m pretty slammed rn, sorry
You thought nothing of it. You mentioned it to Riki the following Wednesday — offhand, in the middle of a conversation about something else, not thinking. “This guy in my seminar keeps texting,” you said. “It’s starting to get annoying.”
Riki was writing something on the appointment book. His pen slowed.“What guy?” he said.
“Daniel. We’re in the same module. He keeps asking for coffee.” Riki’s pen stopped. You looked up. His face was the same — neutral, easy — but something had shifted underneath it. Something had gone very still in the specific way of a thing that was actively being held still.
“You said no?” he said.
“Obviously. I’m not interested.”
A pause. He looked back at the appointment book. Wrote something. “Good,” he said.
Just that. Good. You looked at him for a second. “Riki.”
“Hm.”
“Are you—”
“Helix check,” he said, and stood up from the stool. You let him redirect you. Sat in the chair. Let him check the helix he’d fixed two weeks ago and didn’t need to check again. His hands were as steady as they always were. His voice was as even.
But when you looked at him in the mirror his jaw was set in a way it wasn’t usually and his eyes, when they met yours in the reflection, had something in them that was more than the usual warm certainty. Something that looked a lot like mine with nowhere to go yet. You looked away first. Neither of you said anything about it.
Daniel was waiting outside your seminar on Tuesday. Not accidentally. He was leaning on the wall opposite the door with his phone out, and when you came through he pushed off and fell into step beside you like it was coordinated, like he’d timed it. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You kept walking.
“Good seminar?”
“It was fine.”
“I thought Professor Kim made a good point about the—”
“Daniel.” You stopped. Turned to face him. He was decent looking, objectively — tall, friendly face, the kind of guy who probably did well in situations where persistence read as flattering. “What’s going on?”
He smiled. Easy, practiced. “I was thinking we could grab that coffee.”
“I said I was slammed.”
“You’re not slammed right now.”
“I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?”
You looked at him. “That’s not really—”
“I’ll walk you,” he said. Like that was a reasonable response. Like the answer to I have somewhere to be was I’ll come.
“Daniel.” You kept your voice even. “I appreciate it but I’m not interested. Okay? Not trying to be harsh, just being clear.”
Something moved across his face — not anger, more like recalibration, like he was filing this away as a temporary obstacle. “Maybe just as friends,” he said.
“I’m good. Thanks though.” You walked away. Heard him say something behind you — see you Thursday — and didn’t respond. You texted Ria about it on the bus.
you: the Daniel thing is getting annoying
Ria: what happened?
you: he waited outside my seminar
Ria: ew
you: I told him straight I’m not interested
Ria: good. are you telling riki?
You stared at that.
you: why would I tell riki??
Ria: because you tell riki everything now??
you: I do not tell riki everything
Ria: you told him about your mum’s cat
you: that came up naturally and I’m not telling him, it’s not a big deal
You put your phone in your bag. You didn’t tell him.
Wednesday came and you sat at the counter with your coffee and talked about other things — Hana and Jake’s ongoing situation, which was developing at a glacial pace that was driving Ria insane. A new flash piece Heeseung had drawn that you’d been looking at for twenty minutes when you came in. Whether you should get a second tragus on the other ear. “Yes,” Riki said, without hesitation.
“That’s a very immediate answer.”
“It’s an obvious answer.” He looked at your ears, both sides, that assessing look. “Symmetrical double tragus. Come in next week.”
“Maybe I want to think about it.”
“You don’t need to think about it.”
“Riki.”
“You came in drunk wanting a tragus piercing,” he said. “You knew then. You know now.”
You looked at him. He looked back with the patience of someone who was completely certain and was willing to wait for you to catch up. “Fine,” you said.
He smiled. “Next week,” he said.
The following Tuesday Daniel was outside your seminar again. This time you saw him before he saw you and you changed direction, took the long way to the exit, added seven minutes to your walk. Small, manageable.
On Thursday he was in the coffee queue behind you. “Coincidence,” he said, and smiled at you, and you smiled back tightly and paid for your coffee and left.
On Friday he messaged. Again.
Daniel: hey saw you in the queue yesterday, why’d you leave so fast?
You didn’t reply. And he messaged again on Saturday.
Daniel: did I do something wrong?
You showed it to Ria over the phone that night. She was quiet for a second. “He’s not taking the hint,” she said.
“I didn’t hint. I said directly I wasn’t interested.”
“Then he’s not taking the direct statement.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. “Tell Riki.”
“Ria—”
“Y/N I’m serious, tell—”
“It’s fine. I can handle it.”
“I know you can handle it, that’s not the—” She stopped. “Just tell him. You know you want to.” You didn’t answer that.
Wednesday came around, you’d been at the counter for forty minutes. Jay had come and gone twice. Jake had shown Hana something on his phone that made her laugh and Riki had looked at that for approximately one second before very deliberately looking elsewhere.
You were mid-sentence about something — your dissertation, probably, you’d been complaining about your dissertation — when the door opened.
Sunghoon came in from his afternoon off, still in his jacket, unwinding his scarf. He was unfairly attractive and moved through the shop like he knew it, dropping his bag behind the counter and immediately coming over to where you were sitting. “Y/N.” He leaned on the counter beside Riki’s stool, friendly, easy. “How’s the tragus?”
“Good.” You touched it briefly. “Riki’s doing the other side next week.”
“Nice. You should let me draw something for you. Little custom piece, just here—” he touched his own collarbone— “would suit you.”
“Yeah?”
“Hundred percent.” He looked at Riki. “Right?” Riki was looking at his phone. “Riki,” Sunghoon said.
“Hm.” He didn’t look up. Sunghoon looked at you with a small what’s his problem expression. You looked back with a I genuinely don’t know expression.
You talked to Sunghoon for twenty more minutes. He was easy to talk to — funny, straightforward, the kind of person who filled a room without trying. He showed you his portfolio on his phone, talked you through a couple of pieces, asked about your university course with actual interest.
Riki stayed on his stool. He wasn’t on his phone. You could tell because you kept looking over and the screen was dark. He was just sitting there in the specific stillness of something being actively held in place, forearms on the desk, jaw set. When Sunghoon went to the back to change into his work clothes you turned to Riki. “What’s wrong with you?” you said.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve said four words in the last twenty minutes.”
“I’ve been busy.”
You looked at the dark phone screen. Looked at him. “Riki.”
“I’m fine.” He finally looked at you. His face was even, controlled, the expression he wore when he was putting effort into the expression. “You want more coffee?”
“No.” You kept your voice low. Jay and Jake were across the room but still. “Talk to me.”
Something moved behind his eyes. For a second you thought he was going to — actually going to, drop whatever this was and say it. His jaw shifted. His eyes moved over your face and then away. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”
You looked at him for a long moment. He looked at the counter. You picked up your bag. “I’m going to head,” you said.
He looked up then. Quick, like he hadn’t expected it. “You don’t have to—”
“I have stuff to do.” You stood up. Your voice was even, you’d made sure of it. “I’ll see you next week for the tragus.”
“Y/N—”
“Bye, Riki.” You said goodbye to Jay on the way out. Waved at Jake. Pushed the door open into the cold.
Behind you, through the glass, you heard Jay say something. Heard Riki’s voice, short and clipped. Didn’t hear the words. You walked to the bus stop and stared at the road and felt something hot and frustrated sitting in your chest that you didn’t have a clean name for.
He texted at nine that night.
Riki: I’m sorry about today
You stared at it.
Riki: I get like that sometimes. I don’t like it.
Another one, a minute later.
Riki: It wasn’t about Sunghoon. It wasn’t about you.
Riki: ok it was about Sunghoon.
You sat on your bed with your phone in your hand and read that three times.
you: do you want to tell me what “getting like that” means??
A pause. Longer than his usual response time.
Riki: Not over text. Wednesday?
you: yeah
you: Riki, Sunghoon was just being friendly
Riki: I know. I know that. It doesn’t always
The message cut off. Like he’d deleted the end of it and sent what was left.
Riki: Wednesday. I’ll explain.
Riki: night Y/N
You got there at three. Jay handed you your coffee without being asked and then found somewhere else to be, which meant Riki had said something to him beforehand, which meant he’d been thinking about this. Riki was at the counter. He looked up when you came in and the usual ease wasn’t fully there — not gone, just quieter, like he’d dialed something back. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You sat down. Wrapped both hands around the coffee. “So.”
“So.” He exhaled. Looked at the counter for a second, then at you. “I get possessive.” He said it straight. No build up, no softening — just put it on the counter between you like something he’d decided you should see.
“Okay,” you said.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s not — I’m not trying to make it your problem. I know Sunghoon wasn’t doing anything. I know you weren’t doing anything. It just—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “It sits wrong. Someone else in your space. Being the thing making you laugh.”
You looked at him. His eyes were on the counter, which was unusual — Riki who held eye contact through everything. “Has it always been like that?” you said.
“Yeah.” Simple. “Better than it used to be.”
“What was it like before?”
He looked up. “Worse.” A pause. “I dealt with it badly. I’m not—” He stopped again. “I’m not like that anymore. I don’t act on it. But I feel it and sometimes it makes me go quiet and disappear into my own head and that’s not fair to you.”
You sat with that. “Why are you telling me this?” you said.
He held your gaze. “Because you asked.”
“People don’t always answer when you ask.”
“I know.” Something in his face. “You should know what you’re—” He stopped himself again, and you heard the end of that sentence clearly even without the words. What you’re getting into. What I am.
“Riki,” you said. “If Sunghoon had been doing something—” You held his eyes. “Or anyone. I’d handle it. That’s not— I’m not someone who needs protecting from other people’s attention.”
“I know that.”
“But I’m also not—” You paused. Chose the words. “I’m not interested in other people’s attention. Okay? That’s just—” You shrugged. “That’s just where I’m at.”
The silence that followed had weight to it. Riki looked at you. Really looked — the way he did sometimes, like he was reading something underneath the surface of what you’d said, like he was checking if you meant it.You meant it. “Okay,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” you said.
He exhaled. Something in his shoulders dropped slightly — barely visible, but there. “Tragus,” he said.
“Tragus,” you agreed. He stood up from the stool. And as he passed behind the counter his hand came down briefly on yours where it rested on the surface — just for a second, just his fingers over your knuckles, warm and solid — and then he was moving through to the piercing section and the moment was gone.
You sat there for a second. Then you followed him. Across the room Jay looked at Heeseung in the doorway of his office. Heeseung looked back. Neither of them said anything.
It happened on a Friday. Not a Wednesday. Not planned. You’d come in with Hana at five because she’d finally committed to a small piece on her ankle and wanted moral support, and by the time Jake was finishing up the linework the shop had emptied out — Sunghoon’s last client gone, Jay heading out with his jacket half on, Heeseung locking his office with his keys already in his hand. “You good to close?” Heeseung said to Riki.
“Yeah.” Riki was wiping down the front counter. “Go.” Heeseung looked at you. Brief, unreadable. Looked back at Riki. Said nothing and left. Jay pointed finger guns at you on his way out. You ignored him.
Jake finished Hana’s piece at half past six. She sat up and looked at it in the mirror with the expression of someone who had just made a very good decision, and then she looked at you and at Riki and made a different kind of decision entirely. “I’ll get a cab,” she said.
“I’ll come,” you said.
“You don’t have to.” Serene. Innocent. Absolutely deliberate. “I’m fine on my own.”
“Hana—”
“I’ll text you when I’m home.” She hugged you, said goodbye to Jake, said goodbye to Riki with a smile that communicated volumes, and then she was gone and Jake was heading out behind her and the door swung shut and the shop was quiet.
Just you and Riki. He was at the front counter. You were near the piercing section. The red light was low and the playlist had shifted to something slower, something with bass underneath it, and the flash art on the walls looked different when there was no one else here — more intimate, like the shop had exhaled. “You can head,” Riki said. He wasn’t looking at you. Wiping the counter, routine.
“I know,” you said.
You didn’t move. He stopped wiping. The silence lasted four seconds. You counted. Then he looked up. The expression on his face wasn’t the smirk. Wasn’t the work focus. It was something stripped back — something that had been running underneath everything for weeks and was apparently done waiting. “Y/N,” he said. Low.
“Yeah,” you said. Like you were answering a question he hadn’t asked yet.
He put the cloth down. He came around the counter and crossed the floor and he didn’t stop until he was right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly, and his hand came up to your jaw — not grabbing, just his fingers along the side of your face, tilting you toward him — and he looked at you for one more second like he was making absolutely sure.
Whatever he saw made his mind up. He kissed you and it was nothing like the slow build you’d been expecting — it was immediate, certain, his mouth on yours like he’d been thinking about it for weeks because he had been, and you got your hands into his shirt and kissed him back and the sound he made low in his throat did something catastrophic to your ability to think.
His hands moved — jaw, then your waist, pulling you in until there was no space left between you — and you felt the rings on his fingers through the fabric of your top and his body was solid and warm and there, fully there, nothing held back.
You bit his lower lip without planning to. He pulled back half an inch. His eyes were dark, his breathing had changed, and he looked at you with an expression that rearranged something in your chest. “Do that again,” he said quietly, “and we’re not stopping.”
“Good,” you said. And you did it again. He walked you back until your shoulders hit the wall beside the piercing partition — not rough, controlled, one hand flat against the wall beside your head and the other at your waist, and he kissed you deeper this time, slower, like he had you exactly where he wanted and wasn’t in any rush now that he did.
His tongue — god, his tongue, the bar was there and present and you felt it and made a sound into his mouth that you would have been embarrassed about if his hand hadn’t tightened on your waist the second you did it. “There it is,” he said against your mouth.
“Shut up,” you breathed.
“You’ve been thinking about it.” Not a question. His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, unhurried. “Since I told you.”
“Riki—”
“Yes,” he said, quoting you back to yourself, and you felt him smile against your throat.
“You’re so—”
“I know.” He pulled back to look at you. His hair was slightly wrecked, his eyes were very dark, and he looked at you with the kind of focus he usually reserved for his work — total, precise, like you were something he intended to get exactly right. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to stop talking,” you said.
“No you don’t.” He was right. You didn’t.
“I want—” You stopped. His thumb had found the hem of your top, tracing the skin at your waist, barely moving, just there. Your brain was doing something unhelpful. “I want you to keep going.”
“Keep going,” he repeated. Like he was logging it. “That’s not very specific.”
“Riki.”
“I want to hear you say it.” His voice had dropped, lower than usual, and there was something in it — not a demand exactly, more like an invitation with weight behind it, like he already knew and wanted you to catch up. “Tell me.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, patient, his thumb still tracing that small arc at your waist.
“I’ve wanted you for weeks,” you said. “You know that.”
“I know.” He leaned in, his mouth at your ear. “I wanted to hear you say it.” His hands moved — both of them, finding the hem of your top, sliding underneath to your bare waist, warm palms spreading across your skin — and you exhaled shakily and his mouth came back to yours and the patience dissolved.
Somewhere on the walk from the counter to the wall you got his shirt off and you put your hands on his chest and then his stomach and then lower and found the waistband of his jeans and his breath caught — actually caught, an involuntary thing, the first crack in the steady control — and you looked up at him.
His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark and fixed on your face. “Keep going,” he said. His own words back. Low and rough. You undid his jeans. Your hand found him and he was — there was a Jacob’s ladder — you stopped. He watched your face process it.
“Riki,” you said.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough now, the evenness wearing thin at the edges.
“When were you going to—”
“When it came up.”
“It’s come up.”
“It has,” he agreed, and something in his expression was almost amused except he was too far gone for amused, too focused, his hands gripping your waist with more pressure than before. “Still want to keep going?”
You looked at him. “Are you serious right now.”
He laughed — real, brief, surprised out of him — and then his forehead dropped to yours and you felt him exhale and then his mouth was on yours again and the laughing was done. Your jacket off your shoulders and it hit the floor and his mouth was on your throat before it landed — open, hot, his tongue against your pulse point and the piercing bar cool against your skin and you made a sound that echoed off the black walls. “Riki—”
“I know.” His hands were at the hem of your top, shoving it up, impatient in a way that cracked the usual control wide open. “Off.”
You got it off and his hands were on your tits and his mouth came back to yours.
He walked you back into the wall beside the piercing partition — not slow, not careful, just direct — and pinned you there with his body and his hands were everywhere and yours were too and it was nothing like the slow careful thing you’d half imagined. It was desperate. Both of you. Weeks of it.
“You have no idea,” he said against your jaw, your throat, lower, his mouth on your collarbone, “how long I’ve—” He stopped. His teeth grazed your skin. “Fuck.”
“Tell me,” you breathed.
“Since you walked in here in that dress,” he said into your skin. “Since you leaned on my counter and looked at me like that. I’ve been—” His hands found your jeans, the button, the zip. “Since then.” He shoved your jeans down your hips and you kicked them off and his hand pushed between your thighs and found your pussy through the thin fabric still there and pressed and your hips rolled forward hard.
“There,” he said. Low, rough, satisfied. “There you are.” His fingers moved — slow, deliberate, feeling the heat of you through the fabric — and he looked at your face while he did it. Watching. Taking everything. “Soaked already,” he said. “Were you like this the whole time?”
“Don’t—” you started.
“You were.” He pushed the fabric aside and his fingers touched your folds directly and you choked on a breath. The rings were cold, the contrast of it shocking and good and — “Riki—”
“Good girl,” he said quietly. Like it meant something. Like you’d done something right just by responding to him. His fingers moved through your folds and found your clit and you grabbed his shoulders and held on. “So wet. So fucking — look at you.”
“Please—”
“Please what.” His fingers kept moving, unhurried despite everything, despite the fact that you could feel how much he wanted this — felt it against your hip, hard, his own breathing gone ragged at the edges. “Say it.”
“I need—”
“Say it, Y/N.”
“I need you to fuck me,” you said. “Now, Riki, please—” He made a sound low in his throat and his fingers disappeared and he was shoving his own jeans down, just enough, barely, one hand braced on the wall beside your head — and then he looked at you, dark eyes and wrecked hair and jaw set hard.
“Here?” he said. Rough. “Right here?”
“Yes—”
His hand found your pussy again, two fingers pushing inside, testing, and you made an embarrassing sound and he groaned at the feel of you — “fuck you’re—” — and then his fingers were gone and he was there, the head of his cock at your entrance, and you hooked your leg over his hip. He pushed in. Both of you went still. His forehead dropped to yours. Your nails were in his shoulders. The Jacob’s ladder — you felt every single one and your mouth fell open and you heard him exhale shakily above you. “Riki—”
“I know.” His voice was barely there. “I know, just — fuck — just give me a second—”
“Don’t stop,” you said. “Don’t stop, keep—”
He moved. There was nothing controlled about it. That was the thing — Riki who was steady and certain and always in possession of himself — gone. Completely. He fucked you against the wall with his jeans half down and yours on the floor and his rings cold against your thigh where he’d hooked your leg higher and the bar of his tongue in his teeth when he looked at you and it was overwhelming, the closeness of it, the sound of it in the empty shop.
“Good,” he said, rough and low, his hips rolling into you, setting a pace that had your head dropping back against the wall. “Good girl, just like — yeah, just like that—”
“More—”
“Yeah?” He shifted his angle and you cried out and he did it again, deliberate, watching your face. “There?”
“Yes — yes, don’t stop—”
“I’ve got you.” His mouth found your throat. “I’ve got you, you’re doing so — fuck, Y/N, you feel—” He broke off. His rhythm stuttered and recovered. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
The praise landed somewhere it had no business landing, warm and devastating, and your hips were moving to meet him and your clit was grinding against him with every thrust and you were already… “Riki I’m going to—”
“Do it,” he said immediately. “Cum for me. Come on.” His hand moved between you and his thumb found your clit and pressed and you shattered — your whole body going taut, his name in your mouth, your nails breaking skin on his shoulders — and he fucked you through it, relentless, not letting up—
“That’s it,” he said against your ear, rough and wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, god you’re—” He followed you over the edge not long after — his rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his forehead hard against the wall beside your head — and the sound he made when he came was low and helpless and you felt it everywhere.
There was silence that followed apart from the playlist over the shop speakers. The red light under the door still illuminated. Both of you still against the wall like butter of you planned to move soon, his weight partly on you and partly on his arm and neither of you in any hurry to fix that.
Your leg slid down from his hip. He pulled back enough to look at your face. His hair was completely wrecked. His mouth was slightly swollen. He looked at you with an expression that had nothing performed in it — just open, just him, something that hadn’t had a name all this time and still didn’t quite yet. “Hi,” he said.
You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. He smiled — the real one, the one that changed his whole face — and pressed it briefly into your hair.
You found the back room couch eventually. His shirt on your shoulders. The rings back on his fingers because he’d put them on out of habit and then looked at his own hands like he hadn’t noticed himself doing it. You lay on your back. He sat with his back against the couch, forearm on his knee, looking at the floor. “So,” you said.
“So,” he said.
“What happens now?” you said.
He was quiet for a moment. “What do you want?”
You thought about the card in your bag. The Wednesdays. The way he’d looked at you across the counter every single time like you were a decision he’d already made. “I don’t know yet,” you said. Honest.
“Okay,” he said. Easy. No pressure in it. His hand found yours in the dark. Didn’t make anything of it. Just held on. You stayed on the couch until the playlist rolled over twice. At some point the I don’t know yet became irrelevant because his mouth found your throat again and his hands were back under his shirt on your skin and the question got buried under something more immediate.
You left at nine. He walked you to the door. Held it open, leaned in the frame. The cold air hit you and you turned back. He looked wrecked and unbothered about it. Shirt on, jeans done up, rings on every finger. Hair a disaster. Looking at you with that expression — the settled one, the certain one. “Wednesday,” he said. You nodded.
Neither of you said anything about what it was. That was the agreement, unspoken, the way most things between you and Riki were unspoken. You came in on Wednesdays. Sometimes other days. Sometimes he texted at ten at night — nothing explicit, just you up or studio’s empty — and you went, and nobody named what that meant. It worked. Mostly.
The sex was — there wasn’t a word for it that didn’t sound inadequate. Compulsive was close. Inevitable was closer. Like once the wall had come down neither of you had any interest in rebuilding it, like your bodies had been having a conversation for months and were now just speaking plainly.
He learned you fast. Faster than anyone had. What made you gasp versus what made you come apart completely. The difference between what you asked for and what you actually wanted. He paid attention the way he paid attention to everything — totally, precisely — and used it with a focus that should have been illegal.
You learned him too. That the control was real but thin in the right circumstances. That his jaw set right before it cracked. That he made sounds he didn’t seem to know he was making. That he said your name differently when he was close — shorter, sharper, like he didn’t have room for the full shape of it. That he always, always pulled you back when you tried to move away after. Not possessive. Just — unwilling to let the warmth go yet. You were trying very hard not to think about what that meant.
Three weeks after the first time, on a Tuesday night, you were in the back room of Studio 13 with Riki’s shirt on the floor and your jeans somewhere near the door and his mouth on your throat and his hand between your thighs and the playlist coming through the walls and everything was fine, everything was exactly what it was, unnamed and manageable —
And then he said I’ve got you in that low rough voice right against your ear and something in your chest did a thing it wasn’t supposed to do. You filed it away. Dealt with it later. Later didn’t come because he did something with his tongue that made later completely irrelevant.
Wednesday afternoon. Counter. Coffee. Normal. Easy. The same as it had always been except for the part where it wasn’t because now you knew exactly what his hands felt like and what sounds he made and what his face looked like when the composure cracked and sitting on the other side of a counter from him in the middle of the afternoon was — a different experience than it used to be.
He was telling you something about a client — complicated custom piece, back and forth for weeks on the design — and you were listening and also watching his hands move when he talked, the rings catching the light, and thinking about those hands on your waist last night and… “Y/N.”
You looked up. He was looking at you with the quiet knowing expression. “I was listening,” you said.
“You weren’t.”
“I was. Custom piece. Back and forth on the design. Client keeps changing their mind.”
He tilted his head slightly. The corner of his mouth. “What were you thinking about?”
“The flash art.”
“Hm.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms right there, the sleeve on full display, and he looked at you with that unhurried certainty. “You were looking at my hands.”
“I was looking at your rings.”
“Y/N.”
“They’re interesting rings.”
He held your gaze for a long moment. Then he looked down at his hands, turned them over slowly, looked back up at you with an expression that was doing something to your ability to function. “Come back tonight,” he said.
“I was here last night.”
“I know.”
“And the night before.”
“I know.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “Come back tonight.”
You looked at him. “We should probably — this probably shouldn’t be—”
“Probably,” he agreed, like the word meant nothing.
“Riki.”
“Tonight, Y/N.”
You looked at your coffee. At him. At the rings on his hands that you had been thinking about and were now not admitting to thinking about. “Fine,” you said.
He picked up his own coffee. Satisfied. Like there had never been any other outcome. From across the shop Jay said nothing. He had learned, over the past three weeks, that saying things got him absolutely nowhere and had adapted accordingly. He simply made eye contact with Sunghoon across the room and they had an entire conversation without words.
That night after Studio 13 closed, which had become its own specific thing — the red light, the quiet, the shop breathing differently when it was empty. Riki had barely locked the front door before you were crossing the floor toward him and his expression when he turned around and saw you moving like that— “Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” You reached him. Your hands went to his chest, his jaw, pulling him down, and he came without resistance, his hands finding your waist immediately, already knowing where to go.
He kissed you slow this time. Deliberately slow, like he was making a point, like the urgency of the last few weeks had shifted into something that wanted to take its time. That was somehow worse. “Riki,” you said against his mouth.
“Hm.”
“Stop going slow.”
“No.” He kissed your jaw. Your throat. Slow and deliberate, his hands sliding under your top to your bare waist. “I spent all afternoon thinking about this.”
“So did I, that’s why—”
“That’s why we’re taking our time.” His mouth at your collarbone. “I want to—” A pause. His lips against your skin. “I want to take you apart properly. Not fast.”
Your hands tightened in his hair. “That’s not fair,” you said.
“No,” he agreed, and kept going. He got your top off and looked at you in the low light the way he always did — that slow, unapologetic assessment that moved over you like you were worth looking at carefully — and then his mouth found your tits and your head fell back.
His tongue. The bar of it, cool and present, circling your nipple, and you made a sound and his hands tightened on your waist. “Good girl,” he said against your skin. “Just like that.”
“Riki—”
“I’ve got you.” He moved to the other side, same slow attention, his hands holding your waist like you might float away. “I’ve got you, just — yeah, just feel it.” You were going to lose your mind. Your hands found his shirt and he let you get it off and then he was walking you back to the couch in the back room and laying you down and looking at you from above with dark eyes and that expression — the open one, the one that had no performance in it.
He got your jeans off slow. His hands running down your thighs as he pulled them, his mouth following, pressing to your hip, the inside of your knee, and by the time he got back up to your folds you were already soaked. “Riki, please—”
“Please what.” His breath against your inner thigh. Close, not close enough.
“Please—”
“Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed your folds, barely, just the suggestion of pressure. “Tell me.”
“Your mouth,” you said. “Please, your mouth—” He gave it to you. The bar of his tongue against your clit and you grabbed the back of the couch and held on. He ate your pussy like he had nowhere else to be — thorough, focused, the same attention he gave everything — and the sounds he made against you, low and hungry, like he was getting something from it—
“God—” your hips rolled and his hands held them down, firm, keep still, and the loss of control of that made it worse in the best way. “Riki I’m — don’t stop, don’t—”
“Not stopping,” he said against your clit. “Cum for me. Come on.”
You did. He worked you through it until you were pulling at his hair telling him too much, too much and he pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh and came back up your body and looked at your face with an expression that was — satisfied wasn’t the right word. Reverent was closer, which was a thing you were absolutely not processing right now. “Good girl,” he said quietly.
“Stop calling me that,” you said, breathless.
“No,” he said simply, and kissed you.
When he finally pushed inside you both exhaled like something had been solved. Slow, this time. Deep. His forehead against yours, his arms bracketing you, his rings cool against the side of your face where his hand was. “Okay?” he said.
“Yeah.” Your voice wasn’t working right. “Yeah, keep — please keep going.”
He moved. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that had you feeling every ridge of the ladder on every stroke and your mouth kept falling open and he watched it happen. “You feel it,” he said. Low, not a question.
“Yes—”
“Good.” His hips rolled deeper and you gasped. “That’s good, you’re so — fuck, Y/N—” His composure was fraying at the edges, the rhythm getting less controlled. “You take me so well. Every time. Like you were—” He stopped himself.
You looked up at him. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, something moving behind them that he’d just pulled back from saying. “Like I was what,” you said.
He looked at you. For a second — just a second — something was right there on his face, unguarded, something that went past the physical and landed somewhere neither of you had named yet. He kissed you instead of answering.
You let him. Filed it away. Pulled him closer and let the question dissolve into the drag and heat of him moving inside you and his mouth on yours and his hand sliding between you to find your clit— “Riki—”
“I know,” he said. “I know, come on, cum for me again, you can—”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” His thumb on your clit, his cock deep, his voice at your ear. “You can, good girl, come on, let me feel you—” You came with his name in your mouth and your whole body shaking and he followed you with his face pressed into your throat and the sound he made was low and broken and yours.
After his thumb moving slow at your hip. The ceiling. The playlist. You were thinking about like you were— and what came after it. You were thinking about I’ve got you and how he said it every time, always, like a reflex, like something that came from somewhere deeper than the moment.
You were thinking about the fact that you knew what his laugh sounded like — the real one, the surprised one — and that you’d been collecting these things without meaning to and the collection was getting heavy. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.”
“What are we doing.”
Silence. His thumb stopped moving. Then, carefully: “What do you want to be doing.”
You stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
He was quiet for a long moment. You could feel him thinking — that specific quality of his silences, weighted, considering. “I’m not good at this part,” he said.
“What part.”
“The—” A pause. “Saying things.”
“You say things to me all the time.”
“Not these things.”
You turned your head to look at him. He was looking at the ceiling, jaw slightly tight, the expression of someone navigating something carefully. “What things,” you said quietly.
He turned his head. Your faces close in the dim light. His eyes moved over yours. “I don’t want you going anywhere,” he said. Finally. Quietly. “That’s — that’s what I’ve got right now.”
It wasn’t everything. You both knew it wasn’t everything. But it was Riki, who didn’t say things, saying a thing, and it landed with the weight of something much larger behind it.“Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he said. His thumb started moving again. You looked back at the ceiling. The unnamed thing stayed unnamed. But it was there, in the room with you, and you both knew it.
The thing about not naming something was that it didn’t stop it from being a thing. It just meant you had no language for it when it started to matter. Four weeks into whatever this was, Ria staged an intervention.
Not a dramatic one — she didn’t have people over or make a presentation, she just showed up at your flat on a Saturday morning with coffee and pastries and sat across from you at your kitchen table with the expression of someone who had been patient for a very long time and was cashing that in now. “Talk,” she said.
“About what.”
“Y/N.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ria.”
“I want you to say what’s happening with Riki.”
You picked up your coffee. “We’re—”
“If you say friends I’m leaving and taking the pastries.”
You put your coffee down. “It’s complicated.”
“Is it? Or is it simple and you’re making it complicated because you’re scared?”
You looked at her. She looked back with the patience of someone who had known you for six years and had seen every version of your avoidance. “We haven’t put a name on it,” you said.
“Why not.”
“Because—” You stopped. Because he’d said I don’t want you going anywhere and you’d said okay and neither of you had pushed past that. Because every Wednesday and every late night felt like building something and neither of you would say what you were building. “It’s working the way it is.”
“Is it.”
“Yes.”
“You like him.”
“Obviously.”
“Like like him.”
“Ria—”
“Y/N.” She leaned forward. “You went back to that shop every week for two months before anything happened. You know his coffee order, his schedule, what makes him laugh. You’ve met his friends. He checks your piercings as an excuse to be close to you.” She paused. “That’s not complicated. That’s you being terrified.”
You stared at the table. “He’s not easy to read,” you said. Finally.
“He gave you his personal card the night he met you,” Ria said. “Heeseung told me he’d never done that before.”
“When did you talk to Heeseung?”
“Jake texts me sometimes.”
“Jake texts you.”
“That’s not the point.” She pushed a pastry toward you. “The point is that boy is absolutely gone for you and you both keep dancing around it and it’s making everyone at Studio 13 insane, apparently.”
“Everyone?”
“Jay’s exact words were if they don’t sort it out soon I’m locking them in the back room.”
You put your face in your hands. “I don’t know how to do this with him,” you said, muffled. “He doesn’t say things. I don’t push. We just—”
“So say something first,” Ria said simply. “You’re not someone who waits, Y/N. That’s not you. You’re doing it because you’re scared he won’t say it back.” You lifted your face. Said nothing. She was right and you both knew it.
You didn’t say anything that Wednesday. You came close — sitting at the counter, coffee in hand, Riki talking about something, his rings on the desk, his eyes finding yours every few sentences the way they always did — and the words were right there, and you looked at his face, and you thought about Ria’s voice saying terrified, and you said nothing. He looked at you at one point like he knew something was moving behind your eyes. “What,” he said.
“Nothing.” You smiled. “Keep going.” He held your gaze for a second. Let it go.
The following Saturday Sunghoon texted you. Not unusual — you’d exchanged numbers for shop-related things, flash piece ideas, scheduling. He was easy to talk to, straightforward, the kind of person whose texts read exactly like his voice.
Sunghoon: hey, you said you were thinking about a collarbone piece right
you: yeah still thinking
Sunghoon: I drew something. wanna see
He sent a photo. Small, delicate, blackwork — something botanical, two thin stems crossing, minimal and precise. It was exactly your taste and you had no idea how he’d known that.
you: sunghoon this is gorgeous
Sunghoon: right? come in monday, I’ll show you the full size version. riki’s off monday so it’ll be quiet
you: sounds good, see you then
You didn’t think anything of it. Sunghoon was your friend. He’d drawn something for you. You were going to look at it. You didn’t mention it to Riki because there was nothing to mention.
Monday the shop was quieter without Riki in it, which was a thing you noticed and filed away as information you didn’t love having. Sunghoon had the drawing laid out on the counter when you arrived — full size, done properly on transfer paper, and it was even better than the photo. You stood over it with him pointing out the details, his hand close to yours on the paper, talking through placement and sizing and whether to add a third stem.
Jay was pretending to do something at the other counter.bHeeseung was in his office with the door open. “Here,” Sunghoon said, and pressed the transfer paper lightly to your collarbone to show you the placement. His hand steadied it against your skin, professional, and you looked in the mirror and thought yes, that was exactly right. Your phone lit up on the counter.
Riki: you at the shop?
You looked at it. Jay looked at it. Sunghoon didn’t see it.
you: yeah, sunghoon drew something for me. just looking at placement
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Riki: k
One letter.
Riki: looks good?
you: really good actually. he’s talented
The dots again. Then nothing. No reply. You put your phone down. Sunghoon was still talking about the third stem. You looked at the transfer in the mirror and tried to pay attention and felt something uneasy settle in your chest.
Riki was at the counter when you arrived Wednesday. You knew within ten seconds that something was wrong. Not visibly wrong — he looked the same, said hey the same, had your coffee ready the same. But his eyes when they met yours were flatter than usual. The warmth was there but dimmed, like something had been turned down. You sat. Picked up your coffee. “How was your day off?” you said.
“Fine.” He was looking at his phone.
“Did you do anything?”
“Not much.” Jay appeared from the back, clocked the atmosphere in approximately two seconds, and disappeared again.
You watched Riki scroll his phone. His jaw was set. Not dramatically — just tight, controlled, the way it got when he was holding something still. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.”
“Look at me.” He looked up. The flat quality was more visible face to face. Something was moving behind his eyes that he was keeping on a very short leash. “What’s wrong?” you said.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve said twelve words since I got here.”
“I’ve been busy.”
You looked at him. He looked back, and you could see the effort of it — the effort of sitting in whatever this was and keeping it even. “Is this about Monday?” you said.
Something shifted in his jaw. “No.”
“Riki.”
“It’s not about Monday.”
“So it is about Monday.”
He put his phone down. Flat on the counter. He looked at you with an expression that was very controlled and also not controlled at all if you knew what to look for, and you knew what to look for now. “You went in on my day off,” he said.
“Sunghoon drew something for me. I told you.”
“I know what you told me.”
“Then what—”
“His hands were on you.” Quiet. Final. Like he’d been sitting on it for two days and it had compacted into something very small and very dense.
You stared at him. “He was showing me placement. For a tattoo. That’s his job.”
“I know that.”
“Then—”
“I know that, Y/N.” His voice was still even but something was pushing at the edges of it. “I know it doesn’t mean anything. I know Sunghoon wasn’t — I know.” He looked at the counter. “It doesn’t stop it feeling—” He stopped.
“Feeling what,” you said. He was quiet for a long moment.
“Wrong,” he said. “It feels wrong. Someone else’s hands on you feels wrong and I don’t know how to make that—” He stopped again. His thumb pressed against the counter. “I’m trying to be rational about it.”
“You went quiet for two days,” you said.
“I know.”
“That’s not — Riki, you can’t just go quiet every time something—”
“I know.” He looked up. His eyes were direct now, no flatness, just the real thing underneath — something frustrated and raw and tired of itself. “I know it’s not fair. I’m telling you I know that. I just—” A breath. “I don’t know how to feel it and not do that. I’m working on it.”
You looked at him for a long moment. “You went quiet instead of talking to me,” you said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling me now because I pushed.”
“Yes.” He held your gaze. “I would have told you. I just needed to — I needed it to be smaller before I could say it without it being—” He gestured vaguely. “A lot.”
“Is it smaller now?”
“Somewhat.”
You picked up your coffee. Looked at it. Put it down. “You know that there’s nothing—” you started.
“I know.” Immediately. “Y/N, I know. This isn’t about you. This isn’t about Sunghoon. It’s mine, it’s a me thing, and I’m not trying to make it your problem.”
“It becomes my problem when you disappear.”
“I know.” His jaw shifted. “I’m sorry.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, the thing behind his eyes open now in the way it only got when he’d pushed past the control on purpose — when he was giving you something deliberately. “Don’t disappear,” you said. “Whatever it is — just say it. To me. Not in your head for two days.”
“Okay,” he said. His hand moved across the counter and covered yours briefly — the rings cool, the weight of his palm familiar. “Okay, Y/N.”
The touch lasted a few seconds. He didn’t make anything of it. Just let it be there and then pulled back. From the back room, completely audibly, Jay said to someone: “finally.”
“Jay,” Riki said flatly.
“I’m just saying—”
“Jay.”
That night, late. He was in your flat, his idea — he’d texted at nine, not you up or studio’s empty but just your name, which was new. He was on your couch with his legs stretched out and his head back and his eyes on your ceiling and you were beside him close enough to feel the warmth of him and neither of you had moved toward the other yet. Just sitting. Existing in the same space. “Can I ask you something?” you said.
“Yeah.”
“The possessiveness.” You kept your voice even. “Where does it come from.”
A pause. He was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer. “Control,” he said finally. “Or — fear of losing it. Things I care about.” His thumb moved against his own knee. “I spent a long time in situations where things got taken. People I — things I couldn’t protect.” He stopped. “I don’t talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” A pause. “I want to. I just — not yet.”
Not yet. Not never. Not it’s not your business. Not yet meant there was a timeline. Meant he was thinking about it. Meant you were someone he was moving toward telling.
You leaned your head against his shoulder. He went still for a second — surprised, you thought, by the smallness of it, the casualness — and then his head dropped against yours and you felt him exhale. “The collarbone piece,” he said eventually. “Let me do it.”
You lifted your head. Looked at him. “You do tattoos?”
“Heeseung taught me. I’m not on the books for it but—” He met your eyes. “I want to do it. If you want.”
Sunghoon’s drawing. Riki’s hands. “Yeah,” you said. “Okay.”
Something settled in his face. Quiet and satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the smirk. “Okay,” he said.
You put your head back on his shoulder. His arm moved — slow, like he was checking it was allowed — and settled around you. The unnamed thing pressed closer. Neither of you named it. But his arm tightened slightly and you let it, and that was something too.
The collarbone piece took two sessions. Riki had been clear about that upfront — small piece, delicate linework, he wanted to do it right and doing it right meant not rushing. You’d sat in the chair in the back room of Studio 13 on a quiet Tuesday morning with his hands on your collarbone and his face close and his full attention on the work and tried very hard to be normal about it. You were not normal about it. “Stop tensing,” he said, without looking up.
“I’m not tensing.”
“Your shoulder is up by your ear.” You lowered your shoulder. He glanced up briefly — dark eyes, the focus in them softening for just a second when they met yours — and then back down. “First line’s the worst,” he said. “Then you’ll settle.”
“I’ve been tattooed before.”
“Not by me.” He said it simply. Like it was just a fact. Which it was. But the way he said it landed like something more — like not by me was its own category, its own distinct experience, and he was right, as it turned out, because when the needle touched your collarbone the small shock of it dissolved almost immediately into the warmth of his hands steadying you and his voice saying good, just like that, breathe — and you settled.
You watched his face while he worked. This version of him — the work version, focused and quiet and completely present — was one of your favorites. All the usual energy went inward. The smirk was gone, the easy confidence was still there but different, channeled into precision. He moved the machine in small careful arcs and his free hand was always on you, always steadying, always aware of exactly how much pressure to use. “You’re staring,” he said.
“You said that to me once before.”
“You were staring then too.”
“Maybe I just have a specific staring problem.”
The corner of his mouth moved. He didn’t look up. “Maybe you do.”
He kissed you after the session. Not immediately — he’d finished, stepped back, examined the work with that quiet critical eye, declared it good. You’d looked in the mirror and felt something warm move through your chest at the sight of it — the two stems, thin and precise, sitting exactly right on your collarbone. “It’s perfect,” you said.
“I know.” He was already at the sink, washing his hands, and you could hear the smile in it even without seeing his face. You got up from the chair. Crossed the small space between you. And when he turned around you were right there and his expression shifted — from satisfied work-focus to something more personal, more immediate — and you put your hand on his jaw and kissed him.
He kissed you back with his damp hands at your waist, careful not to touch the fresh tattoo, and it was slow and unhurried and tasted like coffee and something that was just him and when you pulled back his eyes stayed closed for a second. Opened. Looked at you. “Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi,” you said. His thumb moved at your waist. The rings. The warmth of his palms through your shirt.
“Come back Thursday for the second session,” he said.
“I know, you told me.”
“Just making sure.” He kissed you again before you could respond — quick, soft, his mouth on yours for just a moment — and then stepped back and handed you the aftercare sheet and was professional again, mostly, except for the way his eyes followed you to the door.
Thursday’s second session was longer. More detail, more shading on the stems, a small shadow that made the whole thing lift off the skin. You sat in the chair and he worked and you talked — properly talked, the way you did at the counter but quieter, more contained, just the two of you in the partitioned space.
He told you about growing up. Small things — not the things he kept locked, but around the edges of them. A younger brother. Moving schools twice. Being good at things with his hands from early on, carving things, taking things apart to see how they worked. “Is that why the piercing?” you said.
“Partly.” He shifted the machine slightly. “Partly because it’s — immediate. You do it right and you see it right away. No waiting to find out.”
“You like knowing things work.”
He glanced up. “Yeah.”
“Control thing.”
A pause. “Yeah,” he said again, quieter. You let that sit. Didn’t push.
“Tell me something else,” he said, after a moment. Deflecting but not — more like redirecting, like he wanted the conversation to keep going just in a different direction.
So you told him things. About your course, your family, the flat you’d moved into two years ago that still didn’t feel completely yours. The way Ria had been your anchor through everything since you were sixteen. How you’d wanted to study abroad and hadn’t and sometimes still thought about it. “Why didn’t you?” he said.
“Felt like running away from something.”
“Were you?”
You thought about it. “Probably.”
He looked up. His eyes on yours, level. “What were you running from.”
“Someone,” you said. “It doesn’t matter now.”
He held your gaze for a moment. You watched something move through his expression — something careful, something that might have been jealousy at its very distant edges but was mostly just — paying attention. Storing it. Like everything you gave him went somewhere it would be kept.
“Their loss,” he said. Simply. Looked back down. You looked at the top of his head and felt the unnamed thing press against your ribs from the inside.
He finished the piece in two hours. You both looked at it in the mirror — his chin near your shoulder, your reflection side by side — and neither of you said anything for a moment. “Well,” you said.
“Yeah,” he said. It was exactly right. Better than right. The kind of thing that looked like it had always been there, like your skin had been waiting for it.
You turned. He was right there, closer than you’d clocked, and you put both hands on his chest and looked up at him and he looked down at you and the moment expanded slightly. “Thank you,” you said.
“Don’t thank me.”
“Riki—”
“It was for me as much as you,” he said. Quiet. Direct. No smirk in it. “I wanted to put something on you. That’s—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “That’s a me thing. Don’t thank me for it.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, and the naked quality of what he’d just said sat between you — I wanted to put something on you — and neither of you moved for a second.
Then you kissed him. Slow, deliberate, your hands spreading on his chest. He made a low sound and his arms came around you — gentle because of the fresh tattoo, careful, his hands at your back instead of your waist — and he kissed you back like he had time, like he wanted to use it.
When you broke apart he kept his forehead against yours. “Stay,” he said. Low. “Tonight. Just—” A pause. “Just stay.”
“Okay,” you said. You ate takeout on the floor of the back room because the couch was small and the floor had more space and Riki sat with his back against the couch and you sat between his legs with your back against his chest and it was so domestically comfortable that it was almost alarming.
He ate with one arm around you. His chin occasionally dropping to your shoulder to look at whatever you were showing him on your phone. His thumb making that small absent arc at your hip that he did when he wasn’t thinking about it.
“Ria thinks we need to define this,” you said, at some point. His arm didn’t tighten. Didn’t loosen. He was quiet for a moment.
“What do you think?” he said.
“I think Ria is right about most things.”
“Hm.” His thumb kept moving. “What would you define it as.”
You turned your head slightly. His face was close — close enough to see the detail of the scar through his eyebrow, the silver of his earring, the way he was looking at you with that careful open expression he only had when there was no one else around. “I don’t know,” you said. “What would you.”
“Mine,” he said. Quiet. Simple. Like it was the most obvious answer.
Your heart did something inconvenient. “That’s very you,” you said.
“Is it wrong?”
You turned back to face forward. His arm around you. The takeout. The red light. “No,” you said. “It’s not wrong.”
You felt him exhale against the back of your head. Slow, like something had released. His lips pressed briefly to your hair. Not a kiss exactly — too soft, too absent, more like a thing he did without deciding to.
You stayed on the floor until midnight. Talked about nothing important. Everything slightly important. He told you Jake was obviously falling for Hana and was handling it terribly, which you already knew, and you told him Ria had started texting Jake directly to speed the process along, which he did not know and which made him laugh — the real one, sudden, surprised. You stored it.
“I should go,” you said eventually. You had a nine AM seminar and the responsible thing—
“Yeah,” he said. Made no move to untangle himself from around you.
“Riki.”
“Five minutes.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“Five more minutes.” You leaned back into him and gave him the five minutes. He pressed his mouth to the side of your head again — that soft, absent thing, lips in your hair — and you closed your eyes and thought about mine and the way he’d said it like it was just the truth.
When you finally stood up he walked you to the door the way he always did. Unlocked it. Held it open. You turned back. He kissed you in the doorway — unhurried, thorough, one hand cupping your jaw and the other flat against the doorframe — and you kissed him back and it went on longer than a goodbye kiss needed to, longer than was practical, until he pulled back and looked at you with dark eyes and slightly wrecked composure.
“Wednesday,” he said. His thumb traced your jaw once before dropping.
“Wednesday,” you said. You made it to the end of the street. You looked back. He was still in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching you go. When he saw you look he didn’t pretend he hadn’t been watching. Just held your gaze across the dark street. You turned back around and smiled at the pavement the whole way to the bus stop.
Heeseung had told everyone to come to his flat for dinner on Saturday — no occasion, just food, just all of them in the same place — and you’d arrived with Ria who had told you she’d been waiting for this invitation for weeks, which meant Jake had told her about it before Riki had told you, which meant something.
Heeseung’s flat was calm and dark-walled like the shop, art everywhere, music at a volume that allowed conversation. Jay was already there and immediately pulled Ria into an argument about something. Jake appeared from the kitchen and the way his face changed when he saw Ria was something you were going to tell Riki about later.
Riki was on the couch. He looked up when you came in and the smile that happened was immediate and unguarded — no performance, no build up, just his face doing the thing it did when you appeared, the thing you didn’t think he knew it did. He moved over without being asked. You sat beside him. Close. His arm went across the back of the couch behind you — not around you, but there, present, the rings near your shoulder.
Sunghoon arrived twenty minutes later and dropped onto the armchair across from you and looked at you both with an expression of great satisfaction. “You two sorted?” he said.
“Sunghoon,” Riki said.
“What? Last month you were—“ He stopped. “I’m just asking—”
“We’re sorted,” you said. Sunghoon grinned. Riki’s arm moved from the back of the couch to actually around your shoulders, like Sunghoon asking had given him permission to stop pretending he wasn’t doing it.
Dinner was loud and easy and everyone talked over everyone and Jay told a story about a client that got more elaborate every time he told it and Ria fit in like she’d always been there and Heeseung sat at the head of the table and said little and watched everything with quiet satisfaction.
After dinner you ended up back on the couch. Riki beside you, your legs across his, his hand resting on your ankle. The conversation had split across the room — Jay and Sunghoon, Ria and Jake in what looked like an increasingly interesting exchange, Heeseung in the kitchen. “You good?” Riki said quietly, just to you.
“Yeah.” You looked at the room. “This is nice.”
“They like you.”
“Jay likes everyone.”
“Heeseung doesn’t,” he said. Simple. “He likes you.”
You looked at him. “How can you tell?”
“He invited you.” He said it like it was obvious. “He doesn’t do this for everyone. He did it because—” A pause. His hand moved slightly on your ankle. “Because you’re—” He stopped.
“Because I’m what,” you said softly.
He looked at you. The room was noisy around you but it felt like it had contracted to just this, just his face and yours and the thing he was about to say. “Important,” he said. Quiet. “Because you’re important.”
Your heart did the inconvenient thing again, harder this time. “Riki,” you said.
“Yeah.”
“That word—”
“I know what word I used.” You looked at him. He looked back, steady, not taking it back, not softening it. Just — sitting in it, the way he sat in most things, patient and certain.
Across the room Jay said something loud and everyone laughed and the moment breathed. Riki’s hand moved from your ankle to your calf. Warm. Present. “Stay tonight,” he said. Low enough that it was only for you. “Not at the shop. Mine.”
His. His flat, which you hadn’t been to, which was a different thing than the back room couch. A different kind of staying. “Yeah,” you said.
He nodded. Looked back at the room. But his hand stayed on your leg and his shoulder was warm against yours and you sat in the important and let it settle into something that felt permanent.
Later, when most people had gone and Ria was helping Heeseung with something in the kitchen and it was just you and Riki by the door putting your jacket on he turned you by the shoulders. Kissed you slowly, his hands on your face, thumbs at your jaw. The kind of kiss that had no agenda, no direction, just wanted to exist. When he pulled back he looked at you for a long moment.
The word boyfriend was right there in the room. Neither of you said it. But his hand found yours and held it, and he didn’t let go the whole way to his flat, and somewhere in the space between mine and important and his fingers between yours on a dark street — the unnamed thing finally had a shape. You just hadn’t said it out loud yet.
His flat was on the third floor of a building that had seen better decades, the kind of place that was held together by good bones and someone who actually cared about the space inside it. You didn’t know what you’d expected.
More of the shop, maybe — dark walls, flash art, the deliberate aesthetic. And there was some of that. Dark furniture, a few framed pieces on the walls, one large canvas above the couch that was either very expensive or done by someone he knew and you suspected the latter. But it was also — lived in, in a specific way. Books stacked in an order that made sense only to him. A record player in the corner with a small collection beside it. The kitchen clean in the way of someone who cooked properly and cleaned as they went.
It was a home. Actually a home. That surprised you and you didn’t know why it surprised you and then you thought about what he’d said — I spent a long time in situations where things got taken — and understood it. He’d built this. Deliberately. Piece by piece. “Stop analyzing it,” he said from the kitchen.
“I’m not analyzing it.”
“You have your analyzing face on.”
“I don’t have an analyzing face.”
He appeared in the kitchen doorway with two glasses of water and looked at you standing in his living room in your jacket still on and raised an eyebrow. “Take your jacket off,” he said. “You’re staying.” You took your jacket off.
You fell asleep on his couch. Not intentionally — you’d been talking, the record player on low, and somewhere between one subject and the next the warmth of him beside you and the late hour pulled you under. You were aware of it happening distantly, the conversation getting slower, your eyes getting heavy, and you didn’t fight it.
You woke up in his bed. He’d moved you. At some point while you slept he’d carried you — or walked you, half-conscious — to the bed and put you in it and the duvet was pulled up and his pillow smelled like him and you lay there in the early grey morning and stared at the ceiling and felt something enormous and inconvenient sitting on your chest.
You heard him in the kitchen. The quiet sounds of someone who knew how to exist in the morning without disturbing anyone. You lay there and thought about mine and important and the collarbone tattoo and his hand in yours on the dark street and the back room couch and two months of Wednesdays and the card he’d slid across the counter the first night like he’d already decided.
You thought about Ria’s voice. You’re terrified. You were terrified.
He was at the kitchen counter with his back to you when you came in. Making coffee, unhurried, still in the clothes from last night minus the jacket. Rings on his hands already. You didn’t know if he’d slept. He turned when he heard you. Took in your expression with one look. “Hey,” he said carefully.
“Hey.” You stood in the kitchen doorway. Your heart was doing something loud. “You moved me.”
“You were asleep on my couch.”
“You could have woken me up.”
“You looked tired.” Simple. Like it was nothing. Like carrying you to his bed was just a practical thing he’d done without thinking. “Coffee?”
“Riki.” He looked at you. Really looked — reading whatever was on your face with that careful focus, taking it in.
“What’s going on,” he said.
“Nothing. I just—” You stopped. Started again. “I woke up in your bed and it—” You pressed your fingers to your mouth briefly. “It felt like something.” He was quiet. Waiting.
“I think this is something,” you said. “I think it’s been something for a while and we keep not saying it and I’m—” You exhaled. “I’m tired of not saying it.”
The kitchen was very quiet. Riki leaned back against the counter. Crossed his arms. His expression was the open one — no performance, no control layered over it, just his face and whatever was behind it. “Say it then,” he said quietly.
You looked at him. “I want this to be a thing. A real thing. I want—” You. “I want the name.”
He uncrossed his arms. Crossed the kitchen in three steps and he was right in front of you and his hands came up to your face — both of them, palms at your jaw, tilting your face up — and he looked at you for one long second. “It’s already a thing,” he said. “It’s been a thing.” His thumb moved at your cheekbone. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
“That’s very smug,” you said. Your voice wasn’t fully steady.
“I know.” He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were serious, dark, right there. “Y/N.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not good at the words,” he said. “You know that. But this—” his thumbs traced your face, gentle and deliberate “—this is not nothing. This hasn’t been nothing since you walked into my shop.”
Your hands found his wrists. Held on. “Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he said. He kissed you. Soft, slow, his hands still on your face like he wanted to hold the moment still. You kissed him back and felt the unnamed thing finally, finally settle into something with a shape and a weight and a name you’d figure out the exact word for later.
When he pulled back he pressed his forehead to yours. “Boyfriend is a weird word,” he said.
You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. “It really is.”
“But yeah.” His mouth curved. “That.”
“That,” you agreed. He kissed you again, brief and warm, and then stepped back and handed you a coffee and the domesticity of it — his flat, his coffee, his hands, the morning — hit you somewhere soft.
“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“You cook?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Riki I’ve known you for months and I’ve never seen you eat anything that wasn’t takeout or coffee.”
“That’s at the shop.” He was already at the fridge. “At home I cook.”
You sat at his kitchen counter on a stool and watched him move around his kitchen with the same ease he brought to everything — competent, unhurried, knowing where things were — and drank your coffee and felt the warmth of the morning settle around you. “What are you making?” you said.
“Eggs.”
“Just eggs?”
“Good eggs.” He glanced back. “Don’t underestimate eggs.”
They were good eggs. You ate at his kitchen counter side by side, your shoulder against his, and the conversation came easy the way it always did — drifting, unhurried, one thing opening into another. He told you about the record player, how he’d found it at a market two years ago and had to carry it up three flights on his own. You told him about the flat you’d wanted that you hadn’t got and ended up in your current one instead and how it had turned out better. “Things usually do,” he said.
“Philosopher.”
“Just paying attention.” His hand found yours on the counter between you. Covered it. Not making anything of it — just there, warm and present. You turned your hand over and his fingers slid between yours. You sat like that until the coffee was cold.
He walked you out two hours later. Down the three flights and out onto the morning street, quiet at this hour, pale winter sun doing its best. He had his jacket on, hands in his pockets, walking beside you in the direction of the bus stop. “You don’t have to walk me,” you said.
“I know.” He walked you anyway. His shoulder bumping yours occasionally. Not holding your hand now — just beside you, present, taking up the right amount of space. At the bus stop he turned to face you. “Wednesday,” he said.
“Wednesday,” you said. Then: “Actually I might come Tuesday. I need to talk to Heeseung about extending the collarbone piece.”
Something moved across his face. Quick, then gone. “You want to extend it?” he said.
“Just the stems, maybe. One more.” You looked at his expression. “What?”
“I’ll do it,” he said. Immediate.
“I know you’ll do it—”
“I mean — the extension. Let me do it.” His jaw was doing the thing. “Not Heeseung.”
You looked at him. Understood. “Okay,” you said.
“Okay.” The jaw relaxed. A short exhale.
You reached up and kissed him — he leaned down to meet you before you’d fully extended, like he’d been waiting for it — and it was brief and warm and tasted like coffee. “Tuesday,” you said against his mouth.
“Tuesday,” he said. The bus appeared at the end of the road. He stepped back. Hands back in his pockets. Watching you with that settled, certain expression. “Text me when you’re home,” he said. New. That was new.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “Okay.”
You texted Ria from the bus.
you: we sorted it
The reply was immediate. She’d been awake, waiting.
Ria: WHAT
you: it’s a thing. officially.
Ria: I KNEW IT I HAVE BEEN SAYING does he even know the word boyfriend???
you: he said it’s a weird word
Ria: oh my god he’s so him
you: he made me eggs
Ria: Y/N!!!
you: they were really good eggs
Ria: I am going to cry. IM SO HAPPY!
You put your phone in your pocket and looked out the bus window at the city going past and felt something settled and warm sitting in your chest where the unnamed thing used to be.
Daniel saw you get off the bus. You didn’t notice him. You were texting Riki — something small, a photo of a dog outside the coffee shop you were passing, the kind of thing you sent now because you could — and you walked past him without looking up.
He watched you go. Watched the way you were smiling at your phone. He knew about the tattoo shop. He’d heard you mention it. He’d put things together — the visits, the name that came up, the way you’d brushed him off every time since October.
He pulled out his own phone. Started looking. It didn’t take long. Public record. The charge, the conviction, the sentence. He read it twice. Read the name again. Looked up Studio 13. He sat with it for a long time. Then he texted Soo.
Daniel: hey, you’re friends with Y/N right. I need to tell you something about someone she’s seeing.
The thing about finally naming something was that it changed the texture of everything. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just — small shifts, accumulating. The way he texted now, more often, nothing significant but there. The way he said my girlfriend to a client who asked about the collarbone piece, casual, not looking at you when he said it, and you’d had to look very hard at the flash wall for a moment. The way his hand found yours in public without him thinking about it first. Small things. Heavy things.
You were catastrophically gone for him and had been for a while and now there was nothing to hide it behind.
The first Tuesday after you came into Studio 13 at noon and Riki was with a client so Jay made you coffee and sat across from you at the counter with the expression of someone who had been waiting to say something. “So,” he said.
“Don’t,” you said.
“I just want to say—”
“Jay.”
“I called it.” He held up both hands. “First week you came in. I said to Sunghoon, I said that girl is going to wreck him, and I was right—”
“I didn’t wreck anyone—”
“In a good way.” He was grinning. “He’s different. He’s — I’ve known Riki for two years and he texted me last Sunday morning just to talk. Riki. Texting. On a Sunday. Because he was in a good mood and wanted to—”
“Jay.” Riki’s voice from the piercing section, flat. He’d finished with his client without you noticing.
“I’m just saying—”
“I heard what you were saying.” Riki came around the partition and looked at you and the expression on his face when it landed on you was the thing Jay had been describing without being able to name it — something unlocked, something that had been held tight for a long time and wasn’t anymore.
He came to the counter. Leaned down and kissed you hello like it was something he’d been doing for years. Brief, warm, his hand on your jaw for just a second. Jay made a noise. Riki sat on his stool without acknowledging him. Picked up his coffee. “How’s the collarbone?” he said.
“Good. I want to talk about an extension.”
“I know what I’ll doing with it.”
“I haven’t told you what I want yet.”
“I know what you want.” He met your eyes. Completely certain. “Trust me.”
You looked at him. Thought about the first piece — how right it had been, how it had looked like it had always been there. “Fine,” you said.
Jay, very quietly, said: “He’s so different.”
The extension happened the following Thursday. One more stem. Slightly longer than the others, curving toward your shoulder, a small bud at the end that he’d added without asking and that was so exactly right you hadn’t been able to speak for a moment when you saw it. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.” He was examining the placement, focused.
“The bud.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No.” He glanced up. Brief, the focus breaking for just a second. “Do you like it?”
You looked in the mirror. The three stems, the new one curving outward, the small closed bud at its tip. Something that looked like potential. Like something about to open. “Yeah,” you said. “I like it.”
He looked back down. Said nothing. But his free hand, steadying your shoulder, pressed slightly. Small. Deliberate.
Three weeks in and the shape of things had settled. Wednesdays at the shop. Tuesday evenings at his flat, which had become a specific thing — you’d bring food, he’d already have the record player going, and you’d eat on his couch or his kitchen floor and talk until one of you fell asleep. Some Fridays at yours, which he’d come to twice now and moved through with the particular attentiveness of someone learning a space they planned to know well.
His things had started appearing at your flat. A hoodie, first — left behind, not retrieved. Then a phone charger. Then a record he’d brought over to show you something and hadn’t taken back. You didn’t point any of this out. Neither did he.
You had a key to Studio 13. That had happened without discussion — Riki had taken it off his keyring one night when you’d arrived before him and handed it to you and gone back to what he was doing. You’d stared at it for a full ten seconds.
This was how he said things. Not in words. In the key. In the bud on the stem. In text me when you’re home and Sunday morning texts and the way he always, always knew when something was wrong before you’d said anything. You were learning his language. It was quieter than most people’s but it was fluent.
Four weeks in, on a Wednesday night after Studio 13 closed as usual. But tonight the energy was different from the second you’d locked the front door behind you — something in the way he’d looked at you across the shop all evening, something that had been building since you’d arrived and had nowhere to go while there were other people present.
He kissed you against the front counter the second the lock clicked. Not soft. Not the hello-kiss or the goodbye-kiss or the slow deliberate thing from his kitchen. This was four weeks of officially named wanting, his hands in your hair and your hands in his jacket and both of you breathing differently inside ten seconds. He pulled back. Looked at your face. “Hi,” you said.
“Hi.” His voice was rough already. His hands moved from your hair to your waist, sliding under your top to bare skin, and you felt his rings and exhaled. “Been thinking about you all day.”
“I was here all evening.”
“I know.” His mouth found your jaw, your throat. “Worse.”
“Riki—”
“I know.” He pulled your top up and off and looked at you in the low red light the way he always did — that slow, deliberate sweep that moved over you like you were something he was committing to memory. The collarbone piece. His hands on you. “God,” he said quietly. Not performing it. Just — reacting.
“Come here,” you said. He came. He got you onto the front counter. Which was new. Which was — you looked around the shop, the dark windows, the closed door, and then his hands were on your thighs spreading them and he was standing between them and the location became very irrelevant. “Here?” you said.
“Here.” He kissed you again, deep, his tongue against yours and the bar of it doing what it always did to your ability to think. His hands pushed your skirt up your thighs, found your underwear, pushed it aside — and his fingers were there, at your folds, and you grabbed the edge of the counter.
“Riki—”
“Already.” His fingers moved through your folds, slow, feeling you. “Fuck, Y/N, already—”
“Don’t be smug—”
“I’m not.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat. “I’m really not.” His fingers found your clit and circled and your hips rolled forward. “That’s it. That’s—” A breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Tell me,” you breathed.
He pushed two fingers inside you and your head fell back. “This,” he said, low, watching your face. “Every time. Every fucking time you walk in here I want—” His fingers curled and you gasped. “Yeah. That. I want that sound.”
“More—”
“More?” He kept the pace slow. Deliberate. His thumb finding your clit while his fingers moved and the combination was devastating. “You sure? We’re not in a rush.”
“Riki I swear to god—”
He laughed — low, warm, real — and his fingers moved deeper and his thumb pressed harder and you grabbed his shoulder and held on. “Good girl,” he said against your throat. “So good. So wet for me, every time, like you spend all day—”
“I do,” you said, breathless. “I do, okay, is that what you want to hear—”
“Yes,” he said simply, and meant it, and his fingers moved faster. You came with your face pressed into his neck and his name in your mouth, his fingers working you through it, not stopping until you pulled at his hair and told him too much, too much—
He pulled his hand back. Pressed his mouth to your temple. Your cheekbone. The corner of your mouth. “Good girl,” he said again, softer. “You’re so—”
“Don’t you dare say something nice right now,” you said. “I can’t handle it.” He pressed his smile into your hair.
You got his jeans open. Got your hand on his cock and felt him exhale sharply against your neck —that involuntary thing, the crack in the control — and stroked slowly and felt every bar of the ladder and heard him make a sound that was almost pained. “Y/N—”
“Yeah?”
“I need—” His hips pushed forward slightly. “Fuck, I need you to—”
“Need me to what.” You kept the pace slow. His own medicine.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder. “Please.” The please from Riki — rare, wrecked, genuine — landed somewhere it always landed and you let go of him and pulled him forward by his waistband and he understood, got his jeans down, stepped between your thighs.
He pushed inside in one slow stroke and you both went still. His hands braced on the counter either side of you. Your hands on his chest. The shop around you, the red light, the flash art on the walls watching everything. “Okay?” he said. Rough. Always asked.
“Move,” you said. “Please, Riki, move—” He moved.
The front counter was cold under your hands and he was warm everywhere else — his chest against yours, his mouth at your throat, his hips rolling into you in a rhythm that started slow and deliberate and got less controlled as it went. “You feel—” He broke off. His jaw set. “Every time. Like the first time, every—”
“Don’t stop talking,” you said. “I like it when you talk.”
He made a rough sound. “You like it.”
“Yes—”
“Good girl for telling me.” His pace shifted deeper and you choked on a breath. “Good girl for always — fuck — for always telling me what you want—”
“Riki—”
“I’ve got you.” His hand slid between you, found your clit, and you arched. “I’ve got you, come on, cum for me, you can—”
“I just—”
“I know.” His thumb circled. “Do it again. Come on. Let me feel you cum on my cock, Y/N—”
The degradation and the praise all tangled together and his thumb and the ladder on every stroke and his voice at your ear and you shattered again — harder this time, your whole body locking up, his name loud enough that it bounced off the dark walls—
He followed you. His rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his hands gripping the counter so hard you heard his rings knock against it — and the sound he made when he came was the broken one, the helpless one, the one you collected and kept.
After the both of you on the front counter, you sitting, him leaning against it beside you. Still not fully dressed. The playlist had long since ended and the shop was quiet except for both of you getting your breathing back. You looked at the flash art on the walls. “We just did that on the front counter,” you said.
“We did.”
“Where clients sit.”
“I’ll clean it.”
You looked at him. He looked back with the wrecked-and-unbothered expression, his hair completely destroyed, his rings catching the low light. “You’re not even slightly embarrassed,” you said.
“No.” Simple. His hand found your knee. “Are you?”
You thought about it. “No.” He smiled. The real one.
You leaned your head on his shoulder and he turned his face into your hair and you sat on the front counter of Studio 13 at midnight and the warmth of it — the us of it — felt like something you could live inside. “Stay,” he said. Into your hair.
“At yours?”
“Here. Couch in the back.” His hand moved at your knee. “Don’t want you to go yet.”
You lifted your head. Looked at his face. “Riki. I’m not going anywhere,” you said.
His eyes moved over yours. The thing behind them — the possessive, careful, quietly terrified thing that drove the jealousy and the silence and the hand always finding yours — settled. “I know,” he said. Like he was practicing believing it.
“I know you know.” You put your hand on his jaw. “I’m telling you anyway.” He turned his face into your palm. Brief. Eyes closing for just a second.
Then he stood up, pulled you off the counter, kept your hand in his. “Couch,” he said.
“Couch,” you agreed.
You were asleep within minutes with Riki’s jacket over you and his voice low in the background talking to someone on the phone — his brother, you thought, distantly, the conversation too quiet to hear properly — and the red light under the door and the smell of ink and his hoodie under your cheek.
You were asleep and warm and his and the storm was three weeks away. It felt like nothing could touch this.
Daniel texted your friend Soo on a Wednesday night. She didn’t tell you immediately. That was the first thing — she sat on it for four days, turning it over, looking at the record he’d sent her, reading it and rereading it. The charge. The conviction. The length of the sentence. Assault. Grievous bodily harm. Victim: female.
She read those words and thought about you and made a decision she believed was the right one. She texted you on a Sunday.
You were at Riki’s flat. Sunday morning, late, the good kind of late — his record player going, both of you in the kitchen, you on the counter watching him make coffee with the focused competence he brought to everything. His hair was wrecked. He had a bruise on his collarbone that was your fault and he’d looked at it in the mirror that morning with an expression of complete satisfaction that had made you throw a pillow at him. Your phone lit up on the counter beside you.
Soo: hey can we talk today. it’s important.
Soo: it’s about Riki.
You looked at the screen. “What,” Riki said. He’d clocked your face without turning around. He did that.
“Soo wants to talk.” You kept your voice neutral. “About you.”
He turned. Read your expression. His jaw did the thing — the subtle set — but his voice stayed even. “What about me?”
“She didn’t say.”
A pause. He looked at the coffee. Back at you. “When?”
“Today apparently.” He nodded. Said nothing. Turned back to the coffee and you watched his shoulders and thought about the tension in them and didn’t ask.
You met Soo at the coffee place near yours at two. She was already there when you arrived. She had her hands around her cup and her expression was the one she got when she was about to say something she’d rehearsed — careful, prepared, slightly guilty around the edges. You sat down. “Just tell me,” you said.
She put her phone on the table. Turned it to face you. A screenshot. A public record database. The name — Nishimura Riki — and below it the details, dry and legal and devastating in their simplicity. Charge: Assault occasioning grievous bodily harm. Victim: Female, 28. Sentence: 14 months. Probation: 12 months.
rﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ random texts w/ Riki and his best friend turned gf! _ x2
from this unintentional series!
ೀ⋆｡˚ contains x established relationships, very chalant Niki, begging, 18+ jokes, ‘daddy is a state of mind’. Niki: “and I took that personally.”, petnames, ur both in college, one kms joke, the beach episode that was never meant to be😔, cheating joke, he’s being dramatic, and embarrassingly down bad😭, explicit language, he’s extra annoying for some reason, but that’s ur man and ur sticking by him!, No Heeseung’s were harmed in the making of this and I genuinely forgot to tag it but he’s freaked out lmaooo
@tojiworshipper <3!
₊·—̳͟͞͞ ꒰ঌᰔᩚ໒꒱— Pairings— A Chrome Hearts boy and his high maintenance best friend that looks like the song “Love Potions”.
