reposting fics isn't only for the fic to reach new audiences, but i recently found out that you can read posts from deleted accounts only if you have reposted the said post!
it's a win for the author as their fic can reach more people, and it's win for us, readers, as we can always go back and re-read our favourite fics, even if the author has left tumblr
i think ive been struggling to write these days because previously when i had a crush i found myself daydreaming/making scenarios which gave my inspiration to write
but now i barely daydream and i don't have a crush to inspire me anymore
PAIRING: Ferrari Driver!Jihoon x Journalist!Reader
SUMMARY: Jihoon is suffering through a heartbreaker of a season with Ferrari. The car won’t cooperate, his teammate keeps outpacing him, and nothing seems to go right. Worst of all is what’s happening off the track. It seems racing is slipping through his fingers - and so are you.
WC: 18,786
AU: Formula One
GENRE: Angst, Exes to Lovers, Smut
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Angry Jihoon being miserable, things just not going right for him, a lot of self angsty, some petty arguments between reader and Jihoon, a lot of reflecting on the past and angst over a past relationship, a lot of awkward tension and just tension in general between Jihoon and reader, explicit language, a lot of race jargon shout out to google a lot of this might be wrong because the fuck if I know what some of these things are called only have a vague concept of tire strategy, explicit sexual content including oral (m. rec), vaginal fingering, sex where others can overhear it but who cares, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, a hint of dirty talk but not really, Jihoon is an Ass Guy.... um. I think that's it.
A/N: This is a piece for the Lights Out Collab hosted by @studiosvt! Apologies this is being posted late, Tumblr ate the scheduled post and I am on day 7 of 13 of full work days in a row and I do not even know what day or reality I'm in as I rush to post this. This is not beta'd I am so sorry.
A/N 2: This fic is a part of my Paddock Club Collection.
PADDOCK MAP: MAIN M. LIST | ASK | PADDOCK PLAYLIST
YOU'RE A HEARTBREAKER, DREAM MAKER
LOVE TAKER, DON'T YOU MESS AROUND WITH ME
-
LEE JIHOON FUCKING HATES PAT BENATAR SONGS. Not because she's a bad singer - she really isn't. But every time he hears one of her refrains from a distance, he's forced to think of you, and thus, it ruins his fucking day.
He'd like to go a single day without it being ruined. Today doesn't feel like the day. Neither had yesterday, or the day before that, an endless cycles of bad days and things that remind Jihoon of you everywhere he goes and everywhere he looks.
Jihoon swears the looming cloud over practice and media day for Day One of the Australian Grand Prix has followed him all the way from Monaco where he took his single reprieve between preseason testing and the start of the Formula One season. It hadn't been much of a rest, considering testing in Bahrain had been so bad that it had haunted him every night. What should have been warm days by the pool and runs down by the water had turned into hiding in the dark of his apartment, going through simulations and data and about a million other things to prep for this weekend.
This weekend that Pat Fucking Benatar is kicking off.
Australia blurs by on the other side of the window. As many times as Jihoon has been here, the sun never gets any kinder. He can feel its oppressive heat even behind the tinted glass of the car, and his sunglasses do almost nothing to keep the brightness at bay. Still, the sparkling blue of the ocean and the swath of blue sky above him is a nice break from the grey interior of his gloomy apartment back in Monaco.
"Can we change the radio station?" Jihoon asks.
The man in the front makes a questioning sound and Jihoon curses internally. He knew he should have committed to studying Italian in the off season. He's been a part of the Ferrari Formula One team long enough to need a better grip on the language, but he'd been uncommitted in the off season to learning it. He'd been too busy sulking over the poor end to last year's racing season and the very abrupt end of your relationship.
Soonyoung turns around the the front seat of the car, face dubious. "You don't like Pat Benatar?"
Jihoon is surprised his new teammate even knows who Pat Benatar is. Soonyoung, though older than him by a few months, doesn't seem to know much about music beyond the thumping techno and house that is often coming through his headphones or the hiphop that he swears he knows every word to.
Kwon Soonyoung has taken a bit for Jihoon to get used to. As the new driver for the second Ferrari seat, he is a personality that Jihoon can only categorize as wildfire and uncontrollable so far, but he begrudgingly doesn't dislike Soonyoung, which is a surprise. He thought he was going to hate the reckless upstart, but he actually kind of finds him refreshing. Plus, he's got an infection personality about him that reminds Jihoon of Chan, who had only been his teammate for a year, but he'd liked nonetheless.
Soonyoung is the kind of driver in F1 that is in the headlines for his behavior as much as he is his wins. It had surprised Jihoon when they signed Soonyoung after Chan moved to Williams. Soonyoung wasn't exactly the refined, classic Ferrari brand, but he was a good driver, and the long-standing Formula One name needed good drivers, particularly after Jihoon's not-so-great season last year.
"She's not my favorite," Jihoon responds, looking back out the window.
Hobson Bay gleams in the distance. Boats bob in the distance, random pops of colored parasailers dragging across the sky, the people in them the size of ants against the vast blue. As afraid as he is of heights, Jihoon would rather be tangling from one of them right now than heading to the first practice session of the season. He has no idea when he became so adverse to his own career, but the knot in his stomach only tightens the closer they crawl to the circuit.
"Oh man, you're missing out!" Soonyoung puts his hand to his face like a fake microphone and proceeds to belt, "You're a heartbreaker! Dream taker! Love taker!"
"Soonyoung."
"Yeah, yeah." He turns to the man in the driver's seat. He's grinning, apparently as easily charmed by Soonyoung as everyone else always is. "Puoi cambiare la musica? Grazie."
The driver nods and flips it to jazz and Jihoon sighs, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. Of course the new addition to the team speaks perfect Italian. Why wouldn't he? There seems to be a world of things that Soonyoung can do that Jihoon can't, including driving the impossible cars that Ferrari has given them this year.
Preseason testing had gone well for Soonyoung. He had the kind of testing sessions that made the Tifosi hopeful again, article after article talking about how he was bringing the spark back to Ferrari after a challenging last season that had ended up with Jihoon finishing outside of the top three and Chan losing his seat to shift to Williams.
Ferrari is a tough team to drive for. Jihoon knows that. He knew that when he started his rookie year with Alfa Romeo three years ago. He's going on his third season with Ferrari now, and the only thing that seems to stick is that he chases Red Bull and Mercedes for World Championships.
Still, Jihoon has been the closest Ferrari has been to consistent podiums in a while and he knows that. He's sacrificed everything - including being able to listen to Pat Benatar - to help lift Ferrari back to its former glory. To do so would be any drivers dream, and Jihoon was on track to take it until the tail end of last year. Preseason hadn't been kind to him either, leaving him with a dangerous sense of foreboding for what this season has to offer him.
The car this year is a beast, hard to control, hard to steer. Jihoon spend most of the practice sessions trying to muscle it to make the turns he wanted and grip it to death when it wanted to make turns he didn't want. It was like he was in personal conflict with the car, and while the car isn't sentient, Jihoon can't help but feel like it's purposefully chosen to work against him.
If Jihoon's relationship with you had taught him anything, it was that he liked stubborn. Stubborn girl, stubborn car, stubborn driver. Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn't seem to know what the word stubborn is, going with the flow and doing whatever Ferrari asked him to do. Mostly.
Australian sun beats down on Jihoon as he steps out of the car. He can already hear the fans screaming in the distance, the echo of their voices carrying over the black asphalt. He cringes internally, pulling the hat on his head down a little lower, trying to hide from wandering eyes. Soonyoung seems to come alive in front of fans, yelling back at them with his hands cupped around his mouth, making them go nuts. Jihoon resists the urge to smack him, knowing it isn't fair to steal Soonyoung's excitement just because he's miserable.
The garage smells the same as it always does, like rubber mixed with the slick scent of grease. The glare of the sun reflecting off the cherry paint on the car nearly blinds him and he holds up a hand, shielding his eyes. Jihoon steps inside and feels the familiar prickle across his shoulders. It's like stepping backward into a house that used to be his but has sold, a stranger in his own house.
Mechanics pause mid-motion when they see him, nodding and giving him tight smiles. Members of his team clap him on the back as he goes, and the tension bleeds out of him when he sees familiar faces. These are the people who want him to win most in the world. Despite the very passionate fan base Ferrari has, the men and women of this garage put just as much time and effort into wins as he does, and the tension eases a little when he remembers that the people her want whats best for him.
Soonyoung bounces in behind him, already waving at people he met for five minutes during testing, marveling at the gold painted Ferrari on the nose of his car. Jihoon ignores him, strolling over to gaze at telemetry screens that line the back walls. Numbers and graphs make more sense to him than people do, and he likes to find comfort in the data, to dive deep and puzzle out what he needs to do next.
It hadn't always been that way. There had been a time in Jihoon's racing career where how he felt behind the car had mattered more than the data. Those were the years that he was finishing inside the top ten with a car no one expected to do well, and before he'd been moved up to Ferrari where he felt more pressure to win, where he felt like he needed more than instinct. Having an instinctual edge for the car wasn't enough - he needed to understand. To be in control.
Data had been the worst thing that ever happened to him, you'd told him once. Jihoon had thought it was ridiculous at the time, but now as he stares at the wall of all the adjustments they've made from Bahrain, he isn't so sure you were wrong. You rarely were.
Matteo spots him first, the senior race engineer grinning as he walks over. Matteo has the look of someone sharp and scary, his dark hair threaded through with grey and wireframe glasses perched on a hawkish nose. Thankfully, Matteo's looks are deceiving. He's warm and loud, a riot in the garage as bright as the paint on the cars.
"Jihoon!" He claps his hands, sound ringing out. "Ready to make the data team cry again?"
Jihoon exhales sharply. Matteo's sense of humor is only appreciated sometimes. "Maybe it'll be tears of joy."
"Così ti voglio!" He claps Jihoon on the shoulder. "That's the spirit!"
After walking around the car a few times and killing time, they head to the motorhome. With his head tilted down, Jihoon heads to the team meeting room on the second floor where there are people sitting inside already through he frosted glass, including the team principal.
Unlike Matteo, Nico isn't as easy on the humor. He's serious and driven, his frown lines deepening when Jihoon sits down. Nico is also Matteo's opposite in appearance, his warm brown eyes and light brown hair making him seem kind and approachable. Jihoon had learned early on that it was deceiving, discovering Nico was clipped, to the point and direct. Jihoon doesn't mind it, but it makes for uncomfortable conversations when Jihoon is under performing like he had in Bahrain.
The table is covered in print outs of historical track data, schematics, tire degradation curves and overlays that probably make more sense to the people surrounding the table than they do to Jihoon. He picks a paper up and frowns when he sees a map of energy deployment in the car that failed him in Sakhir. Energy is a confusing thing in Formula One, especially as the FIA and the teams make new rules about how to be environmentally friendly while being cost efficient.
Matteo doesn't waste anyone's time, tapping the first sheet to start the meeting. The room goes silent, employees leaning forward with their elbows on the table to listen to the man that's supposed to lead them all to victory.
"Front wing adjustment was too aggressive," Matteo starts. He looks at Jihoon. "You were fighting the adjustment too much, so that needs to be accounted for. We made some adjustments that should give you more more control without over correcting."
Jihoon nods once. Clinical. Logical. He's good at this when the alternative is screaming into a helmet to fix problems no one can handle as he drives 200 mph.
"What about rear suspension?" He asks. "It was a mess."
Matteo flips a page. "We're running you two millimeters higher than Bahrain to start."
"Can we drop it back if it's too much understeer?"
"Yes. Better than bouncing like a kangaroo, no?"
They move on to the power unit and show him the revised energy harvesting maps and their strategy to conserve energy on the corner exits to leave him with more juice when he needs it most. He nods, detailing each thing they've change, knowing he'll stay up tonight overthinking about it in that same way that he always does.
As the sun dips outside, the rest of the meeting carries on like that, the team firing data and adjustments at him while he tells them about how the car felt. When the meeting concludes, Jihoon feels a little better, but he has a laundry list of things to report back on for the day's practice run, and he's already trying to commit to memory all the adjustments he needs to make when driving the car.
Soonyoung is waiting outside for his own meeting with Nico and the engineering team, leg bouncing as he sits on the couch. He grins at Jihoon as they exchange places, Soonyoung's team swapping for Jihoon's. Like most teams, they only share a few personnel, keeping the driver's goals, teams, and strategy separate to ensure for clean, fair racing.
Jihoon spends the next hour in his room watching his races in Bahrain, flicking through his notes. The room in the motorhome is small, but it's got good air conditioning, a soft couch that he likes to doze on, and TV screens that he can use for leisure or data. He almost always picks data, touching the mousepad on the computer in front of him to flip screens.
By the time he's entering the garage for his first practice session, the garage has come to life, a full world of life and sound and smells. His personal race engineer Luca waits for him, arms crossed over his chest as he orders something in rapid Italian to the man handling tires. Jihoon likes Luca. He's built like a fire hydrant and manages pressure like one two, keeping most of his feelings bottled up until they come exploding out when Jihoon blows a tire or when someone puts him into the wall. Thankfully, his outbursts are often well-timed and never pointed at Jihoon.
"We'll start with mediums today," Luca says when he sees Jihoon. "We'll do softs after twenty minutes if the track allows."
Jihoon nods, listening as Luca fires off some technicalities about the car. It's hard to listen with Soonyoung's side of the garage turning into a circus, the driver shaking hands with every single one of his engineers and mechanics. Jihoon notices there's a tiny tiger pin clipped to his race suit and decides e doesn't want to open the can of worms by asking about it.
A calm settles over Jihoon as he readies to get in the car. The mechanics swarm around him and someone hands him his balaclava. He pulls it down over his head, noting that it smells faintly like laundry detergent. The helmet goes next, the squeeze of it familiar against his skull, tight and secure. He's field of vision narrows to the oval of the open visor, and he knocks on top of the helmet out of habit, the solid sound good.
Jihoon climbs the car and gets in, the sun glinting off the visor of his helmet as he sinks into the seat, body molding to it immediately. He leaves the visor up for now, reaching up as someone hands him the wheel to the car so he can plug it in. The dashboard lights up like Christmas, numbers colors, readings that are green. Green is good, though he doesn't expect to see red from the jump.
The garage doors are open now and Australian heat pours in, the sun vicious as it bounces off every shiny surface in the garage. Outside, the grandstands are starting to fill in for fans watching practice, team flags everywhere. Jihoon watches the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until he can get out of the car again.
He runs through the start procedure in his head over and over again, reciting everything that he needs to do and everything tiny thing that can go wrong in the first five minutes of a season. Already he feels like he's forgetting what he talked about during the strategy session, but he'll just have to make do. If the car wants to fight with him today, he'll fight back. Jihoon is stubborn like that.
When the car's engine finally roars, Jihoon comes to life. He changes entirely with the sound of the engine humming and the vibrations climbing up through his legs, the steady buzz making him a little itchy and jumpy. The heat soaks through the carbon body of the car and the faint smell of brake fluid reaches him as he shuts the visor to the helmet, rolling his shoulders to ready himself.
"Radio check," Luca says, voice crackling over the comms.
"Good."
"Pit lane opens shortly. You're P2 in the queue."
"Copy."
"All good?
"Yeah," Jihoon says.
What Jihoon doesn't say is how hard it is not to think about how badly he fucked up in Bahrain. He doesn't tell Luca that he can still feel the understeer even though he hasn't started yet, and he doesn't say that it feels like the car hates him and that he hates the car back just as much.
Instead of telling Luca all that - because what the fuck would Luca say - the board goes green and mechanics step away from the ca so Jihoon can shift to idle the car forward, slow and easy out of the garage and into the blinding light of Albert Park.
The radio crackles again. "Out lap. Bring it in nice and slow."
Jihoon doesn't reply. He's already sinking, going deep into the icy, quiet place where the rest of the world falls away and there's only the car, the track, and the thin line between glory and utter disaster. Here, the only thing that can hurt him is himself.
Taking in a shaky breath, Jihoon starts his race weekend with the out lap. It's always the slowest part of the weekend, but Jihoon tries to treat it like the moment before the storm, taking his time to feel the car and see how it's doing. He grips the wheel tight, then let it slides, the hiss of his gloves against the wheel lost to the engine of the car. He feels the vibration of the drive, every bump and drag of the tires against the asphalt, every snag and pull.
Albert Park in March isn't as hot as it could be, but the track's surface is already hot enough to make the car feel stifling. He ignores it, his focus turning to a laser point as he eases into his first practice session, the heat and the nerves secondary to everything else.
Sector one is forgiving, Turn One a long, sweeping right that rewards his patience, and as Jihoon feathers the throttle and lets the car settle, he smiles as he takes it easy, no red on the dash, no losing power.
"Tires at 71 front, 68 reader. Good for now," Luca tells him.
"Copy."
"How's the understeer?"
Jihoon pauses, feeling the way the car takes a curve. "Not bad."
"Good."
At Turn Three, the car fights back a little and Jihoon feels the twitch through the rear, just enough to remind him that he's got new flooring. He notes it and continues to drive, pushing through the turn and leveling out the car.
By Turn Nine, he's relaxed, sliding into a rhythm he was terrified he would never find again, as irrational as it was. He flies down the straight, the wind and the force of the car pinning him to the seat. He feels alive, grinning for real as he remembers why he does this stupid, dangerous job in the first place. He brakes late into the chicane and takes the corner perfectly, the relief so suddenly that he nearly lets out a shout.
"Nice," Luca says. "Brake temps good."
Jihoon exhales. Its' the first time all week he hasn't felt like he's dragging his car by the balls toward the finish line. He settles in deeper, pushing the throttle faster, the car picking up pace as the crowd blurs, the smear of clouds and blue overhead a watercolor backdrop.
"Alright, let's go flying lap."
"Copy."
Turn One and Turn Two are nice to him, the car gliding and letting him feather the throttle again. There's no sudden loss of power and the tires feel good, and Jihoon feels a sense of relief as he starts to eat off half a tenth from his benchmark in 2024.
Then the circuit bites back.
He turns into Turn Six and the front loses its grip, the nose of the car pushing wide and causing the tires to protest. Jihoon corrects the snag of the car, but it costs him momentum as he lets go of the throttle for a moment to avoid going off track. It doesn't shake him at first, but the car continues to fights back as he nears Turn Seven, the rear end stepping out and causing him to break too soon. He curses, losing more time as he shakes his head and curses.
Turn Eight turns into a mess as he rear steps out again and Jihoon jerks the wheel, relieving the throttle for a split second too long. It immediately breaks his flow and he curses, feeling the fear from Bahrain creeping in on him. He'd managed not to think about it for a few laps, but now it's there, looming behind him like the final boss music from the video games Chan likes to play.
Jihoon brakes at Turn Fifteen late like he always does, but the car understeers and runs wide. He curses and corrects again, giving the feedback to Luca in a clipped, frustrated tone. Luca notes the understeer but Jihoon has to keep driving, so he does, despite the fact that he suddenly would rather stop the car, get out, and walk into the fucking ocean to be eaten by the sharks.
When he finally crosses the finish line, he waits. Jihoon already knows it's not great when Luca's feedback takes a beat too long before he says, "Alright. P8 on times so far. Soonyoung is on pace for P3 on time for reference."
Jihoon doesn't answer. He breathes through his nose, jaw locked, staring straight ahead.
Luca, knowing Jihoon, says, "We'll make the adjustments. P8 isn't terrible."
"Noted."
He peels into the pit lane and heads to the garage. When he stops the car, he doesn't move as the mechanics swarm around him like a school of red fish. Instead of getting out, he kills the engine and sits there, staring, staring, staring.
He knew Pat Benatar was going to ruin his day.
-
FP2 is somehow worse.
The changes they made after the morning session should have helped in theory. On paper. On a whim. On track, though, Jihoon spends nearly twenty-five minutes chasing a balance that refuses to stay put, fighting the wheel and the tires and the engine and the entire world through the entire session, and he gets absolutely nothing out of it.
His best lap puts him at P11 when the practice session ends. Meanwhile, Soonyoung floats his way to P4, the younger driver laughing and clapping someone on the back as Jihoon crawls out of the car in the garage, glaring at the back of Soonyoung's head as he greets some girl with a brief kiss. Of course Soonyoung is also in a successful relationship - why wouldn't he be? He's everything Jihoon isn't, apparently.
It isn't Soonyoung's fault. Part of Jihoon his happy for his teammate, but he knows how bad this looks for him specifically, and it eats at him despite how much he likes Soonyoung. Giving a poor performance as the team's senior driver when the fresh blood can handle the car no problem is a tale as old as time in this sport, and Jihoon has no desire to make it a permanent reality.
Jihoon is still damp and simmering when his media responsibilities pull him toward the press conference room. The public relations team walks beside him, rattling off instructions with a tablet in hand: fifteen minutes in the pen, then the main presser. Sky, F1TV, then the big room. You're third.
It's clinical. Rote.
The media pen is the usual circus of cameras, mics, and reporters jostling for position. The sun is lower now, slanting across Albert Park in burnt oranges and faded pinks while the asphalt simmers behind, a black mirror of heat. Jihoon pulls his hat low and steps into the chaos, swallowing thickly as he puts on a brave face and a polite smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
"How do you feel about your performance today in the second practice session?" Someone asks, leaning forward.
He takes it in stride. "Still working through balance issues. We made changes between sessions, but the car's not giving us what we expected. We'll keep digging."
"Frustrating day?"
"Frustrating, sure. But it's Friday. We'll reset and head into qualifying tomorrow."
He keeps his answers short and clipped, nothing short of professional. The anger is there, coiled low in his gut, but this swarm of reporters ask him fair questions. He hates that most of all, how the critique is fair and warranted, how each question is posed with the real question - are you worried?
Jihoon is worried, but he can't say that. So he keeps his frustration leashed, answering each questioning with unfaltering precision that Ferrari loves him so much for. Honestly, interviews and professionalism might be the only place he surpasses his teammate, who had gotten in trouble last year with Williams for mouthing off during an interview.
The rest of the questions pass Jihoon in a blur of more questions and more clipped answers. He's aware he sounds short, but he doesn't care. He gets through it until he's being ushered toward the media room where he lets someone hook him up to a mic on the collar of his shirt and he's instructed to sit between Choi Seungcheol from Red Bull and Chwe Vernon from McLaren, both who had done much better than him today.
One leg crossed over the other, Jihoon waits as the conference starts. He's both relieved and irritated to be sitting between Red Bull's shining star and the man who had blown everyone else out of the water during practice session, everyone wondering what the hell Vernon has brought to the team in orange as the new driver at McLaren. It gives Jihoon the respite he needs to collective his thoughts, but it also gives him just the right amount of time to look at the crowd of media personnel, which is a mistake.
He spots you immediately, his eyes drawn to where you're sitting like second second nature. Perhaps it is still an instinct to look for you after all this time. He's spent so long doing it that he doesn't know how to train himself not to, doesn't know how to forget that you'll be in the room for every single one of these.
You look the same as you always have. Same focused expression, same slight tilt to your head when you're listening hard. You scribble answers down on a notepad - old school, you used to joke - your quick hand visible from where he sits. He already sees parts of the pages where you've torn them, a nervous habit you obviously haven't gotten rid of, and he notices the prong on your pen cap has been snapped off. You never did have still hands, tearing bits of paper and snapping caps whenever things were too quiet around you.
It knots his stomach and he forces himself to look away, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. He hates that he knows so many things about you. Last season, he would have been watching you ask other drivers questions, trying to hide the smirk as you grilled them on strategy and performance. Now it's been months since you walked out on him in Austin, and he hasn't spoken to you since.
When it's your turn to ask questions and you fix your gaze on him, Jihoon thinks he's doing to die. If looks could kill, yours would certainly cut his beating heart right out of him. There's no warmth in your expression today, no secret smile as you're given a mic to ask questions, the cool sharpness of your stare so sharp he almost doesn't hear you over the pounding on his own heart as you start talking.
"Jihoon, two questions if I may," you say. He wants to say no, but even now, he can deny you nothing so he nods as if he has a choice. "After two difficult practice sessions, how confident are you that Ferrari can still fight for podiums this weekend?"
The question isn't unfair. It's not even particularly mean, but the way you phrase it in that infuriatingly calm and measured voice, almost clinical, makes it land like a slap. He feels the heat crawl up his neck as he stares at you, rage simmering under the surface immediately. You've always been the only person who can get a rise out of him, and it seems that hasn't changed.
"It's not where we want it," he answers, voice low and controlled as he can manage. "But we've got time. Podiums are still the target and are within reach."
“Even with the gap to Red Bull looking bigger than last year?”
"We’re not here to talk about gaps. We’re here to close them. Next question.”
Your eyes narrow, just a fraction because you are here to talk about gaps. He knows it, you know it. Vernon who is scratching the back of his neck and pretending to avert his gaze knows it.
“Second question, then," you continue. "You’ve spoken before about how important mental reset is after a tough preseason. How are you handling the pressure personally, given that your teammate has adapted to this year's car much faster?”
Jihoon wants to scream. He wants to say a lot of things. Wants to ask why you're asking that question. Wants to ask if this is revenge, if this is what happens when the pressure and his career gets in the way of being with you and if this is punishment for putting you second one time too many.
His answer comes out dangerously low. "I'm handling it the way I always do. I drive the car I'm given, and the rest is noise. I focus on the data, I do the work. The only pressure is from myself to do what I've been tasked to do."
You hold his gaze for a beat. It can't be more than a second, but he swears you cut down to the fucking core of him, your gaze a scalpel he cannot fight.
You nod. "Thank you."
Even though you've asked your questions, Jihoon is so acutely aware of you that he can barely focus on anything else. You stand there in the back, almost hidden behind a taller reporter, but you've opened the floodgates now - not just to the dam holding back his rage, but to the audience of reporters who were waiting for someone to poke him first.
"Jihoon," a reporter from Motorsport.com asks. "A follow up question for you. Given the performance gap to your teammate today, do you feel like the team's development direction still suits your driving style? Or maybe there's a risk that Ferrari has built a car that suits a different style?"
Jihoon scoffs. He can't help it because he hears the question for what it really is - do you think Ferrari has built the car for your teammate. Even Seungcheol makes a face, trying to cover his expression by putting his chin in his hand. It's a bold move to imply that a team has built a car for someone specific, and someone like Seungcheol who has that exact narrative year-after-year recognizes it the same way Jihoon does.
"I think the team is building the fastest car they can," Jihoon shoots back. "My job is to drive the car. If I can't drive the car, I need to adapt. Ferrari does not build the car for the driver. They build the car, the driver drives it. That's it."
No one asks him another question and he's glad. He doesn't want to answer more questions about the car and he doesn't want to answer questions that are the same questions you already asked him organized in different ways to make it sound like it's not a repeat question.
He knows it isn't fair to be upset with you, but he is all the same. He hates that once upon a time, he knew there wasn't malice behind your questions, knew that there was warmth and love instead of this this cold, calculated precision of a journalist and nothing more, asking him questions like he was just another driver.
But that's what he was to you now. Just another driver.
Back on the paddock, the sun is almost gone. The rrange light bleeds across the garages as Jihoon walks fast, cap low, shoulders up. He glances at the sky once and begrundingly acknowledges that the spill of tangerine light is beautiful, but when he nears the Ferrari motor home and hears your voice, he forgets all about where he is and appreciating his surroundings.
He looks up and sure enough, you're standing there with Soonyoung. From the distance you're standing from the motorhome, it's obvious you had just been walking by - not looking for him. Not waiting for him. Just passing through like anyone else, probably heading back to your hotel room to write a feature on how god fucking awful he was.
Soonyoung is laughing, his head thrown back, and you're smiling - not the polite, press smile you give everyone else - but the real kind that's genuine. The kind of smile that Jihoon used to get in hotel rooms at two in the morning when he showed you a funny video next to him in bed or when you woke up in the morning to find breakfast waiting. The kind of smile that you gave him and made anything and everything feel possible.
The sight hits him like break failure at 180 MPH.
Jihoon changes direction without thinking and he's in front of you before he can talk himself out of it, cutting off whatever Soonyoung is saying to ask, "Soonyoung, can you give us a minute?"
Soonyoung's laugh dies immediately. He looks at you and then back at Jihoon, suddenly unsure of the atmospheric change happening now that Jihoon is in the equation. "Uh… yes."
"No," you answer over Soonyoung. You stare at him, eyes flashing. "I'm in the middle of a conversation."
"It'll take two minutes."
"I'm not doing this here."
Jihoon steps closer, not crowding, bust enough that you can’t pretend he’s not there. “Then where? Because you had plenty to say in there.”
“That was work.”
“Work,” he repeats. The word tastes bitter. “Right.”
Soonyoung is frozen, looking like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Jihoon ignores his teammate, watching as you try to look anywhere but at Jihoon directly. Rich, considering you'd looked at him sharp as ever in the media conference.
"I have to go." You step around him. "I have a deadline."
The urge to try and stop you nearly takes over. Jihoon doesn't move though, knowing he can't, a boundary he is unwilling to cross. So he stands rooted to the spot, watching you storm off into the dying sun, your silhouette blazing like the inside of his chest.
Silence stretches. Jihoon can feel his heart pounding just as hard as it does when he watches the lights go out at the start of the race, the adrenaline rush making him dizzy in the dying Australia evening. He wants to scream, his hands tight fists, walking you turn and vanish from his sight before he can muster up something to shout at you.
Soonyoung clears his throat awkwardly and Jihoon glances at his teammate, who is desperately fumbling for something to say. "Umm. Bad day?"
"Yeah."
"Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but she knows me from my time at Williams. Nothing weird. She's cool but I'm not - nothing weird here, alright? I'm not trying to step on anything. I have a girlfriend. Kind of. It's really complicated, to be honest."
Jihoon’s laugh is short and hollow. "You’re not stepping on anything.”
Soonyoung nods slowly. “Okay. Good. Cool.” Another beat. "You wanna grab a drink?"
Jihoon stares at the spot where you disappeared. He wishes you would re-materialize, that the sun's heatwaves will conjure a mirage of you, smiling and happy and looking at him the way you had Soonyoung.
"Yeah," Jihoon sighs. "Yeah man. I need a drink."
Soonyoung claps him once on the shoulder, light and tentative. "How many drinks until you tell me your beef with Pat Benatar?"
"In your fucking dreams, Soonyoung."
"No biggie. I can tell you about my fake girlfriend."
"Your what?"
-
Jihoon loses the Australian Grand Prix faster than he can conceptualize. One second the lights are going out, the next he's crossing the finish line in P12. It's not dead last, but P12 in a Ferrari at the start of the season feels like swallowing glass, especially with Soonyoung on the podium with a P3 finish after a ruthless drive that turned the crowd into roaring red flags and a thunder of noise.
First podium of the season for Ferrari, and it's Soonyoung's.
Jihoon kills the car and sits. Doesn't move. Mechanics swarm but he stays strapped in, visor down, breathing harshly. The radio doesn't crackle with Luca's voice because he knows there's no sense in a pep talk now. Everyone who knows Jihoon knows that a silver lining won't help cool the sting of reality cutting through Jihoon for the first finish of the season, not that there's any silver lining to pull from today's disaster.
Eventually, Jihoon unclips and climbs out of the car. The heat hits him like a wall, the Melbourne evening still thick and sticky even after the sun has faded beyond the track somewhere, the afternoon still raw but dying. He yanks his helmet off, balaclava soaked through while sweat runs into his eyes and he lets it, trudging toward weigh in before he has to cool down and head to the media pen.
He doesn't speak. No one speaks to him either. Seungcheol from Red Bull glances at him with a single brow arched, but says nothing. Jihoon doesn't expect the golden driver of Red Bull who snatched P2 behind Chwe from McLaren to get it. How could he? Seungcheol has done what Jihoon hasn't - fixed a team clawing for championships.
As always, the media pen is chaos. Jihoon walks through it with his head down, cap pulled low and race suit half-unzipped and hanging off his hips. The PR handler murmurs reminders that are lost to the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the sound of voices and questions and the post-race whirring of machines.
He barely stops walking before someone asks, "How disappointing is P12 after such high expectations from Ferrari this weekend?"
Jihoon stops and forces the corners of his mouth up in a mock smile. "Disappointing. We didn't extract what the car was capable of. That's on me and the team. We'll need to fix it."
"Your teammate just earned Ferrari's first podium of the season on his first race with the team," someone points out. Jihoon pivots toward them, staring. "How much does that result change the mood in the garage for you personally?"
"Soonyoung drove perfectly. He deserved podium. The mood in the garage is fine. I'm focused on why I wasn't there with him. Nothing changes and the goal is to be a team."
He keeps moving, giving short answers with no elaboration. The anger sits low and hot behind his ribs like old oil that won't clear, clogging up everything and making him overheat. Every question feels like someone pressing on a fresh bruise, and now half of them are laced with congratulations for Soonyoung that land like insults even though they're not.
The press conference room is blessedly cold when he enters. He drops to the seat on the far left with Soonyoung in the middle, still flushed and grinning from his race. Seungcheol sits to his right, relaxed and leaning back as Jihoon crosses his arms and stares at the sea of faces with unseeing eyes.
When the moderator starts, Jihoon barely hears her. Soonyoung gets a generic opening question and Jihoon listens to his teammate talk about the management of the car and the strategy, his easy energy making the room laugh. Jihoon has never been able to do that, but he admires Soonyoung for being able to command a room full of sharks.
"Jihoon."
He looks up and sees you're standing near the front row this time, not hidden like before. Your notebook is open, pen poised old school, just like you like it - and your expression is unreadable, save for the slight tightening at the corners of your mouth.
"Two questions," you say. It's the same calm delivery that used to make hotel rooms feel safe after bad races and now just makes him sick to his stomach. "After finishing P12 on a day when Ferrari still earned a podium, how do you assess the performance gap within the team, and what does that say about the car's direction?"
The room quiets or maybe that's just how it feels. It's a similar question to the one you asked after practice on day one, but now you've got a race to use against him and the poor performance as justification.
Jihoon hears his own heartbeat in his ears and notices the way Seungcheol shifts, a small uncomfortable movement. Seungcheol knows who you are and knows what you mean to Jihoon, and for some reason the empathy that comes from another driver that Jihoon considers a long-time friend makes him more irritable.
Jihoon leans into the mic. “The gap is real. We saw it all weekend. Soonyoung maximized what the car could do today. I didn’t. My job is to close the gap. We'll keep working."
You don’t flinch or soften. “You’ve been vocal in the past about the importance of mental reset after difficult sessions. Clearly that reset didn’t happen between FP2 and the race today. With your teammate delivering under the same conditions, what specifically prevented you from finding the same level of performance?”
The question isn’t cruel, but It’s surgical. Fair. Asked the same way you’d ask any driver who just threw away twenty points while his teammate stood on the second step. Butt it's you who's asking the question and it' Soonyoung who is sitting right there, proof that the car wasn’t the problem. Jihoon was.
He exhales through his nose. “Pressure. Expectations. Execution. Same things everyone deals with. I didn’t handle it well enough today and Soonyoung did, that’s the difference.”
You nod once. “Thank you.”
He wants to laugh. Or throw the mic. Or ask why the fuck you’re doing this - why you're sitting there looking at him like he's just data on a screen. But he doesn't. He sits through the rest of the questions and lets Soonyoung charm the room with humble gratitude and jokes, lets Seungcheol talk strategy like the golden boy he is. Jihoon stays quiet unless directly addressed, and when it ends, he stands first.
He doesn't go straight to the motorhome. The buzzing in his veins won't let him. Instead, he stands outside the narrow service corridor behind the media center and leans against the wall, arms crossed. He knows you'll walk this way because you always used to cut through here to avoid the main paddock and the crowd crush when you were on a deadline.
Knowing things like that about you is agony. He hates the way he knows your quirks and tells, hates the way it's instinct for him to know what you'll say or do. Hates that he knows you were being fair in the media conference but he's angry anyway, rage and something like heartbreak simmering just under the placid surface of him.
You appear a few minutes later, phone in your hand and notepad tucked under your arm, typing away at your phone. He says nothing but you sense him, pulling up short as you jerk your attention up to see him. Surprise briefly flickers across your face before it settles into a cool, unreadable mask.
"What, Jihoon?" You sigh, sliding the phone into your pocket.
"You're nitpicking," he says.
"I'm asking questions."
"You don't have to phrase them like I'm the only person who failed today."
"Maybe you didn't notice, but you were on the stage among podium winners and people who finished inside top ten. Bitch at the moderator for the shitting press window, not me."
The laugh that comes out of him is sharp and humorless. "Right. And you've got a story to write, yeah? Am I getting a villain edit?"
"I'm not writing fanfiction, Jihoon. I'm writing what happened. Ferrari got a podium and it wasn't you. The why is relevant. This is my job."
“Your job,” he repeats, the word tasting like bile. “And what exactly is your job now? Because it feels a lot like following me around and twisting the knife every time I open my mouth while everyone else gets to clap for the new guy.”
"Get used to it." You storm passed him and he fights the urge to reach out and stop you. "I've been assigned Ferrari full-time this season for a feature series. I will continue to twist the knife, since apparently asking appropriate interview questions is a crime now."
Jihoon feels something crack inside his chest when the words hang. Knowing you will be in the garage to write about his every failure and Soonyoung's every win makes the room spin as he puts together what you're telling him.
"So I get to see you every race," he grits out. "Every time I fuck up, and you get to write about it."
You watch him with an unreadable gaze before you dismiss yourself. "I'm not hunting you for sport, Jihoon. Stop acting like it. Thankfully for you, your teammate has a lot to write about and is a lot less of an asshole when I ask him about his mistakes."
Jihoon says nothing. He stares at you as you walk away, never looking back to him. The service hallway is cold against his still-damp skin. He stays there even after you're gone, back against the wall, head tipped back, eyes staring fluorescent lights until his vision is swimming in coalescing lights.
The sounds of the paddock are distant - laughter from hospitality, someone singing off-key, the hum of engines as people break down the race. Normal Sunday night noises after a race, except nothing feels normal to Jihoon. Not anymore, not when he's P12 and you've gone somewhere he doesn't know how to reach.
Fucking heartbreaker.
-
The Jeddah Corniche Circuit is one of Jihoon's least favorite tracks. He doesn't hate it because of the walls that come out of nowhere or the straights that punish any ounce of hesitation, but rather hates it because last year when he'd been here, you'd been fighting. Maybe he should have known then that the fighting happening between closed doors wasn't going to mend itself. Now you're here in the garage and he feels that familiar fight or flight hammering under his ribs, your presence in the garage bringing back to life the bickering you'd done in hotel rooms just a year ago in this very city.
He hates seeing you around, the awful sense of desire and frustration clashing inside him every time he sees you, the newest permanent fixture in Ferrari's garage. You move through the garage with the same quiet authority you used to have when you were dating, and he hates how normal it is to see you here, how easy it is for you.
You ask Matteo questions while leaning over Luca's shoulder at the telemetry wall, scribbling notes while you skirt around mechanics and team personnel. You fit in so well that it makes him want to scream, and worst of all, everyone likes you. They had liked you when you'd been around in a less official capacity last year, but seeing the way you make Soonyoung laugh and the way the mechanics stick close to you is just proof that you're not the problem.
Jihoon is.
This will be the fourth race in with you in the garage and Jihoon still flinches when he sees you. He tries to compartmentalize when he sees you with his visor down in the car or headphones on in the garage, but sometimes he can't avoid you, like right now when you're standing in hospitality in front of the coffee machine he was heading toward.
He swallows. Your back is to him, head ducked as you scroll on your phone, the espresso machine churning as it processes your coffee. You're dressed in the black jeans that used to - still - drive him crazy, your media pass dangling around your neck.
"Settling in nicely?" His voice makes you startle and you whirl, looking at him with wide eyes. "Sorry."
You don't answer immediately. "I guess."
He leans a shoulder against the wall a few feet away. Arms crossed. “Garage suits you. You’re practically living there now.”
"Yeah. Now I’m just like you.”
He pauses and let's the words settle. For a second, he doesn't know what you mean. Then he sees the immediate wince on your face, instant regret that tells him it's a barb. He narrows his eyes, arms tightening a little.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks evenly.
"Nothing. I shouldn't have-"
"No. Tell me what you mean."
For a second, you don't answer. Instead you take the coffee from the machine and put a sleeve and lid on, doing anything you can to delay an answer. You've always been good at. taking time to choose your words. It's the single quality you have that makes you stick out among the other journalists, thoughtful and careful in your questions, never stupid, never rage baiting.
"It means," you answer carefully. "That I'm here because the job demands it. No space for anything else. I assumed it would be familiar to you."
"That's not fair."
“Isn’t it?” You tilt your head, the same way you used to when you were trying not to cry in hotel rooms after he missed another anniversary dinner. “You were never really there, Jihoon. You chose the garage. Every time.”
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out because you’re right, and the truth tastes acidic. This isn't how he imagined starting a Grand Prix day. Outside the room, team members drift past like nothing is wrong, carrying about their day without a care in the world while Jihoon feels like someone is ripping the scab off of a wound he was hoping was finally healing.
It was a futile hope and he knows it. Jihoon has known from the moment he saw you that he isn't healing, and hearing you say why you left so plainly turns his thoughts to static. He doesn't know what to say or do - he never does. That was part of the problem too. You'd wait for him with tears in your eyes looking defeated and he'd come home tired, unsure of what to say or how to make it better. So he just didn't.
You swallow thickly and shake your head. "I apologize. We shouldn't be talking about this. You have a race and I was out of line. I apologize."
"No," he says, though his voice feels distant. "I asked for honesty."
Silence stretches for a moment before you nod and clear your throat. "Good luck today, then."
Jihoon doesn't follow you out when you leave. Doesn't watch you go. Doesn't do anything. He stands and stares with unseeing eyes, his thoughts grinding like the failing engine of his car in practice two days ago.
You were never really there.
It's all he can hear when the lights go out. He starts clean but his head is a mess, the car kissing the wall at Turn 22, him feathering the throttle too early exiting Turn 13. Every fuck up he makes, your voice echoes over and over again until it feels like he's talking to you through the headset, not Luca.
You were never really there.
Despite the haunting drone of your voice, he fights anyway, trying to defend hard against Xu into the final sector on lap 12, managing to hold the inside to force him wide. He even manages to overtake Lee in the Williams car with a late brake down the inside of Turn 1 that makes Luca praise him over the radio, but it's lost to the static of his mind.
You were never really there.
Jihoon finishes in points, but it feels hollow. P8 isn't anything to brag about, but at least he's inside the fucking points for the first time this season. It should feel like a weight off his shoulders, but its not. He still has work to do, the gap between him and Soonyoung at P4 not much smaller than it has been the last four races.
The press routine becomes rote. Jihoon climbs out the car, yanks the helmet off, lets the sweat burn his eyes, and eventually pulls a cap low over his sweaty hair before following PR out to the pen. It's the same wash, rinse, repeat of every race before this one, a time loop he can't break.
"P8 from last weeks P11 - is this a step forward?"
No, he wants to scream. Instead, his voice is clipped and efficient. "Points are points. Car is improving. We keep pushing."
"Mentality still good, then?"
Absolutely fucking not, he wants to holler. "Focused as always. We reset. We move on."
The press conference is a haze of questions and rehearsed answers. He barely hears the questions he's asked, but he somehow manages to ask them. You ask him no questions - pity or resentment, he's not sure - but he's grateful anyway.
Jihoon goes through the motions of finishing a race weekend, sitting through debrief silent and offering feedback when asked. His team looks at him sideways, but no one pushes. No one wants to be too hard on him, like he's fragile. It makes him want to throw something, to scream to stop treating him like a child.
He doesn't. He just gets through it with gritted teeth and steely focus until he's sitting in a hotel room that's too quiet and too clean, too empty.
Jihoon showers to escape the silence, the heat of the water burning away the residual anger and turning it into something else that hurts just as bad. He stays under the spray of water until it runs colder and his fingers prune, reluctantly getting out only to sit on the bed in a towel, staring down at his phone in his hand.
A blank thread with your name stares back at him, the blinking text cursor waiting for him to type. So he swallows and types, fingers moving haltingly.
I'm sorry about this morning.
Deletes.
You were right but I don't know how to do this with you around
Deletes.
You're fucking up my head.
Deletes.
The problem is me. I miss you.
Deletes.
Jihoon locks his phone and throws it onto the armchair across the room. He lies back, still damp as he stares at the textured ceiling. The room smells like generic hotel soap and the faint scent of the cologne you bought him two years ago.
Outside, the city thrums, the traffic and distant thrum of bass from a car echoing toward his window. Inside, your voice loop on repeat, haunting him like that stupid Pat Benatar song you love so much.
You were never really there. Heartbreaker.
You were never really there. Dream maker.
You were never really there. Love taker.
-
Rain beats down on the garage, the wind coming off Biscayne Bay blowing sheets of it across the track, turning it into a black mirror. Jihoon watches the radar with arms crossed in the motorhome, still in his fireproofs, suit tied around the waist. They expect a long delay and he blows out a sigh, hating the waiting game, his nerves frayed and the after burn of lost adrenaline making him itchy.
Mechanics kill time by playing cards and engineers scroll data on tablets while Soonyoung sits on the ground playing his switch, chatting with his race engineer. Soonyoung laughs at something she says, corner of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. Jihoon gives them a wide berth, staying away from that ticking time bomb of a PR nightmare as much as he can.
Jihoon spots you coming his way and his heart starts to hammer on instinct. You look toward an empty meeting room and jerk you're head toward it, half a command, half request. Jihoon should say no, considering the last time he spoke to you one-on-one fucked with him so bad he could barely drive the car. But the same desire to be close to you and to hear your voice overrides any logic he has and he nods.
You enter the room first, dropping yourself into one of the armchairs. He sits on the couch across from you, elbows on his knees, watching you fidget as you settle. You don't have a notebook or anything for an interview, so he realizes whatever this conversation is, it's personal. It makes him brace for the worst, muscles locking like he's going in for a fight, heart racing.
"You need to stop fighting the car."
He blinks, momentarily stunned. "What?"
"The car. You're muscling the shit out of the car, and that's never been your style of driving. You're bleeding time in sectors because you're not trusting yourself and you're over-correcting before the rear even steps out."
Jihoon stares. The words land like cold data readouts that are clinical and accurate, brutal in their simplicity. He wants to snap back and tell you to save it for the article, but you're not doing an interview right now. You're starring at him with the same analytical gaze you used to give him when talking strategy on a plane while heading to the next race.
He swallows hard and looks away toward the rain hammering on the window. The sky is gunmetal beyond the glass, Miami turning into a canvas of grey and purple, lightning cracking.
"I don't know how to stop fighting it," he sighs. "Every time I ease off, it feels like I'm losing grip or giving up."
You hum thoughtfully. "Remember Imola last year?"
He nods. Imola last year was one of his best races, a beautiful performance clawing his way from P14 to P1. You'd both celebrated well into the early hours of morning, you pinned under him, him drunk off of the high of winning and the heat of your mouth.
"That was a race you won on pure instinct," you point out. "You just locked in and didn't fight the car. You just drove.
He exhales long and slow. The advice sinks in and he thinks about every race prior to this season, all of his feathering too early, snapping the wheel, the way the car in Bahrain testing had started out like a dialogue but ended up as a confrontation.
Jihoon meets your eyes. You're watching him, fingers fidgeting in your lap, and he realizes you're nervous and that maybe he's not the only one who regrets the conversation in Saudi Arabia.
"You really think that's it?"
"I know it is." There's no hesitation when you answer. "I've watched every single part of your racing. You're fast when you let go. You lose it when you start to overthink."
"I guess."
"You never used to overthink."
You're right. Jihoon have never been someone who was over-controlling on the car or strategy. He was often calm and collected, absorbing the problems as they came. He'd been like that with you too, though. He didn't overthink your problems, didn't dig his heels in to try and figure out each one.
And then you'd left and he realized that maybe he hadn't thought about it enough.
Jihoon wants to tell you that, but he doesn't know how to say it in a way that doesn't make it sound like his failures this season are your fault, because they're not. He just wishes you understood his newfound obsession with control, how he doesn't know how to let it go because the last tie he had, you'd walked out of his life.
Rain taps on the window as he nods, exhaling long and slow. "Alright."
You nod and stand, wiping your hands on your jeans. "That's all I came to say."
"Thanks," he murmurs, voice soft beneath the patter of rain. "For telling me instead of making it a headline."
"I'm not your enemy." He nods but says nothing. "Good luck."
Then you're gone, leaving him with nothing but the rain until the delay ends an hour later.
It's a shortened race, the track wet and slick. Jihoon climbs into the car, a new energy humming in his veins, and for once, it isn't nervousness or the determination to control the car - it's confidence. Confidence in himself and in the car., confidence that he's driven on wet tracks and worse cars than what Ferrari's given him.
So he tries not to think about it too much when the lights go out and the spray is everywhere. The car feels different immediately and even though he starts to tighten his grip, he takes a deep breath and lets the car slide into Turn 3 instead of forcing it. He lets the rear slide a little, heart leaping until it catches and he's out the turn.
Jihoon grins a little, pressing the throttle to gain pace, the water on his helmet slicking off as he hunts the McLaren in front of him, the brake lights a smear of color in the mist off the track.
Luca's voice crackles over the radio. "Good pace. Keep it tidy."
Jihoon keeps it squeaky fucking clean. No over-corrections, no white-knuckles on the wheel, and he breathes through the turns, feeling the hum of the engine and the drag of the tires. He trusts the tires to catch when they need and by lap 12, he's up to P5 after overtaking Lee in the McLaren and Hong in the Mercedes.
Soonyoung is ahead of him, fighting with Choi for P3. Jihoon doesn't worry about chasing him. He drives his own race, cruising into Turn 1 with a late break and beautiful exit, defending against Hong desperately trying to retake P5 behind him.
And then he crosses the finish line inside the top five for the first time since last season. For the first time this season, Ferrari has two cars in the top five and Jihoon starts to laugh, Luca's excitement bleeding through the radio.
It is far from perfect and it's not on the podium where he wants to be, but its so much better than P8 or lower. So much better that he feels like he drove better, not grinding the brakes or bumping the wall on his exits, too tight on the control. For the first time all season, it felt like it was instinct, like he just drove without worrying about trying to control the result.
He rolls the car slowly down the pit lane, engine dropping to a soft purr as his adrenaline bleeds out. Jihoon kills the engine in the garage and sits for a second longer than usual, letting the post-race high crash a little.
He unclips, pushes the steering wheel up and out, and climbs onto the halo. He yanks the helmet off, balaclava peeling away with it, and shakes out sweat-soaked hair. Soonyoung is already out of his car, arms raised as he jumps down from the car and gives Jihoon a feral grin.
"Fuck yeah!" He bellows over the noise of mechanics and dying engines. Soonyoung meets him in the garage, clapping Jihoon hard on the back. "You drove like your old self today. Fucking loved it."
Jihoon swallows and nods once, not trusting himself to say more without his voice cracking.
The media pen is mercifully under cover as the rain picks back up, water streaming off the edges of the canopy in steady ropes as Jihoon stands with a towel around his neck, hair still dripping. He sees you before you see him, speaking to a Sky Sports producer, gesturing with your notebook the way you always do when you’re working out angles in real time. Black jeans. Ferrari media pass. Hair damp from the rain you must have crossed without an umbrella. You look focused. Professional.
Beautiful. So beautiful its like a knife to the ribs.
When your eyes finally meet his across the pen, you don’t flinch or look away. You just give a single, small nod and he returns the gesture, not friends but not enemies. It eases the pressure a little bit, but doesn't ease the ache.
Media goes better today, as it so often does when he's not sucking behind the wheel. Jihoon answers just as short and to the point as usual, but there's less bite today and he doesn't feel snappy, doesn't feel tired and poked and prodded. He just feels…. good, which he hasn't in a long time.
By the time he's back in the garage, you're coming his way, calm and collected. He pauses, brows raised as rain beats down on the garage roof.
"You have a moment to spare for an interview?" You ask.
He nods and gestures toward his dressing room. You look like you want to protest - the dressing room feels too personal - but it's you and him and he charges down the back hall without looking back, knowing you'll follow him.
You do, slipping in and closing the door behind you with a metallic click. He sits on the small couch, melting into it as he closes his eyes, thankful for the cool, dry air to fight of the wet Miami heat. You sit down on a folding chair where his trainer usually sits, crossing one leg over the other.
"Ready when you are," he murmurs.
"Alright." You tap your phone. "I'm recording today."
"No note pad?"
"No, I still have my notepad. It just makes it easier for the longer pieces."
"Got it."
"So," you start. "P5 today. First top five of the season for you personally and Ferrari's strongest team result so far. Walk me through what made the difference."
"Track was tricky," he admits. "But the car felt good but predictable. For the first time in a while, I could learn on the rear without it loosing control. The team gave me a good balance before the restart, and once I stopped trying to fight the car, the pace came naturally."
"You mention you stopped trying to fight the car. Was there a specific moment it clicked today?"
Jihoon opens his eyes and looks at you. He can tell you mean the question honestly - you're not asking him if what you said made a difference. You're asking if something happened during his drive, if the feedback on the radio or the data helped him figure it out.
"Yes," he says. "Someone reminded me that I've never been fast when I'm fighting the car. I took their advice. It had nothing to do with anything else but that."
You hold his gaze for a beat longer than necessary after his answer before nodding. "Team radio was pretty quiet on your drive today, you had less changes and corrections. Was that deliberate or did the drive just go that well?
"Bit of both. Drive just started right from the beginning and Luca and I just sort of reached a flow state. Didn't need to talk much. Sometimes I just need to shut up and drive."
The corner of your mouth lifts just enough that he knows you're amused. He stares at it, heart skipping a little, and for the first time in a long time, this feels like familiar territory. You've interviewed him in every corner of every track for years, but the two years you were together were the best of them.
This feels almost like that now. Almost. You've reverted back to the polished, calculated interview style you had before you'd started dating, but there's something softer there that has stuck, even after the breakup, something personal. Something in the way you look at him, like it takes you a second to remember that you're not together when you're asking him questions.
Jihoon realizes how much he wishes you were. He enjoyed interviews more back then when it felt like you'd dissect his race because you cared about what was going on in his head and less to piece together a story. It helped that most of them were followed by him pressing you into the mattress until neither one of you thought about racing anymore, but things had been easier then.
Until they hadn't.
As much as he misses it, not every night was perfect. Most nights you'd sit in a hotel room and pore over telemetry together, head on his shoulder and he'd lean into your insights without question, nodding along. You strategy had always been - and still is - sharp as ever. He used to joke about you becoming a race engineer, but you like journalism and the challenge of a story.
But then there were other nights. Missed calls, reschedule dinners, him prioritizing workouts and strategy sessions over planned time with you. Jihoon has no idea when he started making you secondary to the garage, but you'd walked away from him before he figured it out.
"So," you start. "Soonyoung's been the benchmark for Ferrari so far this season with consistent top-five pace. Today you matched him more closely than you have all season. Does that make it feel like pressure is easing internally with the team?"
Jihoon looks down at his hands for a beat, thumbs tracing the edge of the couch cushion. This is the kind of question that could be spun a dozen different ways in print, and he knows you know that. Still, you've asked it anyway - not to hurt him, but to get something out of him that you probably know is there.
So he thinks about the question before he says, "Soonyoung is a good driver. His start reminds me of my first year with Ferrari. He's hungry and adaptive. The pressure isn't to match Soonyoung or catch up, but to drive the car the way I know I can. Today I showed that I can. It doesn't mean the job is done, but it means I'm capable when I apply myself."
Surprisingly, you do smile at that. It's like watching the first spill of pink into a morning sky as the sun rises, warm and startling. He feels his heart race a little faster as you look up, holding his gaze longer than you have all season. You nod once, acknowledging that you like the answer, before dropping your gaze back down to your notes.
"Last question," you tell him. "You've talked a lot in the past about instinct being your strongest weapon. Would you say you're getting that version of yourself back?"
Jihoon leans back, letting his head rest against the couch. He stares up at the lights, blinding by the fluorescent, color swimming at the edge of his vision as he chews on the question. Instinct is how he used to drive - it's what made him stand out from other drivers as he climbed his way through F2 and into F1. Where others spent years getting the mechanics and feel for racing, Jihoon just instinctively raced.
It's what initially drew you to him in the first place. His raw, uncalculated drive on the track was something you appreciated. You'd always told him there was a kind of honestly about it, that Jihoon was never trying to beat anyone else or be anyone else. His biggest competition had always been himself, and he was only ever trying to drive how he knew he could.
Somewhere in the last year, he'd lost that and started comparing himself to his teammates, to the other drivers on the grid that were younger and fresher. He had started thinking that if he just spent more time in the garage, if he just looked over the data more, he could keep up. That he could keep pace with where he wanted to be - needed to be.
Now, Jihoon see's the gap in the logic and sees your question for what it truly is: do you get it, Jihoon. Do you see where you've lost your way?
"Yeah," he croaks finally. "I think I get it now."
You let the silence stretch while you lean back, watching him as he drops his gaze down and looks at you. There's no follow up question. You just stare at him with an unreadable expression, and just when he thinks you're going to say something, you nod and lean forward to stop the recording.
"Thank you." You lean back for a second, finger tapping on your thigh. "It'll be a good piece. Honest without being brutal." You stand then, sliding your phone in your pocket. You hesitate just before you reach the door, turning a fraction to glance at him. "You looked good out there today. Like the old Jihoon."
The compliment makes his heart race. He nods, a tired smile splitting his face. "Felt good."
Before the moment can stretch too long, you slide out of the room, the door clicking behind you. Jihoon stays seated, staring at the door. The absence of you feels heavier than it used to, the ache behind his ribs steadily rising when he realizes that now you'll go back to a hotel room that isn't his and work on a piece without any chances of him distracting or interrupting you. No late night coffee date with your fingers intertwined, no shower hot enough to melt metal to ease the tension of a deadline.
Just you. Without him.
Fucking heartbreaker.
-
The streets of Barcelona past midnight are nice. It's quiet but not empty, making Jihoon feel like he has just enough room to breathe without being entirely alone. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie as he walks, the streetlamps casting pools of light on him as he wanders, the smell of the bougainvilleas strong, the violet flowers spilling over iron balconies and gates.
Jihoon had been stellar today. Not just stellar - he'd made his first podium of the season, securing P2 with a clean start and flawless driving. He'd been held off from winning by the McLaren, but for the first time in his career, Jihoon doesn't care about P1. He cares about his drive - about himself - and the trust he's had to put into himself to make the drive possible today.
After having to retire the car in Ferrari's first home circuit of the year at Imola, it's a fucking relief. While he'd done fine afterward in Monaco, being the heartbreaker of the home race had been weighing on Jihoon since slamming his head on the wheel and screaming as the car's engine gave out. Soonyoung had been Ferrari's only pride that day, making podium as a sea of red exploded in the Italian grandstands.
Seeing all that red again today in Spain had lessened the sting of it all. It had been a long time since he stood on a podium with the Tifosi screaming his name, red flags rippling in a sea of fans. Soonyoung had finished in P4, grinning like an idiot when Jihoon had wandered back to the garage, saying welcome back as though even Soonyoung knew the real Jihoon had been found again.
Jihoon turns left, walking toward a string of shops and late-night restaurants. He's still buzzing from the win, restlessness and a little hunger driving him from the quiet luxury of the hotel room onto the familiar streets of Spain.
He looks up and stops dead when he sees you.
You're learning against the low stone rim of a fountain that gurgles quietly, the lights strung between buildings casts a soft, gold light on you that makes you glow. You're in jeans and a soft grey hoodie that Jihoon realizes is his, making him jolt.
Sensing his gaze, you look up at him. You seem confused for a split second before you realize it's him and freeze. "Jihoon."
"Hi." His voice comes out a little more unsteady than he means it to. He clears his through, heart doing that stupid thing that it does whenever it sees you recently. "What are you doing out here?"
"Couldn't sleep." You pocket your phone. "You?"
"Same. Too much adrenaline."
You grin - a real grin, full of warmth that makes Jihoon want to burst at the seams. "Congratulations again. You raced clean today."
"Thanks. Felt good."
"I bet."
He hesitates a beat, the fountain bubbling as the two of you stare at one another. "I'm kind of starving and trying to find something open. Do you want to come?"
Surprise followed by hesitation flickers across your face. He braces for a polite no, realizing that he has over-extended beyond the polite fencing you've put up between the two of you.
"Sure," you say finally. He blinks in surprise. "I skipped dinner to make a deadline."
The two of you walk in silence for the first two blocks. The alleys narrow, forcing you a little closer, shoulders nearly brushing. Jihoon is hyper aware of your warmth and the soft smell of sandalwood perfume you like to wear, the one he bought you when you were in Singapore the year before. The scent nearly undoes him, his hands flexing in his pockets as he keeps himself from reaching over to close the distance and pull you closer.
You discover a tiny bodega tucked under a low archway almost by accident, the stripped awning sagging but the neon on the door flashing that its open. The tables outside are mismatched, some with wicker chairs some with metal, but the smell of hot oil and something spicy drifting from the door is too hard to resit.
A server gestures through the window to take one of the tables so you do, chairs scraping silently against the night. When the server appears, Jihoon panics for only a moment before remembering you are the Spanish speaker between the two of you, relief flooding him as you order two glasses of wine and plates of garlic prawns, bread and thing slices of jamón.
"Wine, huh?" Jihoon grins. "Are we celebrating?"
"Maybe." You take a sip and hum. "Better than podium champagne."
"Everything's better than podium champagne. You learn to hate the smell and taste after a while."
"Still crave being showered in it though, yeah?" He nods, sipping the wine. It's dry, the taste of cherries rich on his tongue. "You looked happy up there today."
"I was. The car felt good. Didn't have to fight the car."
"The car or yourself?"
As always, your question is sharp and to the point. You always had a way of voicing the real issue, of asking the right question. When Jihoon first met you, he thought maybe it was because you were a journalist, but now he knows its because you're good at seeing through the bullshit, your instinct for truth better than anyone else he knows.
"Both, I guess."
When the food arrives, your conversation lulls. Not in a way that feels awkward, but it feels nice. Jihoon watches you bite into a garlic prawn and make a little noise that does things to his stomach and chest, his eyes going to his plate as he steals a slice of jamón.
It melts on his tongue and he makes an equally obscene noise that has you laughing, leaning back in your chair as you nod and sip your wine. "Yeah. It's good."
"Remember Singapore?" He asks, peeling back the shell on a prawn. "That hole in the wall that we loved to go to with the laksa that almost killed me?"
"You mean the one that made you cry?"
"I did not!"
"You absolutely did, Ji."
The nickname is so sudden that it pulls both of you up short. Jihoon’s fingers freeze around the prawn shell. He doesn’t look up right away. He can’t. If he does, he’s afraid the careful distance you’ve both been maintaining since Miami will shatter, and he doesn't know what will spill out of him if it does.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “Old habit.”
When he lifts his faze, your eyes are fixed on the table. You look embarrassed, like the armor you've been wearing all season with him has as single weakness and you've just pressed on it yourself.
"It's okay." He swallows, still frozen. "It was nice hearing it. I know we're not-" He stops and shakes his head, putting the prawn down and wiping garlicky fingers on a napkin. "I know we're not together anymore, but hearing you say it just now felt nice."
You pick up a piece of bread, tear it in half, then tear one half again. You’re not really eating it, you're just giving your hands something to do. Jihoon has seen you do it a hundred times, usually with pens or pieces of paper, snapping caps and ripping corners of notebooks.
"I've almost used it before this," you admit, not looking at him. "It's an adjustment. You're not the only one who thinks of places like Singapore."
Jihoon’s throat closes as he nods. It's both heaven and hell to hear you say it, to know that you remember the smell of the hotel shampoo on skin, the way you'd lay in bed while you read over a piece as he dozed against your side.
"I fucked that up," he admits.
It's not a question and you don't rush to correct him. Jihoon feels his stomach hollow out, heart dropping to his ass. You're nice enough not to agree, but your silence is somehow worse, like you're trying to spare him.
He hates it.
"You can say it. I know. I did."
You lift a shoulder. "You chose something else. Over and over until I decided I wanted to make a choice for once, so I chose me."
“I thought if I gave everything to the car, I would be able to catch up. I guess I just thought you'd understand."
"I did - I do. But I'm not a pit stop, you don't get to come and go as you please."
Jihoon remembers the night you left so clearly. He remembers the exact shade of gold of the Austin skyline, the live music drifting from Rainey Street. You always liked it better than Sixth, and it was closer to the river. He'd almost made podium that day, finishing P5 after Ferrari finally began clicking after Jihoon had spent the entire first half of the season grinding himself to dust to chase Red Bull and Mercedes.
He remembers the way you'd come out of the bathroom fully showered, voice soft as you tried to spark up a conversation. Jihoon was staring at data, looping on how he could have done better, how he could have pushed the car a little harder. P5 was fine, but it wasn't good enough. Wasn't right.
The fight had started softly at first - you asking him if he was listening, him insisting he was. You never raised your voice, but you did that night, your anger sharp against the buzz of Austin traffic, accusing him of making the relationship too low-priority.
He remembers you pacing the room as he yelled back at you, raw and angry. This was his career, his life, you knew what you were getting into. If you didn't want someone who worked hard, what were you doing there? It had been the wrong thing to say, and as he remembers it now, he winces.
You'd packed by morning, pale grey light spilling across the Texas sky as Jihoon watched you numbly. You'd folded your clothes with shaking hands, your silence a wall of ice meant to keep him out. And he'd let you keep him out. He hadn't fought. Hadn't begged.
"Yeah," Jihoon sighs. "Yeah I know. I get it."
Your eyes soften, but there’s a guarded edge too, like this kind of honesty scares you more than it helps. "I know you do. It doesn't make it easier."
For a moment, the two of you stare at one another. Jihoon opens his mouth to take a risk, heart pounding, to apologize and tell you to let him try and fix it. But before he can, he watches you straighten, the softness in your eyes shuttering, replaced by the cool mask you've kept all of this season.
"It's late," you sigh, signaling for the check. "Early flight tomorrow."
Jihoon slams into your wall of ice at 200 MPH. He reaches for the check before you can, waving off your soft protest. You say nothing as he signs for it, the silence pressing in as you both stand, chairs scraping.
The lights of Barcelona hum softly in the night. He thinks of Austin again, the dim lights reminding him of the same strip of restaurants and bars burning outside the suite, the absence of your voice pressing in on him as he lay on the hotel bed staring at the ceiling.
When you part ways, Jihoon's blood is buzzing. He feels it in his hands and arms, a nagging feeling that he can't stop as he murmurs a quiet goodbye. You give him a small smile and head off. Just like in Austin, he doesn't stop you. Doesn't know what to say.
Somewhere, music is drifting through an open window of an apartment, the crackling sound of Pat Benatar's voice drifting on the wind, a constant phantom that always drifts behind him.
Heartbreaker. Dream maker. Love taker.
-
The roar of the Tifosi is a living thing. Sound crashes over the Autodromo Nazionale Monza, so loud that Jihoon can barely thing. Jihoon's car gleams under the Italian sun, the sea of red flags rippling in the grandstands visible as the heat presses in.
Visor down, the world narrows to the inside of the car. He doesn't let the crowd get to him. Breathes in. Breathes out. Wills his hands to stop shaking. Monza is just like any race, but it feels like more than that today. This is the home race, bigger than Imola, with higher stakes and a louder crowd.
There's no room for error today. Not with Seungcheol on pole, untouchable all weekend in qualifying. Jihoon is slotted at P3 behind Chwe's orange McLaren, and Soonyoung is just behind Jihoon in P4, the energy of two Ferrari's starting so high up palpable.
Beneath him, the engine hums. It feels like an extension of his own body, nervous and edgy but ready. Jihoon knows every straight here, every turn - knows that power and clean exits will reward him here if he just lets the car do what needs to get done.
Today, the goal is simple - finish the race where he started. He's not chasing Chwe and he's not trying to jockey for position with Soonyoung. Jihoon's only goal is to finish the race under his own terms without fighting the car, without forcing it.
Jihoon sucks in a sharp breathe. The grandstands are a blur of crimson, but he focuses on the five lights ahead, thumbs brushing over the wheel. He breathes out as the first light illuminates, then the second. He breathes in. The lights go out, and he exhales.
The launch slams into him immediately. He's careful as the vehicle shoots forward, holding the inside line to Turn 1 as Vernon's McLaren goes wide on the exit. Jihoon attacks without thinking, surging into P2 and peeling off as Luca says something encouraging in Italian. It's lost in the roaring blood in Jihoon's ears, eyes laser-focused on Seungcheol's car ahead.
Jihoon falls into a rhythm of feathering the wheel and braking late. The car feels good under him, each bump of the chicane smooth. His hands grip the wheel as he sails through the sectors, narrowing the gap between him and Red Bull.
"Gap to leader 0.8 seconds," Luca says. "Push push."
Jihoon doesn't respond. He's too focused, the world reduced to turns and braking points. He hardly registers the passing of time until he's debating pit maneuvers with Luca while he defends Soonyoung from overtaking him.
"Solid," Luca says and Jihoon grins, putting space between him and his teammate on the straight. "Gap to Soonyoung 1.2. Can the tires handle more?"
"Yes."
"Keep up the pace and stay out as long as you can. Box for hards on lap twenty four."
"Heard."
On lap twenty, Seungcheol makes a tiny mistake and locks up going into a turn. Jihoon presses the advantage, diving around the outside through the second part of the chicane to overtake. The car slides close enough to the gravel that he feels the rocks kick up and rattle against the metal floor, each ping of the stone on metal that he cut it too close to going out of bounds for an overtake.
He pulls out in front of Seungcheol and grins, pushing the car harder. He knows the heat is building in his tires as Seungcheol heads to the pit lane. The front tires are staring to wear, and the car pushes too wide through a turn, fighting him. Behind him, Soonyoung pits, the orange McLaren hunting Jihoon down.
"Gap to Chwe 3.2"
Jihoon feels the pressure in his shoulders, feels the wheel fight back. He doesn't grip it harder. He breathes deeper and lets the car slide a fraction more than usual, trusting it to catch the edges of each turns. It does, and he exhales, fending off Vernon until Luca calls for new tires.
The mechanics are a blur in his peripheral. He barely registers the stop before he's peeling back out onto the track again, narrowly sliding out in front of Choi to slot himself in P3 behind Soonyoung. But now Jihoon has fresher tires, closing the gap between his teammate on an inside overtake at Rettifilo that forces Soonyoung wide with a late brake.
Jihoon grins, hunting down the back of Chwe's car until he rolls across the finish line in P2 with Soonyoung narrowly behind him in P3.
"Belissimo!" Luca screams, his voice peaking the radio mic. "Fucking beautiful! What a drive, Jihoon. Kwon is in P3, forza!"
Grinning, Jihoon rolls the car into parc fermé and kills the engine. His hands are shaking like he just finished pole, and for Ferrari, it may as well be. He sits for a long second, chest heaving, sweat burning his eyes and soaking through the balaclava.
Outside, the roar washes over him like a wave crashing onto the cliffs. The Tifosi are so loud the air vibrates, smoke and flares of red drifting across the crowd as he rests his head on the back of the seat. Something cracks open inside of him, relief and joy spilling out that he hasn't felt in weeks.
Jihoon unclips and pushes the wheel away, climbing onto the halo to rip of his helmet and balaclava. His hair is plastered to his neck with sweat but he grins, raising his arms as he jumps down, the Tifosi screaming.
Soonyoung is there in an instant, helmet gone, grinning like a madman as he grabs Jihoon and kisses him on the head.
"Double fucking podium at Monza!" Soonyoung screams. Jihoon laughs, shoving Soonyoung off. "What a fucking race!"
Jihoon sees Chwe running to his crew as he launches into them, celebrating another win in what has to be the best season McLaren has had in years. Jihoon is happy for Vernon - happy for himself, jogging toward his crew as he and Soonyoung both celebrate with them, the sound of the crowd swelling even louder.
The podium ceremony is chaos, the fans so loud that the speakers become irrelevant. Champagne hits Jihoon in thick, foamy sprays as Vernon turns to shoot it right at his face, Jihoon choking on sweet fizz as he steps off to shake his bottle in retaliation. He laughs in delight as Soonyoung dumps half the bottle of champagne on Vernon's head in retaliation, screaming wildly like a kid.
A pressure releases in Jihoon's chest. Every missed point, ever bad turn of the car, every night spent staring at the ceiling of a hotel room - it all pours out of him as he yells, spraying the rest of his champagne in white arcs.
Jihoon is buzzing by the time the formalities end and he's jogging back to the paddock, heart hammering, blood buzzing. He waves to the crimson see of fans, holding a fist up in the air as he goes.
And then he sees you.
You're standing at the edge of the paddock, media pass flickering around your neck in the breeze. Your notebook is clutched to your chest like always, and Jihoon is surprised to see the smile on your face. For once, you look unguarded, and the small smile that used to light up dim hotel rooms at three in the morning cuts right fucking through him.
He doesn't think. He doesn't warn you. He just takes six long strides across the asphalt, cups your face in his hands, and he kisses you like he's been starving for it because he is. He pours every apology he never said out loud into the kiss, every regret from last season but especially Austin. Every follow race that felt empty without you comfort him after.
You freeze for half a heartbeat, your hands frozen near his hips like you don't know if you want to push him away or pull him closer. Jihoon's heart is hammering and he pulls back a fraction, lips still tasting like champagne and your lip balm - birthday cake, he thinks.
"You told me to stop fighting myself," he murmurs. "So I am. I'm not fighting the fact that I'm an idiot and an asshole or that I fucked up. I did. I'm sorry. I know I don't have to put you first all the time, but I can't make you a permanent second. I won't anymore. Even if I never make another podium again."
Your breath catches, eyes flaring with surprise. Your hands land on his hips, not pushing, but holding, your fingers curling into the sweat-dampened racing suit. Your eyes search his, wide and more vulnerable than they've been in months, looking for any hesitation that he doesn't mean it, any fault in his words.
Jihoon sees the indecision flicker through you. He knows you remember the sting of missed dinners, the lonely nights waiting for him, the way he'd chosen other things over you. But he sees the warmth there too, knowing that there is room for you, knowing that you trust him to be capable of doing both.
Then you're kissing him.
He grins into it, sighing as you press into him. Your kiss is softer than his, hands sliding up to his neck, fingers tangling in his damp hair to pull him closer until the champagne staining him is soaking through your clothes.
Love swells in his chest so much he thinks he might not be able to breathe. He crushes you to him, lost in the heat of your mouth and the sweetness of your birthday cake lip balm and the sweep of your tongue. He groans, a shiver rippling through him.
And then Soonyoung's wolf-whistle cuts through the haze and Jihoon breaks the kiss, glancing over. Soonyoung stands with his eyebrows raised, a swarm of mechanics around him, the girl that is Soonyoung's fake girlfriend standing next to the race engineer Soonyoung wants to be his real girlfriend, all of them watching.
Then they start cheering and you laugh covering your face with your hand as Jihoon cracks a smile, laughing as his team yells at him in Italian. He doesn't care, he just turns to you again, hand sliding to your waist as he keeps you close.
"I'm sorry."
"You're still an idiot. And we have talking to do."
"I know."
“And I’m still writing about Ferrari. Full season. That doesn’t change.”
“I know that too.”
You study him for several long seconds and he doesn’t look away. Then you lean up and kiss him again, short and sweet.
"You have press to do. Let's go."
Press is a breeze for once. Jihoon can hardly stop looking at you. For the first time in a long time, when you ask him questions, he trusts that they're not meant to hurt him. They never had been, but it's one thing to know something than it is to feel it. He answers them easily, a small smile on his face as he answers other questions.
Honestly, he barely hears them. His gaze goes back to you every time, watching the way you rip the edges of your notebook to keep your hands busy, watches the way you scribble things down on the corner of the paper. He wants nothing more than to finish this press conference and steal you away, to take you somewhere behind closed doors.
Jihoon is good at waiting. He waited most of his life to earn a seat in an F1 car, and waited again to get promoted to Ferrari. Now, he waits through the rest of a press conference, media responsibilities, a post-race strategy session, and some sponsorship related handshakes and greetings.
It's nothing compared to how many times he's left you waiting, he's sure. He intends to make up for it, spotting you near the coffee machine of hospitality, leaning against the counter with your head cocked. He doesn't say anything - doesn't have to. He nods toward the stairs and you follow, slipping behind him as he leads you toward the small, but clean room that belongs to him in the motorhome.
He doesn't want to wait anymore. Neither do you.
The door to the room clicks shut behind you. The space is small, filled by a single couch pressed against one wall, a coffee table, a mini fridge and two TV's directly across from the couch. The paddock hums faintly outside, but right now he's not worried about that. Right now he's turning to you, the post-race adrenaline humming in his veins.
Neither of you says a word a he closes the distance, hands finding your waist to pull you toward him. His mouth finds yours, desperate and hungry, all teeth and tongue, the past melting as soon as his tongue brushes against yours. He spins you toward the couch, careful as he cradles your face and walks you backward.
"Fuck I've missed this," he breathes against you. His fingers dig into your hips briefly as you tug at his team polo. Your hands peel it upward and off, fingers dancing along the taught muscle of his stomach, his heart hammering. "I've missed you."
"You never said so."
"I didn't think you wanted to hear me."
You press a palm to his jeans where he's already hard and straining. He makes a sound that's strained, lids fluttering as you drop to your knees and look up at him through your lashes. "I guess I didn't. I want to hear you now, though."
Jihoon's heart leaps as you tug the zipper of his jeans down. He doesn't dare move, watching with shaky breath as you hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans and briefs and pull down just enough to free his aching cock. He shivers, the air cold, the tip of his cock flushed and hardening as you wrap your hand around the base, stroking gently.
"Oh fuck," he groans, tilting his head back, lashes fluttering.
You laugh. "Look at you."
Jihoon can't help it. He feels himself grow harder at just the touch of your hand, velvet around his shaft, stroking agonizingly slow in a way that makes his knees a little weak. He presses a hand against the wall, trying to keep himself steady when he feels the heat of your tongue slither up the underside of his cock.
A broken sound escapes him. His free hand threads in your hair, not pulling or pushing, but grounding himself, trying to gain some sort of semblance of control over himself. Your tongue is devilish, rolling around his swollen tip, and Jihoon swears he sees god.
"Fuck," he whispers.
"You're so fucking hard for me already," you tease.
He doesn't respond. He doesn't think he has the words. His hips twitch of their own accord when you take him into your mouth, slow and deliberate. He shivers, pressing his fist against the wall as he lets out an agonized sound. It feels so fucking good he can't think straight, and when you hollow your cheeks to suck him deeper, he thinks he's going to die.
"Shit," he swears. "Like that. Please. Fuck."
Your free hand grips what you can't swallow down, twisting as your spit drips down to ease the slide of your hand. Jihoon squeezes his eyes, trying not to come as you bob your head and suck him leisurely, humming lightly as your tongue scrapes the vein on the underside of his shaft.
The wet sounds of your mouth nearly break him. You take him deeper, throat relaxing as you swallow around him and his hips twitch. He grits his teeth, growling to stop himself from busting, feeling you gag around him and pull back a little.
"Sorry," he rasps. "You're gonna make me come if you do that again."
He glances down at you and thinks he's going to pass out. You're looking up at him with wide eyes, wet with want, mouth covering in spit and come, tongue darting out to wet your lips as you take a breath, hand sliding up and down his length.
"Come here," he growls, yanking you off the floor to crash your mouth into his.
The kiss is messy, spit and come mixed with the taste of you. He doesn't care. He'll take you anyway he can have you, his hands peeling your shirt away, your bra - anything that stops him from palming your warm skin.
Jihoon sinks to the couch and pulls you with him, your knees straddling his thighs. You're warm and soft in his hands, making him groan as you kiss him, fingers tangled in his hair, pussy pressed to his slick shaft. He grunts, fingers digging into your ass as he encourages you grind on him, the friction turning his stomach to static.
He slides a hand between your legs, fingers finding you slick and ready. He let's out a whimper as he circles your clit with feather-light touches that make you crumble, your head falling to his shoulder as your hips chase the friction of his fingers.
"So fucking wet, huh?" He asks, grinning as he kisses your neck. You nod, clinging to him like a life line. "Missed this pussy gripping my fingers. Can I stretch you out, baby?"
You whine and nod, rocking against him. He sucks greedily at the spot underneath your ear as he presses a finger in, the slide easy. You whine and a shiver ripples through you when his finger presses against your front wall, pressing against that spot he's learned over and over.
"Yeah?" He asks. "That the spot?"
"Please."
He doesn't make you wait. He presses another finger in, pumping slowly as you roll your hips to meet his fingers, pussy gripping him hard. He let's out a sound that sounds strangled as he fucks you with his fingers, grinning at the way you writhe for him, still sensitive just like he remembered.
Your mouths tangle again and Jihoon is spinning, his thoughts turning to a staticky mess as he strokes you, loving the way you drip into his hand, loving the way you whimper and can't focus on kissing him, your brows pinched tight, mouth open as you breath hard.
"Feels good," you whisper.
"Good. Come for me like this, baby. Let me hear you."
It doesn't take you long. His fingers are relentless and you shatter around him with a muffled cry in his neck, walls clenching around him. He works you through it, his heart hammering as he presses his mouth to your ear, tongue darting out to ease your lobe.
"That's it, just like that," he whispers, grinning when you nod, dazed.
Before you can catch your breath, you're lifting yourself and grabbing his cock, positioning him at your entrance. He barely registered you've pulled off his hand when you're sinking down on him, his brain whiting out as the heat of you wraps around him.
"Fuck," you swear. "You feel so fucking good."
Jihoon grips your hips, guiding your movements as you start to ride him, slow rolls turning into urgent bounces. His hands roam everywhere he can grab - your ass, your thighs, your tits - he can't keep his hands off of you, like if he lets go he might lose you again.
"Just like that," he groans, planting his feet on the ground to thrust up into you. "Fuck I missed this. Missed you so much."
You lean forward, foreheads pressing together, your breath fanning his lips as you quicken your pace. The couch leather creaks beneath you but he doesn't care, the heat of your skin sliding against his driving him insane, the smell of your skin and the sandalwood driving him to madness.
He wraps his arms around your waist, barring you to him as he fucks up into you hard, knocking you into his chest, your hands sliding against his sweaty shoulders. You make a loud sound and he lets you, uncaring who hears.
"Right there," you gasp. "Please don't stop, fucking asshole - oh my god."
"Yeah?" He grits. "I'm an asshole?"
"Yes!"
He laughs and shifts, lifting you off him. Your surprise is evident but he smiles and turns you around. "Ass up."
You comply, knees on the couch, hands braced on the cushions as he kneels behind you. You look over your shoulder, smirking as he presses the crown of his cock against your entrance.
"Still an ass man?"
He thrusts in hard and your smugness is knocked right out of you as his hands squeeze the globes of your ass. "Yes. Especially for this ass in particular."
Your head drops down as he thrusts in slow, grinding his hips each time he slides in fully. He presses forward, leaning over you to keep his chest pressed to your back, craving the nearness. You lift your head and lean into him, eager to press back as he fucks into you hard, hands grabbing at your hips.
When you beg him to go harder, he does, driving into you as one hand reaches around to toy with your clit, deft fingers circling as you turn into a mess underneath him. He loves the effect he has on you, loves to watch the ice between you all season melt, loves that he can have you like this.
"Come with me," he murmurs, breath shaky. "Please baby."
You nod, the two of you sliding together until you clench around him, squeezing him tight until he spills. Your name is broken on his mouth, his lips pressed to your shoulder, tasting the sweat on your skin. Your hand is reaching back, digging into his wrist, nails leaving crescent moons as you shake underneath him, coming undone.
Carefully, the two of you collapse together, both on your side. His back is against the couch, one arm slung around your waist to keep you from sliding off the couch, the other under your head. The couch barely fits the two of you - made for relaxing, not desperate sex - but neither of you moves to get up.
Jihoon noses the curve of your neck, still damp with sweat, lips brushing the tender spot beneath your ear. He kisses you lazily and you press into him, making him smile into your warm skin.
"Still alive?" He asks, voice rough.
"Barely. You?"
"Dead. I think you killed me." His teeth graze your earlobe playfully. "Worth it."
"Hmm."
He tightens his hold around you, desperate to keep you closer than you've been in months. "I meant what I said earlier. I won't be perfect, but I'll never put you as a permanent second again."
You turn your head just enough to catch the corner of his eye. You examine him before you nod and say, "That's all I've ever asked for."
“I’ll set reminders to not be a dick to my girlfriend. I'll make it a recurring alarm.”
"Girlfriend? Haven't heard that in a while."
He presses a kiss behind your ear, lingering. "Get used to it. I don't make the same mistake twice."
You twist in his arms until you’re facing him, noses almost touching. Even this close, he can't help but think you're the most beautiful woman on the planet. He grins, watching you through his lashes as you reach up to brush strands of sweaty hair from his face.
"You're sticky from champagne," you note.
"You're sticky from cum."
"Ji!"
He laughs deeply for the first time in forever, squeezing you close. You settle against him, the room falling quiet for a bit with the low hum of the air conditioning and the murmur of post-race activity beyond the door. Jihoon almost drifts to sleep when he hears a sound drifting through the door, muffled at first. When it gets louder, he cracks an eye open, recognizing the unmistakable voice of Soonyoung belting at top volume somewhere in the motorhome.
"You're a heartbreaker! Dream maker! Love taker don't you mess around with me!" Soonyoung shouts, the faint sound of the song on speakers somewhere muted somewhere beyond his yelling.
Jihoon’s entire body goes rigid behind you. Then you start laughing, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your voice as you lose it. The tension bleeds out of him as Soonyoung continues into the second verse, his voice moving around the building, a traveling circus.
"Of course he's singing that fucking song," Jihoon groans."
“Heartbreaker! Dream maker! Every time I think of you-"
You're laughing so hard you're nearly doubled over in his arms, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Jihoon groans as you clutch your stomach, Soonyoung's voice cracking beyond the door.
"I hate him," Jihoon sighs.
"I actually think he's really good for you. He looks up to you, you know?"
"I guess."
"Come on," you tease, trying to free yourself from his arms. "Let's join."
"No!"
"Team bonding."
"I bonded when he kissed my forehead already."
"Jihoon."
He sighs and lets you stand, staring at the ceiling. "Fine."
Looking up at you, Jihoon can't help but smile, his entire world finally settling, the pieces falling back into place where they belong. All he had to do was stop trying to control it and let it happen. He watches you get dressed, entranced with the way you move, the way you smile at him.
Jihoon decides he doesn't hate Pat Benatar so much anymore.
SUMMARY: You have been Soonyoung’s entire world from the moment he met you. When you marry someone else, Soonyoung’s world ends.
WC: 31,694
AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers
GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Full warnings available under the cut. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS VERY CAREFULLY. There are triggering parts of this fic on screen.
A/N: Happy Early Birthday to the first installment of the Syndicates collection, Baby! Baby is maybe one of my single favorite things I've ever written, and has brought me SO many people and friends and fun readers to my blog! Baby was originally written and posted on sailorrhansol when I had that blog, and it was quite the event when that blog was deleted, then resurrected (has since been deleted by me). This fic is a re-telling of Baby entirely from Soonyoung's point of view, so it includes scenes we've seen before through an entirely different lens, as well as a ton of scenes we've never seen - including what Soonyoung was up to all that time Baby was married. I hope you love this as much as I do - I have been waiting to deliver this for months.
A/N 2: This isn't beta read but I did edit it which is unusual for me so hopefully the mistakes are not crazy. We'll see.
WARNINGS: Graphic violence generally associated with mafia behavior, mentions of murder and blood, on screen murder, themes of codependency and obsession, references briefly to Soonyoung's father being tough on him, a lot of internal angst throughout, Soonyoung discovers his parents bodies on screen, intense depictions of grief and shock, angry Soonyoung for a lot of this fic, lots of thoughts/mentions of difference in social standing between Soonyoung and reader, brutal breakup scene, recreational drug use and drinking, bar fights and jealousy, on screen suicide attempt via drugs, cage fights/violence, mentions of torture that happens off screen but the victim is briefly on screen, Soonyoung not caring if he lives or dies for a bit, a lot of derealization/depersonalization, Soonyoung feeling like he's just a body/not human for the second half, depictions of panic and anxiety, just... lots of blood. Most of this is a recreation of Baby but there are new scenes with added violence, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), a little bit of groveling, fingering, emotional sex.
If our love is a drug
You’re the one with the trigger
Shoot me down, shoot me down
I don’t wanna remember you
KWON SOONYOUNG IS CRYING THE FIRST TIME HE MEETS THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE. He hates crying because his dad hates when he cries. Soonyoung’s father has told him over and over again that crying isn’t a way to solve his problems, but Soonyoung can’t help it.
He twists his fists tighter in his mother’s skirt, clinging to her. He knows he’s here because he’s supposed to make friends, but the last time he’d tried to make friends had been at school and they’d hurt him. He hates being hurt - it makes him cry.
Everything in the unfamiliar foyer seems too big. The floors are impossibly shiny, the high ceiling stretching upward in what feels like a never ending spiral. It smells faintly of flowers - not like his house that smells like vanilla when his mom bakes. His house is large too, but not like this house, with its sprawling jungle outside and massive bulk of building.
Sighing, Soonyoung’s mom crouches down. Her eyes soften as she brushes the tears from his ruddy cheeks, her touch warm. He sniffs, trying to catch his breath as she gives him a look that he knows means enough. It’s not as scary as when his father does it, but Soonyoung knows his mother is giving him the opportunity to collect himself.
Soonyoung loves his mom. He tries not to let it dictate everything he does for fear of his father calling him a momma’s boy, but he can’t help it. His mom is the smartest and most loving person Soonyoung knows, and she knows exactly how much vanilla to add to his cookies and when to give him time to process emotions.
Emotions have always been hard for him to process, which is why he cries all the time.
“You’ll be fine, Soonyoung,” his mother promises. Her voice is gentle but firm and he sucks in a breath and nods. “You’re here to make friends with the Choi family. You remember they’re friends of ours, right?”
Soonyoung does. He’s never been here before, but he’s seen the Tower before, a terrifying man who frowns a lot and makes even Soonyoung’s dad bow with respect. The Tower is the most important person to Soonyoung’s father - besides Soonyoung and his mother, of course. It is his father's job to protect the Tower, to be his most loyal friend, to be the sword and shield.
Movement catches Soonyoung’s eye. He glances over to see you peeking from behind your mother, who gives you a sharp look. You sigh and step around her, staring at Soonyoung with your nose scrunched. You link your hands behind your back, watching Soonyoung with the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen.
He thinks you’re an angel. He doesn’t know much about angels, but he’s heard they’re supposed to be the most beautiful creatures in the world. When he looks at you, he thinks you must be an angel. It’s the only explanation.
A boy steps out of what Soonyoung thinks is the kitchen. He’s older than both of you, his stride confident and self-assured. He walks like the kids at school with money and parents in high positions. His eyes narrow when he looks at Soonyoung up and down, unimpressed. Soonyoung stands a little straighter, realizing this must be the Tower’s son.
Soonyoung doesn’t understand a ton about the Choi family, but he does know the Tower is number one, which makes the Tower’s son pretty important. Soonyoung immediately feels a need to be careful around this boy, knowing that weakness won’t be appreciated.
“Seungcheol,” your mother chides. “Don’t be rude to our guests.”
The boy - Seungcheol - glances at you. Soonyoung watches you and Seungcheol exchange some sort of silent communication and realizes you must be siblings. There’s a little bit of Seungcheol in your face, though you’re softer and younger. You shrug at your brother and Seungcheol sighs, turning to face Soonyoung. He bows politely, not too low, not too high - the perfect, practiced bow.
“It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung.” The Tower’s son straightens, his eyes dark. “Are you here to play video games?”
No, he almost says. He’s here to become friends with the Tower’s son. Even at a young age, Soonyoung understands this. His entire purpose here today is to become what Soonyoung’s father is to the Tower, but to Seungcheol. To love him, to protect him, to honor him.
Soonyoung straightens a little. He can do this. He’s always been up to any task - albeit, after a little crying - and when he looks at his mother for permission, he sees that she’s pleased. “He is,” she tells Seungcheol. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends. All three of you.”
Soonyoung looks at you again. His heart soars. He didn’t realize that he would get to be your friend too. If he’s being honest, he enjoys that prospect better. Seungcheol looks a little too scary and like he takes everything too seriously, where you look quiet. Kind. Pretty.
“Do I have to?” You ask your mom, frowning.
That makes Soonyoung deflate a little. You don’t seem eager to be friends with him and it stings a little. Thankfully, your mom tells you that you do have to get to know him. It makes it a little better, but Soonyoung shifts from foot to foot, suddenly angry that you don’t want to play with him. Makes him feel like the kids at school.
“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks, a little frustrated.
“I’m not any good.”
Oh. That makes sense to him. He doesn’t like things he’s not good at either, but he wants you to stay with him, so he says, “That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.”
Seungcheol groans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!”
“No way!”
Grid Fighters is hard for anyone to get a hold of. No one at Soonyoung’s school has been able to get it - much less afford the Rift console - and he’s been watching videos online of cool streamers playing it, living vicariously through them. The idea that the Tower’s son has it sends Soonyoung running after Seungcheol, excited to try it out.
When you don’t follow, Soonyoung stops at the door. You’re rooted to the spot next to your mom, mouth down turned. Soonyoung recognizes the look on your face - fear. Fear of not being accepted by others when forced to interact with them, fear of not being good enough. Of someone hurting you.
Soonyoung never wants you to feel that way around him.
“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.”
Your smile lights up the room. Suddenly, Soonyoung decides he will let you win no matter what, so long as he gets to see you smile like that again.
-
Training with you is going to be the end of him. It’s the final thought Soonyoung has as you fling him over your back, sending him sprawling to the mat. You’re small but you’re strong, your fighting skills incredibly deceptive. Anyone who doesn’t know you might see the polite and curated daughter of the Tower of the Choi Syndicate, but Soonyoung knows you’re more than that. You can smile and say thank you, but you can also throw a nasty right hook.
Of course, Soonyoung lets you win. He’d decided that the first day he met you. Nothing has changed from the first time Soonyoung saw you smile - except, perhaps, he knows that you’re not an angel. You’re something better, though. Something real and divine in your own way, and as he blinks stars from his eyes from being thrown down to the mat again, he can’t help but grin.
“Holy fuck,” he wheezes, rolling over. He’s covered in sweat, watching it drip onto the mat as he pushes himself up. “Can you let me win for once?”
Soonyoung gets to his feet and looks at you. It takes everything in him not to groan at the sight. You’re not doing anything specific - you’re just existing, covered in a sheen of sweat, little hairs sticking to your temples as you guzzle down water. He watches the bead of sweat slide down your throat as you gulp and Soonyoung’s stomach flips.
Everything you do drives him insane and it’s a testament to his self control that he manages to ignore the way he feels when you’re looking like that, sweaty and disheveled and grinning at him wildly. Soonyoung is grateful that Seungcheol ignores the two of you, working on weighted sets as Soonyoung trains you in hand-to-hand combat.
A single glance at the digital screen across the training room monitors Soonyoung’s vitals. He notes that he’s in the orange zone and winces, knowing that the second you clock it, you’ll know he was going easy on you. You hate it when Soonyoung goes easy on you.
You glance at the wall and Soonyoung knows it's coming when you huff, “Maybe if you weren’t afraid to actually hit me.” You cross your arms, giving Soonyoung a serious look. He opens and closes his fist, looking anywhere but you. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
Seungcheol makes a gruff sound as he gets up to swap the weights on his machine. “He’d put you on your ass, Baby. Lucky for you, he always lets you win.”
It makes Soonyoung wince. Seungcheol has never been too keen on the way Soonyoung lets you win. He’s not too keen on the way Soonyoung does anything for you. Even at sixteen, Seungcheol has made it clear no less than a hundred times the various ways he will put an end to Soonyoung if he ever hurts you.
Soonyoung has to refrain from telling Seungcheol just what Soonyoung will do to him if he ever hurts his sister. Thankfully, despite your teenage bickering and the obvious disinterest Seungcheol has in your general life, the two of you get along well and Seungcheol would die for you. It’s something he and Soonyoung have in common, though Soonyoung doesn’t like to mention that bit too much to the older boy.
Soonyoung is supposed to become a guard and confidant to Seungcheol. Not you.
Sighing, Soonyoung walks over to you and sits by your feet. He holds a hand up, thirsty. You pass him the water bottle without thinking and Soonyoung has to hide the smirk as he takes a sip. Though the love he harbors for you isn’t a two way street, he likes that you’re comfortable with him. It makes him feel safe.
“I don’t want to hit you,” Soonyoung tells you, lowering his voice so that your brother can’t hear him. He takes another sip of your water and bumps against your leg. You grin and he smiles up at you. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.”
“Everyone treats me like a baby.”
Well, that was true. As the youngest member of the Choi family, everyone has handled you with kid gloves your entire life. Soonyoung is as guilty of that as anyone, but he also challenges you when others won’t. You’re the single person he isn’t afraid to speak his mind around, even if it's to disagree with you.
“You are,” he points out. “But it’s not a bad thing. For example, you say jump and everyone asks how high. Even my dad.”
Soonyoung’s father primarily answers to the Tower, but it extends to the Tower’s immediate family, including his daughter. Thankfully, you don’t give the Sentinel or any of his Swords much of a problem. You are fiercely loyal to your family, incredibly well-behaved, and the only person that you give a hard time is Soonyoung.
He doesn’t mind. He likes that you feel free enough with him to push his buttons, that you can ask him to break curfew with you and to sneak bottles of wine from the cellar late at night. He would never tell his father that, of course. The Sentinel would rather Soonyoung spend his time getting to know Seungcheol, not you, but it’s too late for that now.
“What about you?”
Soonyoung looks up at your question. “What about me?”
“Jump.”
It’s such a simple word. Soonyoung isn’t sure you understand its gravity. He wouldn’t just jump for you. He would do anything for you. He’d determined that from day one. If you asked him to jump off a building, he would do it no questions. If you asked him to steal you away from your family and take you somewhere the Syndicate doesn’t exist, he would do it.
Even at fourteen, Soonyoung knows that your life is going to be a hard one. It already is harder than others. All he wants is to make it easier, and if you gave the slightest hint that for a second you wanted something else, he would give it to you with no questions asked.
Grinning and shaking his head, Soonyoung gets up to his feet, setting the bottle of water down. Your smile grows and he feels the pang in his chest, the already sizable love for you growing threefold. Tenfold. He doesn’t know if it will ever stop, this infinite ability to love you.
He knows he shouldn’t love you. His devotion to you makes a wonderful tool to protect you and to give you someone to rely on, but it feels like a loaded gun sitting on the table every time Soonyoung admits to himself that the affection isn’t going away. That he doesn’t want it to.
“How high, Baby?”
-
Rain hisses against the sleek black panels of the family car, tracing silver lines down the windshield. Hyperion sprawls below in a blur of neon, the glow of the city far below the curving road of the Estates District as the car climbs.
Soonyoung presses his sweaty palms to his knees, trying not to fidget. His suit collar bites into the back of his neck, irritating and itchy but if he keeps squirming, his father is going to notice. Tonight will be one of those nights where Soonyoung’s father is watching everything and everyone, even if he’s not on duty.
Which means Soonyoung has to be perfect.
His mother’s hand brushes his shoulder, warm and grounding. “Stop scowling. You’ll get wrinkles when you’re older.”
“I’m not scowling,” he mutters.
“You always scowl. Even when you’re trying not to. Lord knows you get it from your father.”
Soonyoung’s father grunts on the other side of his wife, amused. His mother’s dress catches a flash of streetlight, giving the illusion that she’s spun from the rain herself. Soonyoung’s mother has always been the most beautiful woman to him - besides you - and when he glances at her now, he softens a little.
Next to her, Soonyoung’s father watches outside of the windows, eyes ever vigilant. He stares at the city below like he can pinpoint every person who means to do the Choi Syndicate harm. Soonyoung is pretty sure he might be able to. As the Choi family’s Sentinel, his father is the sword, shield and eyes of the Syndicate, their best line of defense.
Soonyoung is supposed to be him one day. He’s not sure how.
“Remember why we’re here,” his father intoned, voice low. “You’ll represent the family, not yourself. Don’t let your eyes wander where they shouldn’t.”
Soonyoung’s jaw tightens. “I wasn’t planning to cause trouble.
“You never plan it. It just happens.”
Soonyoung’s mother exhales, laughing. “He’s sixteen, Jaehwan. Not a Sword yet. Let him breathe.”
“He’ll be a Sword soon enough.” He hesitates, and then softens, turning from the window to look at Soonyoung. “And I know you don’t make trouble. You’ll make a fine Sword.”
It’s as good of a compliment as any. It isn’t that Kwon Jaehwan is cold or mean to Soonyoung - he’s quiet and a bit distant, but he makes his pride known. Most of Soonyoung’s friends have awful fathers - he shivers thinking about Vernon’s - and parents who pay them little mind. All things considered with the Sentinel’s position, he should be a worse father.
But he’s not. It makes Soonyoung admire him, even when he’s afraid of him. Kwon Jaehwan is a respected man who commands loyalty, fear and admiration all in one fell swoop. It’s why your father made him the Sentinel of the Syndicate after he took over.
The Choi Estate rises from the mountain like a citadel forged from obsidian and light. Soonyoung sees it only for a moment before it vanishes in the inky, dark green of trees and rain. The walls of the estate are high and guarded, and there’s a heavier security presence at the guard house at the gate tonight than usual.
When the driver rolls down the window, the security team realizes it’s the Sentinel immediately. Soonyoung expects to be waved right through, but under the scrutiny of the Sentinel, each sword carries out their full duties, searching around the car with a dog, checking the trunk, and the underneath of the car.
Jaehwan’s mouth twitches, unbothered by the formality of it all. He trained these men and women to be thorough - even with him.
They’re waved through and the car crawls through the gate as it opens. Soonyoung has been to the Choi Estate hundreds of times - he's here almost every day. It’s still just as imposing as always, a dense network of tropical plants and jungle hiding random offshoot roads that lead to smaller guest houses and a winding gravel road that eventually ends up at the main house.
The main house in question rises up in all its grandeur against the night sky. All four stories of windows are lit up, making the house glow with ethereal gold. Dozens of cars line the curving driveway, valets running back and forth from the steps to park cars as guests pour inside.
An attendant with an umbrella opens the door to the car, escorting Soonyoung with an umbrella over his head. It feels strange to be catered to like this. Typically, it’s him doing this kind of stuff. But tonight he’s a guest, and he’s supposed to be treated like a guest, even if he throws an awkward wave to the young Swords of the family that he played video games with a few days ago.
Inside the main house is a wonderland. Chandeliers of molten glass hang above, walls of shifting holo-silk, guards hiding in the shadows in matte black. He can sense the electricity of the party, eyes catching as servers dressed in shifting colors of silver and white walk around, making it look like there are ghosts moving about the home.
Soonyoung follows his mother and father through the crowd. People part for his father like water on rock, spilling to the side and bowing their heads as he goes. He’s respectful about it, greeting those he knows well with a few words, nodding to those he’s unfamiliar with. The Sentinel is a guest tonight, but it’s obvious he’s still on duty - he always is.
There are two ballrooms in the Choi manor, but they’re in the main one tonight. As soon as they walk into the gilded double doors, Soonyoung’s father murmurs to his wife and kisses her on the cheek before departing to find the Tower. He gives Soonyoung a single look that means watch your mother, which Soonyoung happily accepts.
After you, his mother is his everything.
Turning to Soonyoung, his mother touches his lapel, straightening it with practiced hands. “Just you and me. Don’t disappear. Let me show you off first.” He smirks and rolls his eyes but she laughs, kissing him on the cheek. “You look handsome tonight. Come on.”
Inside, the ballroom feels alive with power. Soonyoung isn’t used to being in a room with the full suite of Syndicate powers. The Tower is here, and with him, the gravity of his family commands everything. Seungcheol is near his father, tall and steady, a living shadow of the Tower’s authority. He nods at Soonyoung when he sees him followed by a wink that means they’ll talk later.
Vernon threads through the crowd, briefly catching Soonyoung’s eyes. He nods but is caught up as his girlfriend passes him, her hand catching his as they trail after Yoon Minji, the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung tries not to shiver. Of all the people he’s afraid of, Minji might be somewhere near the top of his list - Jeonghan’s mother is formidable.
As promised, Soonyoung’s mother shows him off. She catches up with old friends, her armed linked with Soonyoung as he escorts her. Her job here is to be a socialite and accept niceties with her fine, young son on her arm. His job is to dote on his mother and accept the compliments on his father’s behalf.
It’s a dance he’s familiar with.
While his mother speaks to Lee Yeonseo, the head litigator of the Choi Syndicate’s personal family firm, Soonyoung’s eyes wander. It’s not that he’s not interested in the conversation - he is entirely fascinated by the fact that there is an entire armada of lawyers dedicated to Choi family matters, especially the Lee family who all dedicate themselves as personal litigators for the Tower and his family. But he’s tired and he hasn’t seen you yet and -
He spots you across the room. You’re unmistakable. Even in a room packed with wealth and glittering decoration, you draw the eye effortlessly. You’re in a black dress, the cut sharp and deliberate. Your laughter cuts through the party and Soonyoung’s heart begins to race. He feels the familiar ache for you bloom, an obsession he has not managed to tamper.
You’re here, and he can’t approach you. Not right now, anyway. He wants to close the distance, to reach for your slipping sleeve or to tuck the loose strands of hair back into place behind your ear, but the crowd of people and the knowing flick of his mother’s eyes keeps him rooted to the spot.
So Soonyoung stands there, chest tight, anchoring himself to the conversation and counting down the minutes until he can find a way to slip away and make his way over to you.
Just as Soonyoung begins to turn away, you glance toward him. For a heartbeat, the world stops. He sees the way you light up, excited to see him. You don’t stop your conversation, but yours eyes stay on him, a smile spreading across your face, nose crinkling in that familiar way.
“Don’t.”
Soonyoung flinches to notice his father has slipped up behind him. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You don’t need to,” the Sentinel says, sharp and cutting. “The Tower’s daughter is not for you.”
“She’s not for anyone. She’s for herself.”
His father studies him before signing. “You think so?”
Silence. Soonyoung doesn’t know what to say. Soonyoung would never dream of you being his - unless you wanted him to be. He can’t imagine that you do, but if. If keeps him up at night. If keeps him asking how high every time you tell him to jump. If makes him so lovesick that sometimes he can barely stand it.
“You’ve got your mother’s heart,” his father says finally, voice softening. “Too full. Learn to guard it, or someone will use it to cut you open, Soonyoung.”
Soonyoung swallows, jaw tight. He nods, turning away from you to pretend to key in to the conversation his mother is having. He can’t stop thinking about you, though. The sound of your laughter. The way you play the part of the beautiful daughter of the Tower so well when he knows you’d rather be lounging somewhere on property with a cigarette and ganging up on Chan with Angel.
The conversation at hand fades. Soonyoung senses the shift of power as he turns his head a fraction of an inch to see the Tower approaching. You’re right behind him, grinning at Soonyoung like the cat that ate the canary. He swallows past a lump in his throat, glancing at your father who greets Soonyoung’s family warmly.
“Soonyoung!” The Tower says, voice low but banished. “It’s good to see you.”
Soonyoung bows respectfully, keeping his eyes down. “Tower. It’s an honor.”
“You’re so much taller than I remember you.” The Tower looks at your mother and shakes his head. “He is handsome as the devil. I hear he’s smart, too. A little bit of a temper - reminds me of Seungcheol - but that’s okay. We need that.”
A faint flush crawls up Soonyoung’s neck. You slide up next to your father, leaning on your tip toes to press a quick kiss to Soonyoung’s mother’s cheek. “My mother is looking for you in the billiards room. They’re playing protocol.”
“Ah! She told me she got me a new set of tiles. Will you show me where the billiards room is again, sweet?”
“Let the boy show you,” Jaehwan says. “He knows where it is.”
The Tower laughs and claps Soonyoung on the back. “Keep your mother safe on the way, yeah? You’re gonna make a good man one day, Soonyoung.”
Soonyoung’s father hums. “He is.”
Sighing, Soonyoung holds an arm out to his mother. He was hoping to steal you away. It’s obvious you’d meant to do the same, but just as his mother says her goodbyes to the Tower, you tilt your head toward the west terrace garden. He quirks a brow and you grin, turning away from him as you ask his father something.
Biting his smile back, Soonyoung leads his mother to the billiards room. She knows where it is - she’s been here a million times. The ploy was no doubt for his mother to get you alone to herself so she could talk to the girl that Soonyoung is so obviously in love with, but thankfully, Soonyoung’s father didn’t want that.
After he drops his mother in the billiards room and greets all of the women with their clove cigarettes and gushing compliments, he escapes the crush of guests to find you again. You’re in the terrace garden as expected, shielded from the nonstop rain by a glass dome that turns each drop into suspended silver.
You sit on a bench, propped backward with one hand as you crane your neck to look at the rain on the glass. You have a champagne flute in the other, the drink sparkling with the low light of the glowing stones on the path through the garden.
He approaches quietly but you sense him anyway, turning to grin at him. “That was fast. I thought the old women would keep you longer.”
He snorts. “They tried.”
“Can you blame them? You look all brooding and serious tonight.”
“Have you met my father?”
“I quite love the Sentinel.”
He snorts again and sits down next to you. You offer him a sip of your champagne and he shakes his head. He tries not to go stiff when you shift so that you’re leaning against him, the weight barely there but enough to send his pulse racing. “Dad is serious about me being in line tonight.”
“Same. It’s exhausting.”
Soonyoung hums. The words hover between you. The two of you are from the same world and yet sometimes he can’t help like he’s worlds apart. When he was younger and he realized how serious your role was within your family’s hierarchy, he dreamed himself a prince to steal you away and take you somewhere you could do anything but be the serious, loyal daughter of the Tower.
He still wishes that for you sometimes. He wonders if your family knows that you like to paint. Or that you’re really good with numbers and that your talent is wasted on playing socialite. He wonders if they know that artwork makes you cry, and at more than one gala in the past few years he’s caught you wiping away tears over staring at an old painting.
You’ll never get to be the girl who paints or wanders galleries alone, but Soonyoung wishes he could give that to you.
“You’re too quiet,” you tease him, nudging his shoulder with your own.
“I don’t need to be noticed tonight.”
“Well. Lucky for you, I’ve noticed you. You look handsome.”
He swallows the lump in his throat. You have no fucking idea what it does to him when you say that. He knows that it doesn’t mean anything - not in the way that he wants it to. What you mean is that you notice him because you notice everything. You’re smart for a fifteen year old, and if someone let you, you’d be able to run the Choi Syndicate one day.
That, though, is Seungcheol’s future job.
Noticing is in your nature. In fact, it’s what makes you so good at talking to people and moving in gossip circles. He wishes he had an ounce of your subtlety, and maybe his parents wouldn’t know how over the moon for you he is.
“I hate when you’re quiet,” you murmur.
“I’m still loud. There’s just a time and a place now.”
“I suppose you're right.”
You both let the quiet settle while the part hums behind the glass. The rain drums its rhythm, steady and silver, a world apart from the chaos inside the party. Soonyoung likes this. The silence doesn’t feel heavy, and he senses the soft shift as you tilt your glass back for another sip, your head tilting against his shoulder.
And then, inevitably, Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the terrace, sharp and precise. You straighten and move away from Soonyoung immediately as Seungcheol enters the terrace. He looks relieved only for a split second before his gaze leaves his sister to Soonyoung.
Seungcheol’s eyes darken. Soonyoung says nothing as you stand, sighing dramatically as you ask your brother what now? Seungcheol is here for you, but his eyes are on Soonyoung, narrowing a fraction. Seungcheol is one of Soonyoung’s best friends, but the Tower’s son has finally shifted from the cocky cool kid to the broody, astute teenager he’s expected to be.
And he’s become especially protective over his little sister.
“I’ll see you later?” you ask.
Soonyoung nods and gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He won’t but that’s okay. “You look lovely, by the way.”
You grin over your shoulder as you skip over to your brother. “Bye, Soonyoung.”
He watches you go, chest tight, every instinct screaming at him to follow you. Seungcheol’s stare keeps him rooted to the bench, though. Your brother vanishes behind you, leaving Soonyoung underneath the glass dome alone with nothing but the rain and the distant hum of the party.
The terrace is where his father finds him. Soonyoung glances up as his dad walks in, carrying a wave of silence with him. His dad’s footsteps are silent as he walks over, sliding his hands in his pocket.
“Still out here?”
“It’s quieter.”
His father gives him a knowing look. “The girl was out here.”
“She lives here.”
Eventually, he sighs. “You fight like me, but you love like your mother. It’ll save you one day. Unless it kills you first.”
Soonyoung closes his eyes, feeling every word land heavy, grounding him even as longing twists tight inside. Rain hums above, silver light refracting through the dome, endless. For some reason, he feels like that little boy who used to cry all the time again, the sudden twist in his throat, the telltale feeling of an emotion he doesn’t know what to do with.
“Come on, son. Let’s go home.”
-
The streetlights smear neon across slick asphalt as Soonyoung navigates the empty mountain road, tires splashing through puddles. His chest tightens with each passing second, a knot of dread forming. He is two hours past curfew. On a week night. His mother is going to kill him. Worse, she’s probably going to tell his father and he’s going to kill him.
Soonyoung’s phone died two hours ago - he knows it’s not an excuse. His mother won’t care that Vernon and Chan are bullshit at tracking time, and it won’t matter that they were just playing video games. All that matters is that Soonyoung has broken the rules, and he knows better than to break his mother’s rules.
The Kwon Estate is smaller than the Choi’s by a mile, but it’s still large. It rises like a phantom against the night, black walls etched with faint gold inlays. The gates are closed and silent, but with the press of a button, they roll open for Soonyoung’s car.
Unlike the Choi family, they don’t have active security here. There is an alarm system and advanced measures and a wonderful guard dog that is probably asleep in Soonyoung’s bed, but beyond that, the Sentinel and his son are enough to defend the home.
Both of his parents’ cars are in the garage when he parks. Of course they are. It’s just past two in the morning. His father is usually out later than this, but why wouldn’t he be home on the single night that Soonyoung breaks curfew and needs to have his ass chewed out.
Getting out the car, he hustles to the door adjoining the main house. He pauses when he gets there, hand hovering over the handle. He listens for sound and hears nothing. He’s not exactly sure what he’s listening for - his mom will be asleep and his dad is probably waiting in his study for him to get home.
Something nags at him, though. His chest hammers and he shakes his head. Calm. Just be calm. There’s nothing wrong and you’ve been out all night.
He steps inside, eyes scanning. Nothing is wrong inside. He sags, a little annoyed with himself as he crosses through the kitchen, grabbing a tangerine as he goes. He knows his own anxiety at the punishment that awaits is eating at him, but he can’t help it.
Toeing off his shoes at the door, he jogs to the stairs that leads up to the bedrooms. He takes them two at a time. He gets to the second landing, turning to go to his bedroom, but he pauses. His parents’ room is on the opposite end of the hall, door slightly cracked. That makes him frown.
Soonyoung considers going to his room to shower before facing his father. He should. That is the sensible thing to do. But the opened door doesn’t sit right with him, and the idea that something might be wrong is too much for him to just go to his room.
He moves toward their room instead, steps careful and deliberate. Each step feels too loud in the quiet, his pulse hammering in his ears. He hates the way suddenly, everything feels too loud. Too staticky. He swallows past the lump in his throat as he reaches their door, reaching out a hand to push it open.
A nightmare waits for him.
Soonyoung’s father lies sprawled across the bed. His eyes are open, expression frozen in shock. There’s a gash at his throat, neat and clean. No struggle visible, no chaotic blood spray. It’s deliberate. Pointed. A professional’s work. Bile rises in Soonyoung’s throat as he swivels.
The tangerine in his hand hits the floor.
He doesn’t even register his mother at first. He forces himself to step into the room and the scent of copper hits him, iron-rich with a soft undercut of familiar perfume. She’s sprawled next to his father, half under the cover, one hand curled under her cheek like she had been rising from bed. The other dangles limp - she hadn’t even made it to turn the lamp on.
His mother. The woman who held him when he cried, who laughed until his chest hurt, who scolded him when he ran headlong into danger.
Soonyoung’s ears start to ring. He feels his heartbeat like it is a living, raging thing, pounding in his chest so loudly that he can barely hear his own heightened breathing as he rushes over, hands shaking.
“No,” he whispers. His knees buckle as he drops to the floor, crawling toward his mother. “No, no, no.”
He presses his fingers against her face, brushing darkened strands of her hair from her cheek. They crackle under his touch - dried blood, he realized. Her cheek is freezing. Too cold. His vision narrows, focusing only on her. His chest begins to heave, lungs burning as panic threatens to overwhelm him.
“Mom,” he works out, voice cracking. “Mom it’s okay. Mom.”
Soonyoung’s mother doesn’t move. He leans forward, cradling her head against his shoulders. Tears burn his eyes. His father’s body presses against his vision, a background detail he cannot process yet. His mother. His mother. He can’t breathe, can’t think. Every instinct honed for violence and for danger fails him in the face of his mother’s death.
Right now, he isn’t the son of the Sentinel, the man who reacts. Right now, he’s the son of Kwon Aejeong, the boy that cries.
Grief paralyzes him. He bites his lip, tasting blood. His fingers dig into the fabric of her nightgown, desperate for a connection, for warmth that isn’t there. She’s gone. He knows it. But he doesn’t know what to do now.
Somewhere, thunder rolls in the distance. It makes his head snap up, but he’s alone in the house. Alone. The house is utterly still. He realizes he should call someone. The Tower. Anyone. But his hands are shaking too violently to hold a phone steady.
Soonyoung takes a deep breath and turns to the nightstand. His hands are shaking when he sees his mother’s phone. He can barely get the holoscreen to light up, hands shaking so much he can barely type out the only phone number that comes to mind.
His breaths come in short, harsh gaps, matching the pulse pounding in his temples.
“Hello?” Your voice is rough with sleep.
“Baby.”
“Soonyoung? What phone number is this?”
“You have to…” He stammers, voice cracking. “I need. I don’t know what to do.”
“Soonyoung what’s wrong?” He can hear the sudden focus in your voice. He wishes he felt as calm. “Soonyoung, talk to me.”
“They… my parents.”
“The Tower is coming.” He can hear you on the other line screaming for your brother. “Stay put, Soonyoung. Are you safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay. Stay on the phone with me-” You get cut off, voice muffled. “- tell daddy something is wrong at the Kwon Estate. Get Vernon, we’re going.” More muffled sounds and then you’re talking to him, “Don’t move, okay?”
He swallows, nodding even though you can’t see him. “I can’t move.”
“That's okay, Soonyoung. Stay with me,” you insist. “Don’t leave me, okay? Help is coming.”
Soonyoung leans over his mother again, curling around her small body. He presses his forehead to her hair, the scent faintly clinging. He cannot hold back the sobs anymore. They erupt, violent and ragged, spilling over all his other instinct to try and calm himself down.
He rocks her gently, whispering her name over and over, as if saying it enough might bring her back. His father’s presence looms at the edge of his mind, stern and disapproving in life, now just another cold body to grieve beside.
“I’m here.” Soonyoung glances at the phone in his hand. The call is still connected, your calm voice a tether to reality. “I’m not leaving you, Soonyoung. It’s okay.”
“I was supposed to be here. I could have-”
“No, Soonyoung. Don’t.” He sniffs, nodding. “Just breathe, okay? I'm right here.”
He breathes. He cradles his mother, his body trembling. He whispers apologies and small, frantic words that make no sense. Outside, it starts to rain, a relentless drum against the windows, the world carrying on as though nothing has happened. Yet here in this room, his universe has shattered.
He fights to stay upright, to breathe, to keep some semblance of control. But the sobs continue, echoing in the empty house, a primal sound he cannot contain. His father’s body lies beside her, and he finally allows himself to glance, to mourn the man who was both Sentinel and tyrant, stern but protective.
Gone.
The thread of your voice keeps him tethered, keeps him from unraveling completely. But the room smells of blood and perfume, and he realizes nothing will be the same after this.
Engines and the low rumble of tires on the driveway breaks the heavy silence. Soonyoung lifts his head slightly, ears straining, heart thudding. Floodlights swing across the estate grounds, cutting through the shadows of the house.
Footsteps thunder through the home. Soonyoung doesn’t move, watching as lights turn on and figures flood the bedroom, the Tower among them. He’s flanked by several Swords, guns out and masks on.
Soonyoung doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His hands still rest lightly on his mother, fingers gripping the fabric of her nightgown. He feels dizzy. Distant. The world seems to have only narrowed to the two bodies on the bed, the smell of blood, the racing of his pulse.
“Soonyoung.” The Tower’s voice cuts through the din. “I need you to come over here.”
He swallows, nodding once, almost imperceptibly. No words come. Nothing seems real yet. His body moves on autopilot, obeying the ritual he’s been drilled in his whole life: step aside, let the leader take control. But the shock makes him mute, a frozen boy in the ruins of his own home.
Footsteps echo in the hall. Soonyoung’s peripheral vision catches movement. The Swords swivel, guns raised at the intrusion but then the Tower yells to hold. Vernon and Chan appear first, face pale in the flood of light. You’re right behind them, hair wet from the rain, eyes wide. Vernon and Chan hesitate but you don’t, crashing through them as you move straight toward Soonyoung.
“No,” the Tower snaps at you. “Leave. Now. This isn’t your place.”
You ignore your father. You reach Soonyoung, sliding into the space beside him, wrapping your arms around him without hesitation. Soonyoung blinks, stunned, as the contact jolts him out of the haze just enough to register the press of your body against his. You’re warm. Not cold, like the bodies on the bed.
“Come with us,” you whisper, tugging. He doesn’t move at first. “Don’t. Come with us. With me.”
“I can’t…”
Vernon appears next to you. He reaches out a hand, grabbing Soonyoung’s forearm. Vernon’s hand is warm and sure, squeezing. “Come with us.”
The Tower steps forward, rigid, fists clenched, voice like steel. “I said-”
“We’re leaving,” you snap back. Your father seems ready to argue, but Seungcheol appears, a real adult the tower can trust. You tighten your hold on Soonyoung and swivel him toward the door. “We’re taking him with us. We’ll go downstairs.”
Soonyoung leans into you, unsteady, shaking, mute except for the occasional ragged intake of breath. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting your presence anchor him. He lets you and Vernon pull him toward the door where Chan is waiting, pale faced and hand outstretched to receive the three of you.
The four of you herd him downstairs, the rain continuing its steady percussion against the glass. Like you promised, you take Soonyoung to the living room. Vernon presses a cold bottle of water to Soonyoung’s neck, relief flooding through him as Chan uncaps water and forces Soonyoung to drink. Seungcheol stands in the corner, half tuned in to what they're saying upstairs and half shielding the three of you from view, fingers twitching.
And you? You hold him through it all. Fierce. Refusing to let go.
His entire world. The only thing in the world that he has left.
-
It’s gray and cold the day Soonyoung buries his parents. The grounds are crowded, faces blurring into a sea of solemn expressions and whispered condolences. It’s all fucking meaningless. Soonyoung sits rigid, shoulders squared, hands clasped tight. No tears come.
He’ll never cry again.
Every gaze that lands on him makes him want to scream. They expect him to react to their sympathy, to do something. He doesn’t bother. His grief is his, not anyone else's. The boy who once would have openly shown his pain is dead.
Fury simmers under his ribs, dark and violent. It coils in him like an ugly, hungry thing, hardening his muscle and sharpening the tension in his shoulders. The only thing that keeps him from blacking out in fury is your warm hand wrapped in his. It’s familiar and solid, an anchor in the sea of his rage.
Death and murder is not a stranger in the Syndicate. Until now, though, Soonyoung always considered himself untouchable. His father was the Sentinel, the highest ranking heavy in one of the most powerful families in the city. Murdered unsuspectingly with his wife by an out-of-town hit man paid for by a low level Syndicate that didn’t even matter.
Had it been one of the Kim or Yong families, it might have started a war. But this was an insult. A no one who managed to sneak up on the fucking Sentinel on sheer dumb luck.
It fills Soonyoung with equal parts shame and hate.
He grips your hand like iron. He’s sure your hand is going numb by now, but you don’t ask him to let go or soften his grip. You suffer with him, the only one allowed to share his grief. To see the storm raging underneath. You’re in this moment with him, the only piece of his life that matters anymore.
The Tower glances at your hand in his. Soonyoung doesn’t flinch. He stares right back at the Tower, daring him to say something. Soonyoung doesn’t care what the Tower thinks anymore, and if he wants to take his daughter away from Soonyoung, he can try.
Today, the Tower decides it isn’t worth it.
Hands reach toward Soonyoung, names and faces he cannot remember whispering condolences. He doesn’t respond. You navigate the ritual for him, bowing and nodding, accepting respect and sympathy on his behalf. You are his shield, an interpreter in a world that no longer makes sense to him.
Time stretches. Faces blur. The ceremony moves on, but Soonyoung remains rigid. Coiled tight. The last guest departs. The gates close. Silence descends like a weight. Soonyoung does not loosen his grip on you. He does not look at the empty rooms, the cold beds. The house is a tomb, but you are solid, warm, alive. The only thing real.
He leans slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against the top of your head. Your warmth is steady against his chest, your hand entwined with his, and for the first time in hours, he lets himself breathe a little.
In the hush of the empty room, Soonyoung’s heart pounds. He loves you. He loves you more than anything else in the world. Fiercely. Silently. Entirely.
He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. His love for you is his burden to bear, not yours. His fingers tighten around yours just slightly, and the weight of that small connection between you is good enough for him. Any scrap you give him, he’ll take.
For now, he’s in love with you, and it’s enough.
-
The training room thrums with the low beat of synth. Sweat glints along Soonyoung’s collarbone, his veins bright beneath skin. The neon strips on the ceiling pulse in time with the music, the screen on the far wall displaying vitals as he punches the training dummy in front of him until he can’t feel his hands anymore.
Soonyoung is keenly aware of Seungcheol and Vernon watching him. He ignores them, breathing out sharply between his teeth as he jabs at the dummy, hitting it hard enough to send it careening. Soonyoung gulps down a few breaths of air as he walks over to it and rights it, shaking out his hands before squaring up to attack his fake enemy again.
Seungcheol’s shadow cuts through the red glow of neon. “We should talk.”
“Why?”
Once upon a time, Soonyoung would have never dreamed of speaking to Seungcheol this way. Seungcheol is going to rule the Syndicate one day, and Soonyoung is supposed to take his side as his most trusted shield. Right now, it doesn’t feel that way. He feels irritation at Seungcheol’s presence, knowing where this conversation is going to go.
He’s known it since last night.
Soonyoung couldn’t help himself. Hearing that you were going to one of your mother’s galas with a date had set him off in a bad way. Picking fights didn’t used to be Soonyoung’s thing, but lately it’s all he feels like he’s good at doing. Plus, the kid he’d fucked up was a bully anyway and had been giving Seungkwan trouble from Soonyoung’s understanding.
He deserved the cracked orbital Soonyoung gave him.
“You need to tell me what’s going on with my sister.”
Soonyoung stills. He keeps his gaze straight forward, the flicker of red across his hands like neon blood. “There’s nothing going on.”
“Let me be clearer, then: what’s going on with you as it relates to my sister?”
“We’re friends.”
“Bullshit.” Seungcheol’s tone sharpens. Soonyoung hears the Tower in Seungcheol’s voice. He has half a mind to be proud. “You think I don’t see it? Every time Baby is near you, you stop breathing. Every time someone else is near her, you look ready to tear them apart. You sent some fuck ass to a hospital yesterday because you were jealous.”
“I sent that fucker to the hospital because he was pushing around Seungkwan who is four years younger than him.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Vernon exhales and comes over. He reaches to grab Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Cheol-”
“No,” Seungcheol snaps, shaking Vernon off. “He needs to hear this. It’s not just any girl we’re talking about. It’s my sister. The Tower’s daughter. The one person in this world I will not let your obsession damage.”
Obsession. Soonyoung hates the way Seungcheol says it. He makes the love Soonyoung have for you seem like a curse. Maybe it is. But Soonyoung would rather die than let anyone hurt you - doesn’t Seungcheol see that? Doesn’t he understand that you’re the only thing in Soonyoung’s life that feels clean?
“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m afraid of what others will do because she’s important to you. She’s the daughter of the Tower. The sister of the future Tower. She already has a target on her back. But you? You’re a future Sentinel. Your future is promised in blood and written in violence, and your attachment to her makes her vulnerable in ways I never could.”
Seungcheol steps so close that Soonyoung can smell the cologne lingering under sweat. Seungcheol is only a little taller than him now, but he’s broad. Thick in the arms. He’s a good fighter, but he’s refined in a way that Soonyoung isn’t. Soonyoung knows refinement can be a weakness.
He immediately feels shame for the way he calculates the probability of beating the son of the Tower in a fight. He can’t help it, though. He’s been programmed from a young age to read every threat, and right now, Seungcheol is tracing his fingers along Soonyoung’s fight or flight instinct.
“You know exactly what the threat of being a Sentinel brings.” Seungcheol glares. “You’ve lived it.”
Vernon hisses Seungcheol’s name but Soonyoung doesn’t hear it. All he hears is the hammering of his pulse in his ears as the room narrows to a focus. Flashes of his mothers face splash across his memory. How cold she was. How she hadn’t even made it out of bed. The way her perfume lingered, mingling with iron.
Soonyoung’s stomach roils. The room feels smaller, like the walls are pressing in. He takes a step away from Seungcheol. Vernon’s saying something to Seungcheol, low and steady, but it’s static against the roar in Soonyoung’s skull.
You’ve lived it.
The words loop. He has lived it. He’s lived what being the Sentinel’s son means, what it costs to guard the Tower. He’s lived seeing his father give his life over to the Syndicate to keep it going. His mother and father both had died for that kind of devotion.
Soonyoung’s mother only died for being married to his father. Soonyoung knows that. It was the risk she had taken when saying her vows when they got married. In love and in death. She probably always knew that the reason for her death would be the man she was married to.
A man that Soonyoung is supposed to become.
“Soonyoung.” Vernon’s voice cuts through the buzz. “He didn’t mean-”
“Yes, he did.” Soonyoung’s voice is unrecognizable. He drags a hand through his hair and lets out a shaky breath. “He’s right.”
“I didn’t say it to hurt you.”
Somehow, that hurts worse. Hearing Seungcheol’s deflated voice is worse than if the Tower’s son had been trying to hurt his feelings. He knows that he wasn’t, though. Seungcheol loves you the way an older brother should. He gives you trouble, he picks on you, but he’s protective. Shields you. Is a steady bulwark for you in the chaos that is your life.
It is Seungcheol’s job to tell Soonyoung the truth, and the truth is that Soonyoung can’t love you. At least, not the way he has been.
“I know exactly what my future is, Seungcheol.” Soonyoung’s voice comes out clipped. His heart rate enters the red zone on the wall, flickering as it climbs. “I know the violence. The blood. The way people look at me - you look at me - like I’m an animal almost feral. I already know.”
Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. He looks like he wants to argue, but Vernon cuts in first, stepping between them again. “Hey. Enough. Both of you.” His tone is softer, calmer. “All Seungcheol is saying is that you need to be more subtle. He’s not asking you to get over your feelings just... The entire world can’t know, okay?”
Soonyoung stares at Vernon, then at Seungcheol. His throat is dry, his body vibrating with something too close to grief. He moves to the side of the room and sits down on the edge of the mat. The cool floor bites through his sweat-soaked shirt. His heart’s still hammering, but slower now, an ache instead of a sprint.
“I just want her to be safe.”
Vernon comes to sit down next to him. “We know.”
Seungcheol runs a hand over his face. “Just be better about hiding it. I’m not asking you to stop loving her. I don’t think you could, and frankly, that kind of devotion means you’ll choose to protect her over anyone else. I need that. Just. Do better. You have to.”
Soonyoung doesn’t answer. The silence stretches until Vernon stands and claps Seungcheol on the shoulder, pulling him toward the door with a muttered let him cool off. When the door shuts, the room falls still.
He sits there for a long time, breathing in the smell of the cleaner that mists through the ceiling to de-sanitize the room the sweat on his skin. His knuckles are split and bruised, blood welling in tiny beads along the ridge of bone. He flexes his hand and feels the sting, the blood weeping down his fingers.
For a moment, he pictures you - the curve of your smile, the light in your voice, the way you say his name like it means something soft instead of sharp. It calms him down like it always does. He lays back on the mat, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as he replays Seungcheol’s words in his head over and over again.
You’ve lived it. You’ve lived it. You’ve lived it.
Seungcheol’s words are all Soonyoung can think about as he leaves the training room and goes to his own bedroom. He’s taken up residence at the Choi Estate now, and living down the hall from you is torture. Vernon and Seungcheol’s rooms are between you, thankfully, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not divine suffering when Soonyoung sees you walk by at night in pajamas or sees you first thing in the morning.
Hot water sluices down his back. He closes his eyes, trying to erase the haunting memory of his parents’ bodies. The Tower’s wife had recommended therapy for Soonyoung, but the Tower had scoffed at that. Blood and violence was something that Soonyoung needed to get used to. Therapy was never going to help him.
Children of the Syndicate were promised a life of violence. He was better off than most because his family was so high ranking, but he knew the lower down the rung you got, the worse it was. He thinks about Angel, whose mother tried to kill her as a child. Only Vernon intervening had saved her life. He thinks about Vernon, whose father had tried to end his life. Angel had returned Vernon’s favor and taken the life of a well-equipped Sword when she was barely a teenager.
Soonyoung has been lucky. The only death he’s seen is his parents. It was enough to kill the soft boy inside of him though, replaced with something that longs to feel. That wants to hurt just to make sure he isn’t numb.
Hair damp and still shaken, he throws himself into a computer chair after his shower. His hand still hurt, but he wants the mindlessness of video games to try and take his mind off the pressing ache of earlier.
Fate doesn’t feel the same way. He hears the knock on the door just before he puts his headphones on, and he already knows who it is. No one else knocks that gently. He stands up to let you in, but you’re already slipping into the door, leaving it open behind you.
Panic and desire crash together in his chest. Panic because you had to pass Seungcheol’s room to get here, desire because you’re dressed in thin pajamas that make him lose his fucking mind, and because he can smell the vanilla perfume on your skin and in your hair.
“I have a favor to ask,” you murmur.
Soonyoung frowns. You’re twisting your fingers together, shifting from foot to foot. You won’t meet his eye, even when he arches his brow and ducks his head to try and catch your gaze. It makes him a little nervous.
“What is it? Why are you so nervous?”
“It’s a weird favor.”
“Are you going to ask me to hide a body?”
“What? No!”
He smirks. You’re cute when you’re annoyed. “Then it’s not that weird of a favor.”
“Fine. I want you to kiss me.”
Soonyoung’s smirk vanishes. He’s glad he’s not in the training room still, or you’d see the way his heart rate enters the red zone immediately.
“You want me to do what?” He’s half delirious, half terrified of the request. He pulls you closer into the room and shuts the door behind you, heart thundering. “Where is your brother?”
You frown. “I have no idea.”
Soonyoung swears under his breath. He moves away from you, trying to put space between you. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of the AetherLink behind him, a frozen streak of color over his bedroom walls. It paints you in a blue light, making you look ethereal - like the angel he thought you were as a child.
“You can’t just-” he sighs, lowering his voice. “Did he see you come in here?”
“Why are you being weird? I’m in here all the time. You live here.”
He laughs once, sharp and hollow. “I’m being weird? You just asked me to kiss you. Neither your brother nor your dad want you in my room in the middle of the night.”
“Since when? Look, I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed, and Lin just lost her virginity to Jeonghan. What happened to when I say jump you say how high?”
“Oh, don’t start with me. Who cares if Lin is giving it up to Jeonghan? She blew Wonwoo like two weeks ago. It’s not a competition.”
Soonyoung hates Lin. She’s the daughter of one of the high up Chariots which makes her important enough to be in your circle of friends, but she’s a shit starter. It was Lin who had suggested you take a date to the gala, and it was Lin who often tried to poke fun at Soonyoung’s proximity to you.
He fucking hated her.
The look on your face makes him wince. You fold in on yourself, arms crossing your chest, shrinking in the blue light of his room like you want to disappear. It makes his chest ache - he doesn’t know what you want from him, exactly. He doesn’t know the right thing to say, but he wants to.
You have no idea what you just asked of him, though. You’ll never know how much he’s wanted the press of your mouth against his, the ghost of your breath against his skin. He’s spent years learning to hold his love for you in his fists until it cuts him, and here you are asking him to kiss you not because you love him, but because you don’t want to be outpaced.
He watches your throat work, watches the tremor of emotion building behind your eyes. You turn away before he can stop you. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Guilt crashes through him. He doesn’t know why, but your feelings are hurt. Girls are complicated and though he understands you better than most of them, the hurt that flashes across your face and the telltale sound of tears in your throat make him crumble.
“Baby-”
You try to bolt. Reflex takes over and he snatches your arm before you can escape him, dragging you back toward him. The instinct to soothe your pain and do whatever you ask of him overrides everything else.
“Don’t be like that,” he murmurs.
“I’m not being like anything. It was a stupid favor to ask.”
He groans. You refuse to look at him, leaning away to hide your shame. “Would you look at me?”
“No.”
He exhales through his nose, trying to keep calm. “Why are you being so difficult?”
This is the version of you he knows best. Defiant. Stubborn. Outspoken. You’re not like this for anyone else because you’re not allowed to be, but this is the you he loves the most. The one who refuses to tell him whatever is wrong because you don’t want to. It makes him love you more.
It makes him think of the time you tackled Angel when you were kids because she had punched Seungcheol. You’d been far less refined then, a little terror that made the Tower laugh and tell everyone you had your mother’s fire. You still do - he sees it now as you try to tug away from him - but there’s that Choi mountain coldness to you too.
You twist in his grip, still trying to pull free, but he doesn’t let you. “Well, if I’m so difficult, then let me go.”
“Baby.”
“Just let me go.”
“No.” The word comes out before he can stop it. “Why do you want me to kiss you?”
You flinch, the sound of your embarrassment sharp enough to make him wince. “Forget I even asked, just let me go!”
Soonyoung hears the crack in your voice and he panics. “Fuck - are you crying?”
“No!”
You’re definitely crying and he groans. “Baby, look at me.”
When you refuse, something inside of him snaps. He pulls you to him, harder this time. You make a startled noise and before he can remember how stupid this is, he presses his mouth to yours. The world goes absolutely quiet around the two of you, even the pounding of his own heart distant.
Your lips are tentative, but when you lean into him, his resolve snaps entirely. He presses in closer, the scent of your vanilla and skin flooding his senses. He feels like his blood is on fire as you grow a little more confident, pressing your lips firmer to his.
Soonyoung has kissed girls before. He imagined every single one of them was you. This is nothing like that, though. It feels like his first time taking frostbyte, a high so quick and powerful that he cannot imagine letting you go.
But he has to. All you asked for was a kiss to even the score with your friends, and he’s done that. You don’t need anything else - don’t want anything else from him. So he pulls back, looking down at you. Your eyes flutter open and his heart squeezes. He’s close enough to count all your eyelashes, close enough to bend down and kiss you again if it wants.
He does want.
“You have pretty eyes,” you whisper. He almost laughs at how much it hurts to hear you say that to him. “I’ve always thought you had beautiful eyes.”
Footsteps crash up the stairs, you brother’s voice calling your name. The memory of earlier shatters the moment and Soonyoung drops your arm. He takes a step back from you, needing room to breathe. For you, you’ve gotten what you wanted, a kiss to tell your friends about. For Soonyoung, it feels like his world is on fucking fire.
“There’s your kiss,” he mumbles. “Is there anything else you need from me, or do I need to jump too?”
The words taste wrong the second they leave his mouth. He doesn’t mean to sound angry because he’s not. At least, not with you. He watches your face for a heartbeat too long. Confusion flickers there, immediately followed by hurt before a mask of composure slips over your expression, a skill you’ve learned to use at parties.
You don’t say anything for a heartbeat, and when Seungcheol calls your name, you leave. You give him a single look at the door before slipping out into the hallway, the click of the door shutting loud in the silence of Soonyoung’s room.
For a while, Soonyoung doesn’t move. He just stands there. He can still smell you, sweet and sharp, the vanilla clinging to him. He runs his tongue across his lower lip, tasting the lip balm you’d left there. He lets out a shaky breath and presses the heel of his palm to his chest like he can quell is hammering heart.
He shouldn’t have kissed you. He knows he shouldn’t have. But you’d asked and that was all it took. One look, one tremor in your voice and everything Seungcheol said earlier was meaningless. That’s how it’s always been with you, though. Soonyoung has always abandoned rationale for you, like that time he tackled Angel for fighting with you at your birthday party.
Soonyoung had sworn to himself just hours ago that he would get his head on straight and find a way to start guarding the way he felt about you, and you’d come in and immediately wreck his plans. All that conviction was nothing at the thought of you.
He sinks down on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees. He stares at the blue glow of his AetherLink still paused on the home screen. His hands are shaking. He pressed them together, but they don’t stop. He thinks about how soft your mouth was, the way your breath hitched when he pulled you toward him. The sound you made. It replays in his head on a loop.
“Fuck,” he sighs, falling backward on the bed.
Usually, Soonyoung’s room smells like teakwood. Right now, it smells sweet and cloying, overpowered by the smell of you. He hates the way it makes his head spin. Hates the way that he knows he fucked up. He imagines Seungcheol and Vernon’s faces if they knew. The disappointment and fury, the fear.
The thought of it cuts him deep. Soonyoung already knows what comes next. Tomorrow, he’s going to try to put distance between you. He’ll avoid you and it’ll eat him alive to do it, but he’ll try. And then you’ll come around, bright and unbothered, and he’ll look you in the eye and fall in love all over again.
He’ll fail. With you, he will always fail.
-
Victra’s mouth is hot against Soonyoung’s neck. It feels good and he grins, tipping his head back as she presses herself closer to him. The vibrations from the music pulse through his bones, thumping in beat with his heart. Above him, the neon casts fractured shades of blue and violet over the crowd. It makes the world appear dreamy and slow, though it’s probably more to do with the combination of drugs and alcohol in his system.
The crowd writhes around him, bodies grinding together. Holographic dancers twist and undulate above the floor, skin glistening as though real, beads of sweat catching the lights. He notices details most people would miss, like the way Victra smells distinctly of resin, the way Taps slip through the crowd offering hits of frostbyte and packets of resin, the way teeth gleam too white and eyes flash, too dilated.
Soonyoung tracks every single one of the Taps, but he tracks the other people he knows, too. Even fucked up, he’s aware of everyone in the room. He’s a Sword of the Choi Syndicate, and even though it’s his night off, he’s never really off.
He also notices you.
You’re perfect on the velvet booth like a queen in a gilded cage, a glass of champagne in your hand. You scan the crowd too, your eyes sharp and precise. Even all the way down here with another woman sucking marks into his neck, Soonyoung can feel you. Is drawn to you.
When your eyes land on him, he sees the twitch in your expression. He smirks at the small, nearly imperceptible flare of your nostrils, the way you tilt your head and turn away in frustration. A rush of satisfaction hits him, wild and uncontrollable. You’re jealous and it makes him feel alive. So rarely does it get to see it.
Once he’s noticed, he can’t stop. He knows you’re watching him and he loves it. The world is too bright and too loud, colors flashing in sync with the music, making every surface shimmer. His body hums with the electricity of it and the excitement that you’re watching as he puts his hands on Victra’s hips, as he grinds her into him.
Every instinct at him screams to walk up to the second floor landing where you’re sitting and to press his mouth to yours, to see if you’ll melt into him or fight him. He can feel it in the tight coil of his chest, the way his stomach roils, blood racing. He wants to push you. Wants to see what you’ll do if he presses you.
So he decides to push.
Soonyoung’s eyes don’t leave your booth as he wends his way through the crowd, pulling Victra along. He leads her up the stairs, aware that Mingyu and two of Victra’s friends have fallen into step behind him. By the time he gets to the top and security waves him through, he sees Wonwoo’s hand outstretched toward you as you inhale a small bump of frostbyte off a knife.
Jealousy flares in Soonyoung. It takes everything in him to tamp it down, watching the way your eyes roll back and you scrunch your nose through the burn, trying to keep your eyes from watering. He sits down in the booth next to Vernon, his eyes pinned to you as you sniff a few times, leaning back to talk to your brother, who looks dead next to you.
Victra and her friends help themselves to drinks. Soonyoung stares as you as you turn from Seungcheol, nodding. You’re momentarily caught up in the lights, tilting your head up to look at the lavender butterfly holos floating above. It paints your color in a wash of purple and lilac, and you’re so beautiful in that second that Soonyoung has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from moving over to you.
Blood blooms in his mouth. Victra turns to him and presses another kiss to his throat. He lets her, leaning back against the couch with his eyes fixated on you, his mouth turning to metal as you come to your senses and drop your gaze to him. His stomach tightens as your eyes drop to Victra, eyes flashing.
Good.
It isn't that you love him. Not like he loves you. But you're possessive, and Soonyoung is your favorite thing. You hate when your favorite thing is under the attention of someone else and not you. It's a game Soonyoung has learned to play recently, knowing that this is all he'll ever get from you - little reactions, little flares of frustration.
Grinning, he leans his head back against the booth, letting his eyelids flutter shut. For the barest moment, he can pretend that Victra’s wet mouth under his ear is yours. The thought makes him shiver, until Vernon is jabbing Soonyoung in the jibs to get his attention.
“Baby is asking for you,” Vernon hollers over the pulsing music.
Soonyoung glances your direction again. You’re sitting stiffly on the edge of the booth’s seat, staring at him with a stormy expression. He nods and peels Victra off of him, happy to plop down onto the booth next to you to see what it is you need. He hopes its him you need, but when you point at your brother and ask for a stim pop, the dream deflates a little.
“Then you can go back to your little public sex session,” you tack on, heated.
Soonyoung grins and makes a cat noise at you. He likes you like this, all fire and heat. Your mother’s side of the family is known for their fire and passion, the phoenix symbol meaning more than just legacy and ash. You’re cold like the mountain of the Choi family too, but this version of you, spitting angry and trembling is best.
It means you care - care about him, specifically.
Soonyoung leans forward to pull a stim pop out of his back pocket. He always keeps them, needing them to stay awake during long shifts. You make a noise of protest when he leans into you and he grins as you shove at him, annoyed but not meaning it. You don’t push him hard, just enough to let him know you’re angry at him.
He presents the stim pop and you snatch it away from him, turning your back on him to shove the pop into your brother’s mouth. Soonyoung looks over your shoulder at the future Tower of the Choi Syndicate and winces. Seungcheol has had way too many drugs tonight, and a stim pop is exactly what he needs.
“Why are you being a brat?” Soonyoung asks, leaning into the back of the booth.
“Go away.”
He smirks. “Baby, please don’t start with me.”
“I’m not starting fuck with you.”
He knows. It’s him starting with you. He watches as you fawn over Seungcheol for a moment. Your brother has opened his eyes as he sucks on the stim pop, cheek round with the candy. Soonyoung is glad. Seungcheol was a little worse for wear, but he looks like he’s at least aware of his surroundings now, his eyes flashing between Soonyoung and you.
“Why are you mad at me?” Soonyoung asks.
He knows why, but he wants to hear you say it. You don’t, of course. Instead, you growl, “I’m not mad at you. Go away.”
“You definitely are. What did I do, hmm? Tell me.”
“Please fuck off.”
Soonyoung rolls his eyes but gets up. He’s more than happy to let you rage in your corner if that’s what you want to do, so he stumbles back to his seat where the girl he’d left behind looks frustrated. He doesn’t blame her. Someone else has had his attention all night. He tries to apologize in his own way, leaning over toward her and pressing his mouth to Victra’s.
She tastes all wrong. He can barely concentrate on the kiss because instead of vanilla chapstick, she tastes like liquor and the bitter taste of frostbyte in her gums. Soonyoung ignores it, dipping his tongue into her mouth, trying to get lost in the kiss, trying to drown himself in the heat of her lips to ignore the fact that she isn’t you.
It’s been two years since Soonyoung kissed you in his room and he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s never tasted you like this, never licked into your mouth or heard you sigh. But he dreams of it. It’s the kiss that never should have happened, but it fucking haunts him, even in this chaotic corner of the club.
You call Wonwoo’s name. It draws Soonyoung’s attention, pulling away from Victra’s mouth. She doesn’t mind, pressing kisses along his jaw as Soonyoung looks at you. You scoot toward Wonwoo, asking for more frostbyte but you don’t need more.
Drugs aren’t really your thing. You dabble in them occasionally, happy to have a high with your friends while you’re all out like this, but you don’t do them often enough to know how to handle them. Soonyoung sees you reaching for more and he reacts on instinct, snapping a hand out to snap his fingers at you and tell you no.
It makes you bristle, turning to him with all snapping teeth and rage. He feels Vernon cringe next to him but Soonyoung doesn’t care, eyes on you as you yell, “Don’t fucking whistle and snap at me! I’m not a dog.”
He hadn’t meant to make you feel that way. He just needed to get your attention on him and not the glittering powder in Wonwoo’s pocket. By the looks of it, you don’t need more. Your eyes are the size of moons, hands shaking, tongue licking your lips over and over again.
“Baby,” he pleads. “You don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”
Victra goes stiff next to him. “Baby? Are you serious?”
Soonyoung groans. He knows what it sounds like - he has to go through this misunderstanding with every girl he brings around while you're there. “Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”
Whatever you shoot back is lost in Soonyoung’s irritation. Everything feels too hot and Victra’s hands on him make him itch. He leans forward as you move to sit next to Wonwoo, who looks far to excited to ply the daughter of the Tower with drugs. To Wonwoo, this is exciting - you never party like this with them. To Soonyoung, it’s a red flag. He knows you’re mad and the last thing he meant to do was make you snort more shit up your nose to cope with it.
“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung thunders, knocking Victra’s hands away. “Don’t you dare give her that.”
Wonwoo is stuck between a rock and a hard place. No one has ever told you no, but everyone knows Soonyoung is not someone to fuck with. Soonyoung is a Sword - Wonwoo isn’t. He’s not even really a Tap, but he’s somewhere in the middle of the chain without an official title. Which means that both you and Soonyoung outrank him, and he’s not sure who to listen to.
Victra tries to pull Soonyoung back to the seat and it sets him off. “Stop clawing at me.” He turns back to you, your eyes blazing. “Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one.” Victra starts bitching at Soonyoung, but he ignores her, eyes on you. Only you. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove and point and be a bitch, though.”
Wrong thing to say. Soonyoung knows it’s wrong as soon as it’s out of his mouth. He doesn’t mean to call you a bitch, because you’re not. At least, not in a way that would make him call you that out loud. But the lights are too bright and the sour taste in his mouth is getting to him and his head is starting to hurt, all signs that his high is wearing off and that the long nights are getting to him.
“I’m not proving fuck,” you spot. “And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”
“So it is about her?” He asks, caught between pleasure and worry. You’ve never fought about this before - especially not like this, in front of everyone with drugs pumping through you to fuel the rage.
Soonyoung doesn’t even catch what Victra says to you. He’s too focused on the glassy look in your eye and the hurt that he sees there and he feels sick. He hadn’t meant for it to hurt like this - he thought you might get frustrated because you like to hold his leash, but he hadn’t expected the pain looking back at him.
He feels like a fucking asshole - he is a fucking asshole.
There’s not much time to think about it. Whatever Victra said to you sets you off. Soonyoung blinks in surprise as you launch out of the seat toward them, knocking over glasses and bottles. Seungcheol’s arm snaps out to catch you by the waist and pull you back toward him.
Soonyoung’s hand goes to Victra’s thigh to pin her down but she’s up on her feet in seconds as Seungcheol subdues you, seeing a window of opportunity. Before Soonyoung can knock her back, Angel is on her like a rabid dog, slamming the girl into the booth and pinning her knee to the girl’s stomach.
It is chaos that Soonyoung can barely control. Angel pins Victra to the seat while her friends start to rise from the booth. A bucket of ice goes flying, spraying freezing cold water over Soonyoung and the others. He shoots to his feet, arm shooting out to grab one of the girls who was with Mingyu to keep her from getting to you across the table.
You’re screaming like a banshee, feet kicking out and knocking over bottles. Glass shatters and champagne sprays, drawing the eyes of everyone outside of your table. Security starts to come over but Soonyoung is pulling Victra from underneath Angel’s knee and shoving her toward Mingyu, hollering at him to take her.
One of the girls is bleeding, her brow split open from the ice bucket that hit her square in the face. Soonyoung doesn’t cringe. He just blocks them from entering the booth again, ignoring Victra as she throws every curse she can at him. Security helps Mingyu, wrangling the three women toward the steps while trying to assess the blood gushing from the one girl’s face.
Running a hand through his hair, Soonyoung turns back around. Wonwoo is picking glass off of himself while Vernon and Angel clear their side of the booth. An attendant shows up to start cleaning and Soonyoung gives him a nod of thanks, heart hammering and head spinning from the chaos of it all.
You’re talking to Seungcheol quietly, your brother caging you in as he murmurs something to you. Soonyoung sees you deflate and nod, sagging against the seat as whatever Seungcheol tells you lands. You nod and Seungcheol rises, giving you space as you pant through the rage.
Seungcheol gives Soonyoung a look. A few years ago, he would have started a fight with Soonyoung. Now, he just seems tired and annoyed. Soonyoung brushes shoulders with Soonyoung as he goes to sit next to you, your brother body checking him a little as he does. It makes Soonyoung grin - it’s not a threat, but a warning, more frustrated than angry.
Color swims above the two of you, painting you in fuchsia. Soonyoung looks up at the glitter of lights, feeling the anger deflate from you, replaced with something colder and more reserved, the phoenix turning into the mountain.
“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung offers. He says it because he wants confirmation that it is jealousy, that the display of rage and chaos is because maybe - just maybe - you like him when he’s only yours. “I kind of like it.”
“Don’t do that to me ever again.”
Soonyoung laughs to hide the flutter in his heart. If he’d known he would get this kind of reaction, he wouldn’t have done it. But now that he knows what kind of reaction you would give, he can’t stop thinking about it.
His eyes drop down to your mouth. He thinks about that night in his bedroom when you asked him to kiss you, when you pressed your lips against his. It has followed him every day for two years, the ghost of your lips impossible to shake. He wants to kiss you now, but he doesn’t dare. Not when he’s still unsure about your jealousy, not when it feels fragile.
“I’m serious,” you continue. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.”
Soonyoung nods and leans into you, melting into the seat. It’s small but he lets himself have this, everyone else be damned. You put your hand on his thigh and he nearly groans, feeling the tension bleed out of him as he puts his head on your shoulder, tired and wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever, the scent of vanilla lingering on his skin.
It’s the first time that Soonyoung realizes maybe you like him too.
-
Killing is not at all like Soonyoung imagined. There's no adrenaline rush, no gut-wrenching remorse. There's just the mechanical pull of the trigger and the sound of the electric charge of the gun. The body slumps to the ground like a wet coat, flopping over in the rain-slicked alley. Soonyoung stares at the body, the water in the street turning pink under the blue neon, blood flowing from the mess of skull.
He doesn't care.
The dead man had been a Rook of the Yong family who'd been trying to extort someone in the club thumping behind Soonyoung. Soonyoung had been watching him all night, waiting and gathering information until Old Man Vero confirmed he wanted the Rook dead. So he did exactly that, grabbing the man by the back of the neck and dragging him out here to beat him within an inch of his life before ending it.
Soonyoung looks at his hands. The knuckles are split and bloody, already bruised and growing darker. He flexes them. He can't feel any pain, but there's a popping feeling in his right hand that feels wrong. Broken, maybe. He doesn't really know. The frostbyte eating away as his exhaustion keeps any of the pain in the back of his mind, somewhere dull and distant.
Red and blue glows from billboards overhead. Soonyoung can hear them in the distance, advertising AetherLink upgrades with new virtual reality that makes people forget their shitty lives. He's never tried alternate reality - he doesn't need to. His life is shitty but at least he has you in it. There's no reality in the world that a computer can give him that is better than the one he has with you, even if you're not his.
The plasma gun is heavy in Soonyoung's hand, barrel humming faintly with residual energy. It smells like wet concrete and fried street food from the cart down the block, and he absently realizes that he's hungry. Hunger is the only thing he feels as he stares at the body bleeding out. The fleshy material of meat and white chips of skull don't bother him. He tilts his head, frowning. He thought it would be more splatter, but the rain washes away the gore.
Soonyoung should feel something, probably. His father had drilled it into him over late-night talks in their old house, back when the Sentinel was alive and teaching Soonyoung how to be a Sword.
"A man feels when he kills," his dad had said. "Guilt, rage, even satisfaction. But if you feel nothing, you're no better than an animal. A tool. And tools get discarded when they're dull."
Holstering the gun, Soonyoung stares at the body. He waits for the wave to hit - regret, maybe. For ending a life that had parents, maybe a kid, debts to pay. Or pleasure, the dark kind that other Swords whisper about in the Choi estates billiards room after a job, drinks in hand and eyes glazed.
There's nothing.
Soonyoung turns away and dials for a cleaner to come dispose of the body. He doesn't even do it himself, impersonal, uncaring. He doesn't care where the body ends up, he just knows it needs to be disposed of.
The Lower District pulses around Soonyoung, alive in a way that Hyperion's underbelly can be at this hour. He hears the side door to the club open and looks up, nodding when he sees a cleaning team before he shoves his phone in his pocket and walks out of the mouth of the alley, boots splashing in grimy puddles.
Hawkers shout from their carts at him as he passes. He can see Choi Syndicate Taps moving from club to club and prowling lines to get into clubs, pushing stim, frostbyte, syndust and more. Holographic dancers writhe in the windows of brothels, their forms glitching a little in the rain. He pays them no mind, even when the live girls come out when they see him, calling to him and reaching for him.
He doesn't let them touch him. He has no interest in them. He used to let women touch him and fuck him when he was younger, trying to erase the smell of your hair and the sound of your laughter. He doesn't do that now - not since that night years ago you'd fucked up some girl he brought to a booth with him. You'd told him to never do that again, and he hasn't tried.
Hasn't tried to learn where that jealousy came from, either, whether its the desire to hold the leash or desire for him.
Soonyoung weaves through the crowd, shoulders hunched against the rain as it turns to a downpour. The kill doesn't bother him, still. Not the way it should. What gnaws at him is the lack of response - no pulse spike, no shaky hands. No brief cringe of horror. Nothing.
He wonders if he's broken - maybe fucked up beyond repair. He hasn't cried since the night he found his parents slaughtered in the bedroom of his childhood home, but he's surprised at the total lack of response.
His father would be ashamed, seeing him like this. A loyal Sword who executes without a flicker, who has become nothing but an animal that bites.
Soonyoung ducks into a dive bar called Echo Void. It's tucked under a towering apartment building that's crumbling and probably a single bad day away from coming down. It's the kind of place where low level Syndicate members mingle with partiers chasing oblivion and other dark pleasures.
Dim lights pulse to synth beats from a DJ platform in the corner, VIP booths shrouded in holographic privacy fields that flicker, their shitty quality unable to hold the wall for long. The air reeks of spilled drinks, sweat and the acrid tang of someone smoking syndust in the shadows.
He slides onto a stool at the bar, the worn leather creaking under him. The bartender is a grizzled woman with cybernetic eyes that glow blue. She looks him up and down but she must see something in his face because instead of asking him questions, she pours him a double of whatever nasty ass liquor they serve here. It goes down his throat, turning the inside of his chest into an inferno.
Finally, he feels something. Even if it's the physical effects of rotgut alcohol that could probably make him blind if he had enough. He's not even sure it's alcohol - it could be gasoline for all he knows. He doesn't care much, lifting a finger for another.
One drink becomes two. Two becomes four. Four cascades into something else. The alcohol blurs the edges but it doesn't fill the void. It doesn't make him feel. Soonyoung thinks back to the violence of it, the way he'd split the mans lip, then his nose. Felt the crack of ribs under his boot. He feels nothing, so he signals for another drink, hoping that maybe if he gets drunk enough, he'll feel guilt or pleasure or something.
It does nothing. So he pulls the packet of frostbyte from his jacket. It glows faintly under the neon light, laced with something else illicit and dangerous. He doesn't mind, so he taps it out on the bar's edge, ignoring anyone who looks at him. Most people don't. He snorts it quick, the burn racing up his nose.
The hit slams into him fast - colors sharpen, the synth music throbs in his ribcage like a second heartbeat. He breathes in a few times, the air sharp and cold and damp. He taps out another line, breathing it until his vision swims and his thoughts fractured like broken holos.
The bar spins around him - laughing partiers in booths, someone asking him for a hit. He tosses them the pack, uncaring that there's a solid 300 credits worth of product in it. He can afford to lose it, just like he can afford to kill someone without consequences in a shitty back way alley.
Soonyoung thinks about you. You're probably back at the Choi Estate either curled up reading a book in your room or sparring in the training room to burn off whatever you're pissed off about today. It makes him smile, imagining the way your eyes light up when you fight, the way that your smile lights up the darkest fucking corners of the world.
He wants to go home to you, to stumble through the iron gates and find you in the atrium or in your room with it's sheets that smell like you. He wants to tell you how he feels nothing, how he pulled the trigger and didn't care. How it scares him just a little that he thinks he's the animal his dad gated, that maybe Seungcheol and Vernon were right about him, he's too far gone for you.
You'd listen to him. He knows you would. You always listen to him, with that steady gaze that grounds him when the world feels like it's slipping away. You make him feel. You're the only thing that can.
So he gets up from the stool and transfers credits to the bartender. It's far too many, but he doesn't care. He has a singular focus on his mind, feet slipping and tripping as the world spins. He's too fucked up to get home on his own, but if he calls a car, the driver will tell Old Man Vero how fucked up Sonyoung is. He's like a son to the Tower, every move of his is watched.
Outside, the rain has turned to mist. It clings to him like second skin, neon bleeding into the puddles and turning the streets into broken kaleidoscopes of pink and cyan. His head is a mess, flipping between memories like a broken projector: Dead Rook. You, smiling. His mom, throat slashed. You flipping him in the training room. Dead Rook. The smell of your shampoo as you brush by him in the parlor.
He needs to get home. Home is the estate. Home is you.
The train station is a ten-minute weave through the Lower Districts derelict streets and back alleys. His legs move on autopilot, boots splashing, frostbyte still fizzing under his skin. A Tap tries to sell him something before seeing who he's talking to - everyone knows Soonyoung's face here. Everyone knows he's a Sword.
The underground platform is crowded with late-night club kids in holographic jackets and tired shift workers heading home. Soonyoung leans against a pillar, forehead pressed to the cool metal, breathing in deep. It smells like rot and piss and his stomach rolls. He decides to breath through his mouth instead.
When the train screeches in, he shuffles on and drops into a seat, the cracked pleather sticking to his damp jacket. The train takes off, rocking him on loud tracks, the lights flickering above him making the world flash in and out of reality.
He changes lines. Each station smells worse than the last until he's walking up into the Upper District at the base of the mountain road where the public lines end and the private estates begin.
The climb is gonna be a fucking bitch. He realizes how ill-planned this was. Now Soonyoung has to walk the however far the distance is up winding mountain roads.
With the frostbyte starting to wear off and leaving a sick, cottony ache behind his eyes, he realizes it's going to be a bitch. Still, if he can just get to your door. If he can just hear your voice. He knows the nothing will stop.
So he walks.
The air up here is cleaner and colder, the pine and wet stone replacing city rot. The ascent is brutal, kilometers of switchbacks lit only by the distant city and moon. His lungs burn. His thighs tremble. Every step feels like walking through water. Halfway up, he has to stop, hands on his knees, retching into a ditch while the mist swirls around him. Nothing comes up but bile and the faint shimmer of frostbyte residue.
Soonyoung laughs once, a cracked sound that echoes of the trees. His father would hate this. The great son of the Sentinel, puking on the side of the road because he killed a man and felt nothing and then tried to burn the nothing out with drugs and cheap liquor.
Pathetic.
He keeps walking.
Finally, he gets to the gates. The men working the guard house give him wary glances. They wave him through, though, and he hears them mutter under their breaths as the gates open for him and he passes through, gravel crunching beneath his boots as he walks between dense forest.
The estate grounds are quiet, the main house a fortress of dark glass and stone looming in the distance when he breaks the treeline. Motion lights flicker on as he crosses the courtyard. Only a few windows glow faintly as he walks up the steps and lets himself into the house when the biometric scanner.
Soonyoung doesn't go to his room. He drifts up the stairs to his hall but turns left where he usually turns right. His knuckles are raw when he finally steps in front of your door. He stares at his hand as he lifts it but doesn't knock for a few minutes, his breath shaky and ragged.
The high has mostly bled out of him now, but he's still cross faded on the dregs of frostbyte and alcohol. Swallowing, he knocks and leans against the door, waiting as his heart thuds so loud he's sure you'll hear it on the other side.
Please be awake. Please open the door. Please don't let me be nothing tonight.
The door opens and the entire world goes still.
The lilac glow from your room spills over him, washing the hallway in soft purple. He can't lift his head yet, his forehead pressed to the wall, one palm flat against it just to keep himself upright. The walk up the mountain has scraped the last of the frostbyte out of his blood, but everything else is still there, dragging him down.
"Soonyoung?" Your voice peels away a layer of rot.
He manages to drag his chin up an inch to look at you. He wonders what you see. Does the light catch the sweat in his hair, the dried blood flecked across the collar of his shirt? Your eyes flick to look down the empty hall behind him, then back to him.
"Where are Cheol and Vernon?" He hears the stress in your voice and guilt punches him in the gut. He didn't mean to make you afraid.
"S'cheol's working," he rasps, tongue heavy. "Vernon went to Angel's."
He watches your face shift. You're so god damn beautiful it makes him want to fall to his knees. He would, for you. He would worship you the way Angel's psycho mother worshiped her god, with a feverish devotion. He'd give anything to you - everything to you.
"Are you-" You dip your head to dry and catch his eyes. "Are you drunk? Or high?"
"Yeah."
You don't hesitate. Your hand closes around his, warm and steady. You pull him into your room and he stumbles forward, heavy and useless. The door clicks shut behind him. He's in your room. Safe.
Soonyoung can't look at you. Not yet. He keeps his gaze on the floor while his heart slams against his ribs. You're standing close enough that he can smell your sleep-warm skin and the faint trace of vanilla. You feel like the only clean thing in the fucking world.
You reach for his collar but he flinches. "Not mine."
You don't say anything. He takes three crooked steps and collapses on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees. The mattress dips under his weight. He wants to tell you sorry for sitting on it without your permission, but he can barely stand. He still can't look up and if he sees your eyes, he thinks he'll crack open and spill the rotted yolk hidden in the fragile shell of his heart.
He hears you move closer, careful, like he's a wounded animal that might bolt or bite. He supposes that's fair. You crouch in front of him. He can see your bare feet, the soft curve of your ankles, the way your sleep shorts ride up just a little to make his chest ache with something.
Finally. Not nothing. He can feel again, and all it takes is this, sitting in your room with you a few inches away.
"Soonyoung," you whisper. "You're scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?"
He shakes his head. The idea of Seungcheol seeing him like this in your room makes his stomach turn. Vernon would understand, but he'd be wary, still. Neither your brothers would like him here in your room like this very much, the smell of violence and something darker on him.
"Let me call Vernon-"
"No," he whispers. "No. Sorry. I just-"
He can't finish the sentence. The silence stretches for a moment. Your hand settles on his knee, gentle and waiting. He stares at it, suddenly seeing the lifeline. The burden becomes a little easier.
"My dad always said I should feel something." The words slur a little. "Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don't, it means you're nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined."
Your fingers tighten. You don't interrupt. You never do.
"I felt nothing. Fucking nothing."
Soonyoung risks a glance at you and his heart thuds. Your face is tilted up toward him and you're on your knees, eyes wide and fierce, softened with worry. Your mouth is pinched and the way you look at him sends him reeling.
"What do you mean?" You whisper, coaxing it out of him.
So he tells you.
"There was no guilt. I didn't even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That's not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just baser creatures. That we were better because we were made better."
"I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung."
His name on your lips makes his eyes flutter. He wants you to say it again. Wants to hear it a million time. A billion. Infinitely.
"I'm just tired of feeling fucking empty," he admits, voice rough. "I don't give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing."
Soonyoung looks up at you. He doesn't know what he expects on your face, but you catch him off guard. You surge forward, sliding between his thighs to wrap your arms tight around his middle. Your cheek presses to his chest, right over the place where his heart is hammering like its trying to reach you.
He freezes. His arms hang useless at his sides. He doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve you holding him like he isn't something broken and rotten.
You don't let go.
Slowly, his arms come up. He can't help himself. You are all he's every wanted, and you're here holding him. He circles his arms around you, tentative at first, then firmer. He buries his face in your neck and breathes in, muscles uncoiling. You smell like home.
"I don't feel like a person sometimes," he admits. It's a weight off his shoulders to say it out loud. "It's like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so I didn't ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-"
He cuts himself off. He can't say it. It's too honest and when you hear it, you'll want to fix it. Because you always want to fix it for him. You spend too much time prioritizing him and he lets you because he's greedily and helpless and wretched, and if he lets you fix it this time, he thinks it'll cross a line.
"You only ever feel when you what?" You ask. "You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need."
You don't ask. Don't demand. You leave it up to him. The fact that you even make it a choice - that you tell him if he needs to unload, he can - breaks him.
"I feel when I'm with you." He sucks in a breath. "I feel most like a person when I'm with you."
And it's true. Soonyoung has only ever felt like he's functioning when you're around. His senses are sharper, his humor comes alive. Without you, he's the quiet blade that makes everyone unsettled. With you, he's his old self, loud and arrogant and wild. But he needs you the way a body needs a heart, and without you, he's something mindless that can only follow orders.
"Okay," you say, like it's the easiest thing in the fucking world. "So stay with me. Be a person with me."
The laugh the leaves him is wet. He realizes he's near tears, the words spilling out of your mouth both his saving grace and his worst doom. If you mean even half of what he thinks you do, he'll never leave you. You'll have to kill him to get rid of him, and he'll let you. If you keep him, he'll never be able to let you go.
Your father won't allow it. It's not proper. The Tower's daughter is not made for the future Sentinel. Soonyoung's destiny is to put Seungcheol first. That's already fucked up and impossible, but at least right now, everyone can pretend.
Soonyoung knew from a young age he wasn't allowed to have you. His father told him. His mother told him. Seungcheol and Vernon even told him. You seem to be the only person in the world who isn't in on it, who doesn't get it. And why would you? No one has ever told you no.
"I'm not made for you," Soonyoung whispers.
"Yes you are," you snap, nails digging into him. "If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone else but one another?"
He goes quiet. His heart is pulsing in his ears. You grip him hard enough that he knows he's going to bruise. He stares at you and see's the burning in your eyes, the seriousness of your statement. You're not going to let this go, and not for the first time, he sees that spark of madness reflected in your eyes, a mirror of his own.
No one has ever told you no. Soonyoung can't either.
"If I stay right now," he whispers, resolve fading, "You will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won't…" He swallows. "I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
It's stay or die. He doesn't say it in as many words, but that's what he means. If you ever intend to pull away, he will die. It is that simple.
Your arms tighten around him, a threat and a promise. "Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung."
-
Soonyoung has killed so many people in the last three years that he's stopped counting.
Bodies blur together, some in rain-soaked alleys, some in soundproofed rooms like this one. It smells like blood and cheap disinfectant in the warehouse. A single hanging bulb swings overhead, throwing sickly, yellow light across the the plastic sheet Angel laid down earlier. The man strapped to the metal chair is a nobody - just a runner for some bottom feeder gang that thought they could skim. His face is already swollen and bloody, and as Angel circles him in her rain slicker and boots, Soonyoung knows it'll get bloodier.
Angel makes an art of this. It's why she's a Rook in the first place. Soonyoung understands Angel in a way that no one else does, save for Vernon. Everyone thinks that people like Soonyoung and Angel feel nothing. That they torture because they're sadistic. People don't understand that it's the opposite - they feel too much, and the only time that it really comes to the surface is with the vulnerability of torture or their romantic partners.
Torturing someone requires a strange kind of intimacy. Fishing for information, hurting someone and dragging it out, making them talk - it requires a kind of honesty with oneself that most people can't stomach. If Soonyoung wants to get someone to tell him something, he has to be just as honest, exposing himself in the way he asks questions or the way he comes up with pain and punishment.
He learned that about himself a few months after his first kill.
Soonyoung stands off to the side, arms folded. His hands are slick with blood, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. The guy in the chair lets out a wet gurgle coughing on blood and split teeth. Soonyoung is good at this now. He can break fingers in exactly the right order, ask questions in exactly the right tone. The man in the chair is flayed skin away from giving up the name of whoever paid him to skim from the Choi shipment.
Angel flicks her knife shut and wipes a smear of blood on her thigh. "I think I want to use the peeler. Thoughts?"
Soonyoung nods, but his jaw is tight. The phone buried in his pocket buzzes again - the third vibration in ten minutes. He doesn't need to look to know who it is. There is a very angry heiress waiting for him at dinner that he was supposed to be at… an hour and a half ago.
He shifts his weight, boots scuffing the plastic. The motion draws Angel's eye. She tilts her head, sharp as ever. Sometimes, she reminds Soonyoung of a velociraptor from the old movies Vernon likes. Angel always tilts her head when examining someone, sharp eyes missing nothing, pupils dilating as she takes in information.
"You're twitchy tonight," she observes. "Got somewhere better to be?"
He exhales through his nose. "I'm late."
Angel's grin is demonic. She knows exactly what he means. Everyone in the estate knows what that means. The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is who Soonyoung belongs to, but it's not the Tower that holds him by the collar. It's his very impatient, very quick to anger daughter, who he was supposed to have dinner with tonight.
He promised.
But everyone knows how tough it is, these days. The Tower has been punishing Soonyoung for three years straight, sending him on back-to-back jobs, scheduling interrogations that run long on purpose, keeping him bleeding or bloodletting the Lower District while his girl waits for him somewhere else.
Again.
"Go," Angel says, waving a lazy hand. "I'll finish up here. Hansol can help me dump the parts." The man starts to cry when he hears the word parts. Soonyoung suppresses a laugh, knowing Angel did it on purpose. She turns her back to him, a dismissal. "Tell Baby I give her my love."
"She might lock me out."
"She might."
Soonyoung doesn't argue. He heads to the sink and washes his hand, scrubbing the blood with antibacterial soap as the man behind him starts to beg for his life again, telling Angel he doesn't know the name of the person who paid him. By the time Soonyoung is stepping outside and closing the padded door, the man is screaming, his cries for help shut off as soon as the door shuts.
Rain beats down on the warehouse. It's at the edge of the Lower District in what used to be Warehouse District boundary. Now, it's a nondescript building where Soonyoung and Angel have bloody sessions.
Soonyoung's bike roars to life, neon splashing from the wheel well as it turns on. He can barely see out the rain slicking on his helmet but he gases it anyway, peeling out on the wet pavement.
The ride up the mountain is a blur of wet asphalt and trees. It's fucking freezing, his knuckles white on the bike's grips, engine humming between his thighs. By the time the gates open for him, the adrenaline form the warehouse has curdled into something sick and heavy in his gut.
He ditches the bike in the garage, boots echoing as he jogs to the main house. He's almost two hours late now and he needs to shower before heading to the dinner he's supposed to be at you with - some fucking fancy gala that he didn't want to go to, but planned on attending for you.
Most of the house is quiet. He takes the stairs two at a time, heading for your room that he's been living in for three years now. His old room waits empty and dusty, unused since he moved into yours. He heads for it now, pushing open the cracked door and stops dead.
You're sitting on the edge of the bed you share, still in the dress you wore to dinner. He nearly groans - not upset, but in pain. You look otherworldly, in deep plum silk that clings to every line of you, sleeves slipping off your shoulders. Your hair is pinned up in the way that he likes, a few strands loose.
And your eyes are on fucking fire.
He smells the blood and warehouse disinfectant clinging to his skin. He doesn't want to talk to you like this, but he has no choice. There is no waiting - not with you. He closes the door behind him with a soft click that is louder than any gunshot he's ever squeezed off.
"Hi," he says, voice rough. He peels off his shirt and throws it in the corner of the room, trying to put distance between you and the blood. "I'm sorry. I'm here now."
The weight of your anger is like a blade between his ribs. The inky glass of the window reflects back exactly what you're seeing - blood dried on his neck, a bruise blooming across his ribs, the faint red imprint of someone else's teeth as their last ditch effort to fight him. He looks like a weapon that has been used too hard, too often.
"I know," he starts, voice low. You've said nothing but the weight of your silence is deadly. "I know I fucked up. I thought I could wrap up and-"
"Two hours, Soonyoung." Your voice cuts through him. "Two hours after you promised. After I waited for you and showed up late. And then had to explain your absence. After I sat there like some sad little heiress waiting for her Sword to remember she exists."
"Baby-"
"And they all understood, you know what I mean? That's the business and well that's the life. They all felt bad for me, but they said I'm not supposed to expect anything from you - it's the Syndicate first." She scoffs. "Fucking joke."
Soonyoung approaches you slowly. You watch him, eyes flashing, but you don't pull away. He sinks to his knees, palms on his thighs facing upward in supplication. "I know. It's my fault, Baby. I'm a fucking idiot. I don't ever want you to feel that way."
You get angrier. "It's not even your fault! You think I don't know he does this on purpose? Knowing he's been an ass?" Soonyoung tries not to laugh, despite it all. Hearing someone call the Tower of the Choi Syndicate an ass is funny. "I'm going to talk to him."
It lands like ice water over his head. "No." He catches your wrist and cradles it to his chest. He always feels better when you're palm is against his bare chest, like as long as you can feel his heartbeat you'll understand him. "You don't go near him about this. Promise me."
"Soonyoung-"
"He'll escalate. You know how he works. If you confront him, he'll send me out of the city. Somewhere you can't follow."
You frown. "He wouldn't do that."
Soonyoung cannot fault you for the blind spot with your father. To you, Choi Moojin is your father. The man who raised you. Who kissed your scrapes and read you stories. To Soonyoung, he is the law. He is the key holder to the shackles around Soonyoung's wrist. He is the only thing letting Soonyoung have you out of sheer mercy.
The Tower would have sent Soonyoung home in pieces if he was anyone else. He knows this. Soonyoung's father and his longstanding history with the Tower has bought him this tiny mercy, this little sliver of allowance that Soonyoung gets to have you. But it's on the Tower's condition, time, and watch.
You'll never get it - you don't have to. It's Soonyoung's burden to bear.
Soonyoung leans into you. You let him and he presses his forehead to your stomach like he's praying at an altar. "Let me fix it, Baby. Let me make it up to you."
He feels you fold. You look down at him and he sees your shoulders sag. You thread your fingers through his hair and he lets out a pitiful sound, broken and needy. Your nails scraping against his scalp feel good, nearly making him catatonic.
"And how are you going to do that, Kwon Soonyoung?"
"Watch."
Soonyoung rises slowly, mouth brushing the line of your throat as he stands. His hands slide up your arms and over your shoulders, fingers curling into the straps of your dress. The silk sighs to your waist in a dark puddle when he pulls it. You're bare underneath save for lace panties the same color of the dress, and the sound he lets out is fucking wrecked.
With careful hands, he peels the dress off you. As soon as it hits the floor, he kisses you like a man drowning, deep and desperate, licking into your mouth until you're both gasping. His palms skate over every inch he can reach, greedy and worshipful. He drops to his knees again, this time pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your chest, tongue tracing the curve of one breast, teeth scraping just enough to make you arch.
"Missed you all day," he breathes against you. "Every second I wasn't with you, I was thinking about you. About this."
He mouths his way lower, slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails against your skin. When he reaches your hips, he hooks his fingers in the lace and drags it down your legs, eyes never leaving yours. You let him slide them off you, shivering under his touch.
"Lie back," he murmurs. "Please."
You do, sinking into the pillows. He follows after you, as though pulled by an invisible tether. He spreads your thighs wide, hands sliding under your ass to tilt you exactly where he wants you. He groans when he sees your shinning pussy, fucking beside himself at the effect he has on you. He's addicted to it - thinks about it all the time.
The first lick to your cunt is long and flat, tasting you from entrance to your clit. He groans, brain shorting out at the taste of you. A shiver ripples up his spine as he does it again, in no rush - never a rush with you.
Eating you out is a type of high Soonyoung can't get with anything else. His tongue is soft as it presses into you, circling your clit as he sucks gently. You let out a sound that makes his eyes roll back into his head, his hands pressing gently against your thighs to open you up further.
He stares up at you the entire time, eyes blown wide. You're devastating, twitching with your hands twisted in the sheets as he fucks his tongue into your hole. You're sweaty at the temples, chest rising and falling as you pant, your nipples pert. He moans into you when he feels you clench around his tongue.
You're a work of fucking art. He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue fluttering. You groan his name and he presses his face into you further, lazy licks turning into something more hungry. He's messy with it, tonguing at your pussy like he needs you to come - because he does. He needs to hear you fall apart, needs to hear that high pitched little squeak you do - and you do.
Your orgasm rolls through you, thighs trembling around his ears. He hums, lips smacking, his tongue still moving soft and lazy, drawing it out until you're nearly crying. He doesn't stop. He slides two fingers into you, curling them the way you like, pressing right against that spot on your front wall that has you twisting in your bed, trying to escape him.
Soonyoung doesn't let you. He seals his mouth over your clit again, sucking harder this time, relentless until your face is burying into the sheets to muffle the sound of his name as you come again, flooding his mouth.
He drinks you down, pressing his tongue greedily to your swollen pussy. He only pulls away when you start to shiver in a way that he knows he's going to lose you shortly, the overstimulation too much. He presses cum-slicked kisses to your inner thighs, your hips, your stomach.
When he finally crawls back up your body, his lips are shiny, the taste of you heady in his mouth. His thoughts are spinning, light-headed with the taste and sound of you. He leans over you, one hand planted by your head on the bed, the other lifting your legs to press them toward your chest.
"Still not done," he murmurs, voice wrecked.
You let him hold your knees to your chest with his stomach as he leans into you, propping your legs there. His hand slides down between your legs, fingers smearing the mess he's made of you. You whimper when his fingers press the sensitive muscles of your entrance and he grins before pressing in three fingers, thrusting them slow and deep.
"Oh fuck," you whisper, voice cracking. "Fuck, Soonyoung. Fuck."
"So sorry I was late," he pants, fucking his fingers into you. He leans his weight into you, making your legs split to make room for him as he woks your pussy. "I won't make it a habit, okay? I don't want you to feel second to anything."
"Soonyoung." It comes out a whine and he growls.
"Fucking love you," he swears, fingers hammering into the spot that has you thrashing against him, wailing his name. "You are second to no one and nothing."
You come again with his fingers buried to the knuckle, his mouth latched to your neck. He works you through it, crooking his fingers, licking the teeth marks indented in your skin until you're limp and trembling beneath him.
Only then does he crawl higher and pull he's fingers out, leaving you wet and dripping. His cock is straining against his pants, a wet spot already darkening the fabric, but he ignores it, the pain of his dick less important than kissing you. It's slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You suck his tongue into your mouth and he groans - you're gonna fucking kill him one day.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against you while you catch your breath. "I'm yours. I belong to you. When you say jump. No one else. Ever."
You reach between the two of you, fingers fumbling with his belt, the metal clinking loud in the quiet room. He shivers, helping you shoving his pants down alongside his briefs. His cock springs free, aching and leaking. When you wrap your hand around him and squeeze, Soonyoung makes a broken, wet sound.
"Please," you murmur against him, pressing your lips to his temple. "Need to feel you. Please."
He groans. "Fuck, Baby. You want it?"
"Yes, fuck."
Soonyoung can deny you nothing. He lines himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds, coating himself in your arousal. He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch of him as he splits you open. Your cunt squeezes him and he nearly comes right there and then, only years of practice and control stopping him.
When he bottoms out, he feels like he's in another dimension. Fucking you drives him insane - it's an addiction he cannot kick. The way you squeeze him, the way you whisper his name, the way you press yourself closer to him, like you want to live in his skin - it drives him fucking wild.
"Love you," he whispers, capturing your mouth with his. You moan, lips buzzing against his. "Love you so fucking much."
He starts to move, slow and deep rolls of his hips at first, groaning as he drags his cock along every sensitive place inside your cunt. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up wider, thrusting in so deep that he thinks you might come instantly. You're mumbling nonsense, fingers digging into his biceps as he fucks you.
"So fucking pretty," he pants, picking up the pace a little. "Mine."
"Feels so good," you gasp, nodding. You claw at his back and the sting feels good. "Fuck it's so good, Soonyoung."
He growls, attaching his mouth to your neck. You're beautiful like this, folded beneath him, sweaty and wanting. He can't get enough, driving his hips into yours as you whine and thrash on the bed, overwhelmed and thighs shaking, clenching around him so hard his rhythm stutters.
You shove at his chest and he lets you you flip him, rolling him onto his back. He drags you on top of him as he goes. When you sink down on him, both of you let out a pitiful noise. You're a vision on top of him, tossing your hair back, hands pressed to his chest as you grind into him, chasing your own pleasure.
Soonyoung grips your hips, not to take over but to feel you. He watches with his lips parted, wondering how the fuck he's allowed to touch you. The dim neon light of the room spills over you, turning you into a goddess he's ready to worship every second of the day. He watches you with hooded eyes as you roll your hips in tight circles, then lift and slam back down, spearing yourself on his cock over and over.
"Fuck," he groans. "Just like that. Use me, Baby. Take whatever you need."
You do, his name leaving your mouth in little sounds that make him go insane. He's barely keeping it together, but you finally break, coming hard around him, pussy fluttering. You soak his lap and he digs his fingers in, growling as you twitch on top of him.
When you're done, he sits up suddenly, arms banding around your waist to flip you again. You land on your back with a gasp of air as he thrusts in to the hilt. You wrap your legs around his waist, trapping him to you - as if he would ever want to be anywhere else but right here, pressed against you as he fucks you slow.
"Again," he whispers, dragging his mouth against yours. "Come again, I want to feel it."
Soonyoung drops his head as he fucks you deep and slow, making sure to grind his pelvis against your swollen clit. He attaches his mouth to a pert nipple, sucking gentle as he rolls his hips into yours. You arch into him, digging your nails into the back of his neck as you hold him there, shaking.
"Soonyoung, fuck - I'm -"
"I know, Baby. I've got you. Come on."
You shatter again, harder this time. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, glowing in the neon light of the bedroom. He's reminded of the first time he saw you, convinced you were an angel. He groans, hips stuttering, fucking you through your orgasm until he comes hard, shaking in your hold.
"Love you," he chokes out. "Love you - fuck."
"Mine," you growl, holding him to you as he rides out his high. "Mine."
Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours, breath ragged. He doesn't pull out right away, staying pressed to you, arms wrapped tight around your back. You stroke his sweaty hair, watching him with glassy eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispers again. "I won't be late anymore."
"Just come to me. That's all I want."
"Always. I'm always coming home to you."
-
Soonyoung wakes up before you do, like always. The room is still gray when he wakes up, the tinted windows blocking out most of the light. He rolls to his back, exhausted and sore. He's got one arm curled around you, your spine pressed to his side, your head tucked under his chin. You're warm to the touch, the scent of vanilla on your skin. He presses his mouth to the crown of your head, breathing you in.
He didn't sleep much. Never does when the Tower keeps him out until dawn. He'd come home barely three hours ago, showering three times to scrub the blood and filth from his skin before he got into your bed and wrapped you in his arms, the only place he truly feels clean.
You shift in your sleep and make a small sound that makes his heart do that stupid thing it always does, like it's cracking open and spilling at your feet. He tightens his arm and pulls you close, burring his nose in your hair while his fingers trail up and down your arm.
Like always, he can't seem to stop touching you. His touch seems to wake you up in stages, first you rolling into him, second pressing the back of his chest. He kisses your head, grinning.
Soonyoung eyes the crushed knockout on the nightstand. He'd been surprised when he saw it - rarely do you struggle to sleep that much. "Have trouble sleeping?"
"What?"
"There's lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby."
You jerk away from him so fast it startles him. Sheets tangle around your legs, making you fumble as you're up and out of bed before he can grab you. You trip toward the bathroom, leaving him confused, mouth open. You don't pay him any mind, ducking into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.
He's on his feet in a heartbeat, panic clawing up his. throat. "Hey-" He says your name, his palm pressed flat to the wood, heart hammering. He hears you vomit on the other side and before he thinks twice, he enters the bathroom.
You're on your knees, clinging to the toilet, shaking so hard that your teeth chatter. It scares him more than anything else could - he has never seen you like this.
Soonyoung moves without thinking, going to resolution mode. He opens the cabinet and cracks open an anti-nausea inhalant, hurrying over to you and holding it out to you. You snatch it without looking at him, your hands trembling so bad you almost drop it.
Distress claws at him. He's seen a lot of death and killed a lot of people, but nothing has made him nervous like this. He sits back on his heels, feeling helpless suddenly, his hands opening and closing at his sides. He doesn't know if he's allowed to touch you, and it takes more effort than he's proud of to resist.
You inhale the medication, slow and deliberate, shaking as you blow out breaths through your mouth. He wonders if you're sick from the food or the knockout or drinking - you don't do much drinking and drugs anymore, and the knockout might be making you sick.
"Thanks," you rasp. "Just hungover. I need a shower."
You're lying. He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. His heart trips over itself, brain trying to figure out what he missed, what he did. You've never lied to him and you've never lurched away from him, which means something happened in the last twelve hours since he's been away from you. He racks his brain, trying to think of what he could have possibly done.
"Alright," Soonyoung says slowly.
He doesn't know what else to do, so he goes to the shower, fully intending to start it for you. You make a sound and he hesitates, glancing at you nervously.
"Alone, please."
The words hit him like a blade between the ribs. Usually you're the one asking him to come shower with you. You like the intimacy of it, like when you get to run your hands over his shoulders and wash away the blood. He likes it because it feels holy, like each time your fingers sweep away the blood, he's born anew.
"What's wrong?" Soonyoung asks. His voice is small, like he's suddenly a boy again.
"Nothing. I just want to shower."
You're lying. You won't even look him in the eyes. He can't remember the last time you tried to do that, to avoid his gaze because if you looked him in the eyes, he'd see right through you. He thinks it might have been when you were teenagers and asking him to kiss you in his room.
Something in Soonyoung turns feral and screaming. He feels it rising, the animal park of him that tears throats out - but this time it's scared. His fight or flight is kicking in and he feels backed into a corner, hands twitchy.
"You can talk to me-"
"I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung." He recoils like you slapped him. He has to blinked to make sure you haven't, the words stinging like a physical blow. "I don't need you crowding my space every five seconds."
He steps aside. He stares at you, unsure what to do. He thinks about falling to his knees and apologizing for whatever he's done, but you dismiss him with a cool, "You can go."
"Alright."
Soonyoung shuffles out, numb. When the door shuts between you, it feels like a gun shot.
Confused, he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. He stares at the bathroom door, willing for you to open it and let him in, to say sorry and to tell him what's wrong. He half expects you to. When you don't, he starts to spiral, starts to go through all of the winding roads that could have led here, replaying that last twenty-four hours to figure out where he went wrong.
He comes up empty.
Leg bouncing, he counts down the minutes. He doesn't leave his spot on the bed, staring at the door until he hears the shower turn off. His heart hammers every second he waits for the door to open, and when it does, you don't look at him. You walk straight to the closet, still dripping.
Swallowing, he gets up and follows you because he doesn't know what else to do and because never in his life has he known how to stay away from you. He stops in the doorway, watching you walk through the closet. It's massive - nearly as big as his old bedroom - and filled with clothes that belong to the both of you, one side yours, one side his.
You go to your section of black and start tearing through hangers. He feels his stomach drop - did someone die and he doesn't know? Is that what you don't want to tell him, that someone close to you is dead? It can't be Vernon, he was just with him, right?"
"What's going on?" Soonyoung asks, nausea rising.
You don't turn. "I'm marrying Kim Yijun."
The world turns. Soonyoung braces the doorframe for a moment as his vision tunnels. For one, endless second there is no sound in the entire world except the blood roaring in his ears. It takes him several moments to put together a sentence, the words sticking in his mind like glue as he peels them apart.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" He can't think of anything else. "I'm not interested in pranks this morning."
"It's not a prank. The Tower has asked this of me and I'll be doing it."
Rage is something Soonyoung is familiar with, but this type of rage is new. It hits him harder and faster than any drug, his vision pulsing red for a few moments as he clings to the doorframe, trying to steady himself.
Of course it's the Tower. The fucking Tower.
"What the fuck are you talking about? You're not fucking marrying Kim Yijun."
Soonyoung walks towards you. He needs to see your eyes, needs to touch you. Needs you to know that he doesn't care what the Tower has asked of you, that Soonyoung can help you, that he can get you out of this. He already has a plan forming, trying to stop the bleeding, reaching out to grab you-
You whirl on him, finger out. "Don't come near me?"
"Why? Because you know you'll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you'll drop whatever the fuck this is and let me help you?"
Soonyoung knows you better than he knows anyone else. He knows every fear you have, every dream, every love, every hate. He knows the sound of your breath, the exact color of your eyes in the sun. He knows what makes you happy, what makes you sad. He knows-
"I will scream," you threaten. His mind short circuits. "I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they'll take, with your reputation for violence?"
It's the cruelest thing you've ever said to him. It makes his stomach curdle, the bile in his gut burning so bad he thinks he might throw up. His mouth waters, the telltale sign of vomit and his vision blurs a little - with tears or something else he doesn't know.
"Fuck you," he says, voice unsteady. "They know I'd never hurt you."
"Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?"
No. No. They don't. Seungcheol and Vernon have always made that clear, even when they were teenagers. No one trusts you with him. Not entirely. Not even Angel. The world looks at you with him and sees someone who needs a safe passage out, who needs an escape plan.
Suddenly, Soonyoung is eight years old again, standing in your foyer crying because the world is too big and he's too small, and the only person who ever made him feel safe is looking at him like he's an animal, like he's a threat.
He's going to be sick. He's going to vomit. He's going to kill someone - himself - he doesn't know. The urge to hurt, to maim, to do something, to hit something, to break - it nearly makes him sob, every part of him shaking as he glares at you, seeing right through you.
You don't want to do this. If you think you're fooling him, you're an idiot. He sees right through that vicious veneer you're hiding behind, trying to wound him and rage bait him into storming out and leave you to your father's commands.
"You are not marrying Kim Yijun." Soonyoung says this with absolution. He will fucking die before he lets you. "You don't even want to, don't try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine."
"I belong to the Choi family and it's what my family needs from me. I will do my duty."
As though from a dream, Soonyoung recalls a conversation with his father years ago. Soonyoung was younger then, and feeling stubborn at a party. She belongs to herself, he'd told his father. The Sentinel's response had been a sad you think so?
It's only now that Soonyoung realizes what his father meant.
"Fuck your family!" He screams, slamming his hands on the marble counter top that stands between you. The impact sings up his arm and the jewelry safes in the counter rattle. "You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You're not doing it. I'll fucking kill him, you think I won't? I'll murder every last one of them-"
"You don't tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung."
Your voice turns to steel. He knows this voice. He hears it only on occasion, and never with him. You speak to him not as you, but as the daughter of the Tower. You speak to him as an heiress trained and bred for ruling, for commanding men and women smaller than you. You speak to him like he's beneath you - because he is.
He knows it. He's always known it.
"I will do this," you growl, voice shaking. "And you will obey." He glares at you, but you don't waver. "When I say jump, you say how high. You've always known that."
No. No no no no no nO NO NO NO NO NO NO.
This is all wrong. This isn't how any of this is supposed to go. Soonyoung begins to panic, licking his lips. He tastes metal - he doesn't remember when he bit through the side of his tongue, but blood blooms in his mouth as he shakes his head, refusing to hear you.
"Don't to this to me." He doesn't know what else to do to stop you. He sees your resolve and he breaks under it. He can't win this arguing with you, so he switches tactics and begs. "I can't - you know I can't. I - please. I can't do this."
It has to work. You have to hear the sincerity, you have to see what this will do to him. He told you - he told you - all those nights ago. He told you that you'd never be able to leave him, that he wouldn't survive it. That it would destroy him in a way that nothing else could.
For a split second, the pain in your eyes is so visceral he thinks he's won. He feels a brief moment of relief, so sure that you're going to crack and let him help.
Then the moment is gone. The stone cold mountain of the Choi family moniker slides into space and Soonyoung watches you kill any sort of hope of fighting this, of letting him get to you. You stare at him with an expression so alien he feels himself take a step back, more afraid of you than he's ever been.
"You can," you tell him, dismissive. "And you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high."
-
Soonyoung's suicide attempt doesn't work.
It's not for lack of trying. He takes so many knockout pills that when he falls down in the safe house he's been staying at, he feels the life start to flicker out of him like the buzzing of a dying insect. His vision whites out. His heart slams once, twice, then stutters like it's trying to tear itself free of his ribs.
For a single, perfect second, there is no you. No Tower. No Kim Yijun. Nothing. Just static and the sound of his own blood screaming.
He wakes up, though. He realizes he's still breathing, still here. There's vomit all over the floor next to him and crusted on his mouth and he groans, realizing his body saved him, at some point.
He tries again.
Soonyoung sits on the floor with his back against a couch, hands shaking. He melts down frostbyte over a spoon, ignoring the acrid smell and the fact that he's never done this before. The flame dances under the spoon's belly, beautiful and clean. When it liquefies, he puts it in the needle.
He ties off his arm with a belt - it's all he has. The needle is dull and he doesn't remember where he got it from, but he doesn't really care. He slides it home in the crook of his elbow, right over the vein that will send the frostbyte right into the bloodstream and straight to his nervous system.
He pushes the plunger slow - the rush is violent.
Soonyoung falls over, needle scattering. He can barely breath, his heart beating so hard that he's relieved - this will work. This will be the end. Except he can't help but roll over and vomit again, puking blue all over the carpet until he's gasping for air.
He screams. Soonyoung has a body built for war, trained to survive Syndicate torture and and conditioned to keep standing long after it should fall. He's conditioned to refuse death and he hates it, screaming his rage into the empty apartment until his throat bleeds and his finger nails are bloody.
When the sun rises, he's still alive. He hates himself for it. He lays on the floor, barely breathing, barely seeing, staring at the gun on the table. He could do it. He could crawl to the weapon and put it in his mouth and pull. He's thought about it a hundred times, a thousand. But something about it feels wrong. Too violent.
Soonyoung thinks you should have killed him. It would have been easier. You've always been stronger than he has. It's why you were able to do what your father has asked, to swallow your pride and grin and bear it. Soonyoung is fucking weak. He doesn't know how to do that. Doesn't know how to live without you.
So he wishes you'd just end it for him, to put your finger on the trigger and the gun to his head. You've virtually done that anyway. Why not just go all the way? Aim it at his chest? Let the darkness take him?
It's a pathetic fucking excuse. He berates himself over and over again, telling himself he's weak. That his father was right. That Soonyoung's love makes him worth nothing, turns him into something useless. A mindless tool to kill.
So he does what he was bred to do.
The first man he kills is a Yong runner who made the mistake of bragging in the Salt about the new foreign guns coming in. Soonyoung finds him outside of a whore house, drags him into the alley, and beats him to death with his bare hands. He doesn't ask the man questions - he isn't looking for information. He doesn't even stop when the man stops screaming. He keeps going until he tires himself out, then he moves on.
Soonyoung burns through the Lower District like a plague. Every night he comes back to the safe house covered in someone else's blood. Every day he gets his assignments from Old Man Vero and goes on a killing spree. He doesn't even get the answers Vero is looking for. He just turns his victims to pulp and moves on.
It's Jeonghan who tries to talk to him first. He corners Soonyoung at a bar, nudging the younger into a shadowy alcove. Soonyoung wants to shove Jeonghan away, but he's just as wary of Yoon Minji's son as he is the step daughter, too much of the Wisdom hammered into Jeonghan and Angel to make them easily dismissed.
"You're going to get yourself killed," Jeonghan warns.
"Good."
"You think dying is the answer?"
Soonyoung scoffs and shoves past Jeonghan. "I died a long time ago. This is just a body. Who cares."
Soonyoung has no mind. Soonyoung has no goals. Soonyoung has nothing to care about.
He's just a body.
-
A few months pass.
-
A year passes.
-
Soonyoung keeps counting. He hates it. He can't help it.
-
Another year passes and Soonyoung counts every single day the way other people count breaths. He knows exactly how many days it's been since you killed him but simultaneously doesn't know the day at all. He lives in the liminal space between exactness and nothingness, floating back and forth between knowing every detail of his life since you left him and knowing nothing at all.
Tonight is one of the worse nights. He doesn't see you much, but as he stands on the balcony of the Grand Atrium in the Legal District, he spots you immediately. You're impossible to miss, even for someone not as devoted to you as he is. Beneath him, the gala swirls in crystal and silk and holograms, but you could be the fucking center piece.
You're in Kim green which makes Soonyoung sick. The dress clings to every line of you that he used to trace with his mouth. Your hair is swept up, exposing the slope of your neck. He imagines his teeth marks are still there, that he's left something permanent on you, something everyone else has to see.
Yijun's hand is on the small of your back and Soonyoung grinds his teeth. He watches, fingers twitching as Yijun leans in to say something against your ear. You laugh but it's polite, not real. He knows your manufactured laugh better than anyone, and it's both heaven and hell to hear you but know that it isn't real.
You never look up. Not once. He's not sure if he's miserable or grateful for it. He doesn't know if he can stand to see your eyes or if it'll make him feel better, a temporary high. He stands there for four hours and twenty minutes, watching Yijun lead you through the party, watching you tilt your head just so to let your husband kiss you briefly on the cheek.
Soonyoung doesn't move. Doesn't breathe.
He's just a body.
When the night finally ends and the last of the Choi family drifts out into the rain, he rips the earpiece from his skull and stalks away from the balcony. He doesn't have to go very far. He'd selected the girl from the Han family hours ago, keeping tabs on the silver dress and the way she grins at him.
Everyone wants a go at him since you left him. It doesn't matter.
He's just a body.
Soonyoung doesn't remember her name when he coaxes her to his car. She giggles all the while, flashing him a smile. He knows she's thrilled - everyone has been talking about the abandoned Sword of the Choi Syndicate. Sleeping with him is a sort of game the women like to play now, trying to get under your skin and sleeping with him because they think it'll bring them closer to the fold.
Everyone wants to fix him. Every girl he brings to his apartment thinks they'll be the one, that they're different. They can mend him. Heal what's broken. Pick up the pieces. But Soonyoung isn't broken - there's nothing to fix.
He's just a body.
The apartment is bare. Concrete walls. No photos. A bed. He doesn't turn the lights on when he brings the woman in. She says his apartment is nice. He doesn't care if she's lying or not. He just pushes her up against the door first, pulling her dress up to fuck her hard and fast. He closes his eyes and pretends its you.
Soonyoung takes her to the bed next, ripping off the dress. He doesn't care that he ruins it. It's in his way and she's eager, wet and open, begging and whining his name. He ignores her seeking hands and flips her over where she can't reach him so he can spread her thighs and drive into her.
Every thrust is mechanical and disconnected. He doesn't pretend its you anymore - it's not working. Instead, he just thinks of you. He thinks about your mouth, the way you used to gasp his name, the way you used to curl your fingers in his hair when he made you shake.
He comes with your name locked behind his teeth.
After, the woman tries to curl into him. He recoils, flinching away from her. He's on his feet in a second, walking toward the bathroom and turning on the shower. He doesn't care what she does after, he just wants the hot water to wash everything away.
He looks in the mirror. There are red marks all over him - he hadn't even realized he let her touch him. They tear down his chest and around his shoulders, wrapping around his waist. There are teeth marks too that he doesn't remember getting. He ignores them to get in the shower.
He's just a body.
Soonyoung scrubs himself raw. He feels the skin peeling away, the harsh scratch of the sponge painful as he grinds it into himself. The water is so hot he feels light headed, the room spinning until he can't take it anymore and he steps out the shower. He takes a few breaths and looks at his arms and chest. The marks are still there, so he gets back in. Scrubs again.
He doesn't feel clean - he never does. He scrubs anyway, working at the scratch marks until his skin is so raw that the air stings when he steps out. He thinks they're still there, but he realizes it doesn't even matter.
He's just a body.
-
The Pit is buried three levels beneath the Lower District in the Under City. Once upon a time, Soonyoung hated the Under City. If you knew he was here - he wipes away the thought. It doesn't matter what you do or don't know. Soonyoung isn't your responsibility anymore - you'd made that fucking choice for him.
It smells horrid in the Under City, a network of black market augmentation clinics, undocumented brothels, and Tap centrals that smell like burnt sugar. At it's inception, the Under City was supposed to be a network of extended living for service workers and for more people to live. The thought of people being force to live underground was barbaric even to Soonyoung, but the Choi Syndicate had blocked the bill for it, forcing the City Council to expand apartment buildings into the Warehouse District for workers.
A single good deed breeding evil unintentionally, as often happens.
Soonyoung sits in the crowded room, the concrete pillars throbbing with violet holo veins. The floor is stained permanently with rust brown, and the cage in the center is warped chain link with razor wire at the top that sparks when hit.
Though it's unofficial, the Choi Syndicate owns The Pit. The fights, the bookies, the Taps dealing syndust and frostbyte - they're all under the Choi banner. It had belong to the Yong family a generation ago, but Yoon Minji has perfected the art of hostile takeover.
Soonyoung comes here weekly now - three, four nights. Whenever he feels like it. The smell never improves and the crowd leaves him feeling dirtier than ever, but he can't stop, a new addiction he can't quit.
He's shirtless, his tattoos slick with sweat in the neon light. His knuckles are already split from two fights he's had tonight, but the grin on his face is wide and sharp. He feels alive, like his blood is singing. Or maybe that's the syndust. The frostbyte. He doesn't know, but he feels like he can breathe and like thoughts of you are farther away here, like you can't reach him, unwilling to step foot in the hell hole he's hiding in.
Junhui walks down the steps from the cage, wiping blood from his split eyebrow with the back of a taped hand. He's the only regular that Soonyoung speaks to - Choi-owned house fighter with sharp cat eyes and reflexes faster than most Swords. He sees Soonyoung coming and starts shaking his head long before the Sword can get there.
"Don't," Junhui mutters. "You're already bleeding all over, man."
Soonyoung grins. "The night's still young, Jun."
Soonyoung spots his next target lounging in the crowd on a couch. Kang Daeho - Reaper - is a Yong family Sword that's been coming here for months. Soonyoung has watched him fight - he fights with the same, mindless rage that Soonyoung does. He's in line to be a potential Sentinel for the Yong Syndicate, and for some reason, that doesn't sit well with Soonyoung.
Mentally unstable members of the Syndicate shouldn't lead the military. Soonyoung would know.
Reaper smirks when he sees Soonyoung coming. The crowd parts around the Choi Sword like water, watching him go, eyes flicking back and forth between Reaper and Soonyoung. They realize the potential of the matchup - and the stupidity of it. But they're in neutral - theoretically - territory, and Soonyoung feels like testing himself.
"Kwon," Reaper grins. "You're here more and more these days. Pretty prince likes to bleed?"
Soonyoung smiles, all teeth. "Pretty prince likes to fight people his own caliber."
Reaper leans forward. "You want the cage, Mad Dog?"
"Yeah, but I'll even make it fair since you like an advantage." Soonyoung reaches into his back pocket and reveals a sleek, matte black karambit. The knife is curved and lethal, shining in the light as he tosses it at Reaper's feet. It spins on the concrete. "I'll get nothing."
"You suicidal, Kwon?"
"Just bored."
Soonyoung turns his back on Reaper. It's an insult. He knows it is and by the sound of the crowd around him, they know it is. Junhui is watching him with a guarded expression, frowning as Soonyoung nears the cage.
"What are you doing?" Junhui asks, growling the question through his teeth.
Soonyoung ignores him.
Instead, he palms the cage door, feeling the faint vibration of the razor wire crackling overhead. The metal is warm from the last fight, streaked with someone else's blood. Maybe Junhui's, maybe Junhui's last victim. He doesn't know. It doesn't really matter. Nothing matters here except the moment he steps into the cage and turns, watching Reaper approach.
Soonyoung's eyes dart to the floor where he left the knife. It's not there, despite Reaper looking unarmed as he steps into the cage, the crowd surging forward to get a good look at them. The door closes behind the Yong Sword and locks shut, the click lost under the roar of the crowd.
He rolls his shoulders, watching Reaper as they wait for bets to be placed. Soonyoung tries to shake the tremor working it's way up his spine. It isn't fear - never fear. It's anticipation, the kind that burns and that makes everything else feel far away, left to fade into static.
Behind Soonyoung, Junhui's voice comes through the chain link, "He's doped to shit, Hosh. Be careful."
Junhui's right. Reaper's eyes are blown wide, nearly swallowing his irises whole. Soonyoung shrugs in repsonse though. He knew that already. He doesn't really care.
The Pit lights dim, leaving only the violent violet glow humming through the pillars and the overhead wires sparking faintly. It throws jagged shadows across Reaper's face, making him look like an ugly gargoyle. The thought makes Soonyoung start laughing and Reaper gets pissed.
He launches himself at Soonyoung, predictably aggressive. Soonyoung slips under the initial punch, feeling the heat of it. He returns with a sharp jab to Reaper's ribs and a blinding hook to the jaw, sending the crowd roaring.
The press of bodies makes the cage creak. Soonyoung grins as Reaper stumbles a half step, rage chewing through him. He spits blood on the ground. "Soft hands, Kwon. Too much luxury."
"Show me how to hit, then."
Reaper obliges, lunging at Soonyoung with a flurry that's more strength and muscle than refined technique. Because that's the difference between Soonyoung's fighting and this wasteful excuse for a Sword - Soonyoung is refined with years of fighting people better than him. Reaper only ever punches down.
Soonyoung blocks the first strike and rolls the second off his shoulder, burying his knee in Reaper's gut. The man wheezes, eyes furious. Soonyoung smiles and presses his advantage, striking upward with his palm to Reaper's chin, followed by a sweep that sends Reaper to the ground.
The Pit goes feral around them. Soonyoung laughs, spreading his arms wide as the crowd presses against the metal, the cage warping under their weight. Reaper scrambles up to a knee behind him, panting, blood dripping from his now.
His hand darts behind his back, quick and practice, the steel karambit glinting in his hand. A wild ripple goes through the crowd as they scream at Reaper to gut Soonyoung. They don't care who wins, they just want to see someone get carved clean.
No one calls off the fight. There are no rules once someone is in the cage, even if they're cheating. Soonyoung circles Reaper, grinning the entire time, adrenaline pumping in his veins. He feels the vibration of the crowd and he comes alive, opening his arms eagerly again as Reaper charges him.
Soonyoung barely dodges the first slash. The second grazes his bicep, opening up a ribbon of red on his arm. He feels the sting and the warmth of blood and his heartbeat spikes with utter clarity. A clean, cool feeling washes over him.
The next swipe catches him across the ribs, opening up a shallow line of scarlet across one of Soonyoung's tattoos. He doesn't care. He slams into Reaper with his entire body, sending the man back into the chain link. The crowd grabs at him, slipping their fingers through the fence, poking, prodding.
Reaper rips away from them, surging forward. Soonyoung stands in the middle of the cage and lifts a hand, flicking his hand in a come hither motion. Reaper charges. He's so angry and off balance that it takes the fun out of it when Soonyoung ducks under the swipe and punches his opponent in the kidney.
The man goes down hard. Soonyoung doesn't stop though. The crowd eggs him on and he gives them what they want, raining a fury of blows onto Reaper, his knuckles splitting, his hands cracking. He see's red - in his vision and on his hands and on Reaper's face. Soonyoung feels the stab of the blade in his thigh but he doesn't stop. He hits and hits and hits until he has Reaper on the floor under him.
Soonyoung goes for the throat. He presses his arm into Reaper's thick neck, leaning away as the man tries to grab for the knife in Soonyoung's thigh, grab for Soonyoung's arms - anything. He thrashes and Soonyoung laughs, leaning over him with blown eyes as he chokes the life from the Yong Sword.
Around them, the crowd frenzies. He hears them screaming and throwing things into the cage as Reaper's legs kick out under Soonyoung. His face goes from red, to violet, to purple. The slaps come slower, softer. Soonyoung presses harder, feeling the crack of a windpipe.
Reaper gives two wet rasps. One.
Then he sags, eyes rolling back. Soonyoung doesn't let up. He counts every thud of his racing heart, his pulse loud enough in his ears that he uses them to track the seconds, to make sure that this isn't a blackout, that it's death.
Finally, he relents. The crowd is screaming for him when he rises and spreads his arms, laughing, face tilted up toward the light. Junhui watches from the crowd, silent and unmoved. Soonyoung doesn't care. Soonyoung lets the crowd scream for him. No - not him. For the weapon he is, not the person he is, because he's not a person.
He's just a body.
-
It smells like rust and wet concrete in the warehouse. Rain hammers the corrugated roof in sheets, loud enough to drown out the low throb of Vernon's music leaking from his earbuds. they're crouched behind a stack of shipping crates stamped with the dragon of the Yong family, watching men and women from the Yong Syndicate load crates unto an unmarked van.
It's a simple job tonight. Confirm the contents of the shipment, tag it, get out. No bodies unless absolutely necessary. Which is why Soonyoung has no idea why Jeonghan has asked Soonyoung and Vernon to preside over this. Their specialty is bodies.
Vernon nudges Soonyoung with an elbow. He glances at Vernon, who pulls one earbud out and tilts his head toward the far exit. Soonyoung shrugs and follows Vernon as they drift along the wall, boots silent on the oil-stained floor. Laughter echos behind them and Soonyoung's jaw flexes.
"That's not the job," Vernon whispers. Soonyoung looks up and realizes his hand has moved to his gun. Of course Vernon noticed - he notices everything. Vernon is as close to a replica of Angel and Jeonghan as anyone outside the Yoon family can be.
And he's right. So Soonyoung breathes through his nose, trying to remember what it feels like to care about orders. Vernon is still watching him in that patient way of his - infuriating.
For once, Soonyoung waits. They watch as the Yong members finish loading the crates and slam the van doors. Vernon takes something out of his pocket and clicks it, looking at the group of workers before he stands to his full height and throws something hard at the van. The ping of the beacon against the wheel well is lost in the sound of rain as it leaves the warehouse.
Soonyoung pulls his phone out and shows Vernon the blinking beacon as it drives away. Vernon nods, pleased. Together, they slide out of the warehouse and into the pouring rain. Vernon's silhouette is black next to Soonyoung as they rush through the dark. The city is a neon smear in the distance, the air of the Warehouse District tinged with salt.
For a while, they don't speak. Soonyoung doesn't know where they're going - he just follows the Rook, their boots splashing in trash-choked gutters as they move block after block.
Finally, Vernon glances at him. "You're off course."
"Tell me something I don't know. She ask you to talk to me?"
Vernon blinks, rain water clinging to his lashes. "No. This isn't about her. It's about you."
Both of them stop walking. Rain drums on the hood of Soonyoung's jacket as he stares at Vernon. The Rook stares back, his face painted red by the neon pharmacy sign, his dark eyes unreadable.
"You're not going to get promoted to Sentinel like this," Vernon says. Simple. Efficient. "You can't turn every job into a bloodbath because you're trying to feel something that isn't there anymore."
Soonyoung's throat works. He wants to laugh - wants to punch something. Wants to disappear into the rain and never come back. If it were anyone else, he would spit in their face. But it's Vernon - Vernon who never asks for anything. Vernon who sat with him the night his parents died and didn't say a single fucking word, just passed him a water bottle and let him cry.
Vernon who has never brought you up to him since you broke up. Ever.
"Yeah," Soonyoung answers eventually. "I know. You think I don't notice they look at me like I'm broken?"
"Then stop breaking." Soonyoung scoffs then. Vernon's eyes flash and Soonyoung is reminded that Vernon isn't a sword, but he is a Rook - and a dangerous one. Beneath the layers of calm, Vernon is lethal, a weapon made for applying pressure. "Man, stop acting like you don't fucking matter."
"I don't."
"Pretty fucked up thing to say to me." Vernon puts his hands in his pockets. "You matter to me. To Angel. To Chan. Even to Seungkwan, usually."
"Yeah, well."
"Well what?" Vernon challenges. It's the first time Soonyoung's ever heard him mad. He steps closer to Soonyoung, challenging him. "You think us caring doesn't count? So what - if we died, you don't give a shit anymore?"
"That isn't what I said."
"It's how you act. Stop treating our love for you like it doesn't fucking matter. Pretty shitty thing to do."
Soonyoung's mouth opens and closes. The rain keeps falling and he stares at Vernon. It's probably the most eye contact they've made since they were teenagers in the training room and Vernon was trying to warn Soonyoung about his affection for you. Now, Vernon is unwavering, his mouth a flat line.
For the first time in a long time, Soonyoung feels bad. If it were anyone else, it might be less effective, but with Vernon, it catches him off guard. Makes him unsettled as Vernon waits, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose like he's ready to stand here all night in the rain. He probably is.
"I didn't mean it like that," Soonyoung finally mutters, chagrined. "I just… don't know how to carry it anymore. All of it."
Vernon rolls his eyes. "Then stop carrying it alone, dumb ass."
It catches Soonyoung so off guard he laughs, a wet and unfamiliar thing. The neon sign above them flickers, bathing them in red, then dark, then red again. Soonyoung's chest feels too tight, like Vernon has wedged a knife in and is cracking it open.
Instead of pushing, Vernon steps back, tilting his head toward the end of the block where the car waits. "Come on. I want ramen. Angel is probably hungry."
"I don't like that one ramen place she likes."
It's such a normal response that Soonyoung blinks in surprise - he hadn't expected himself to go with it. Vernon doesn't make a big deal of it, walking off to the car to leave Soonyoung hurrying after him. Their shoulders brush and Soonyoung doesn't retreat for once, suddenly feeling a little less hollow and a little more him.
"Yeah, well. Too bad. You've treated her like shit. She gets first choice."
"Alright, I guess."
For the first time in longer than he can remember, Soonyoung thinks perhaps he's more than just a body.
Maybe.
-
The Tower is dead.
The words don't feel real yet. Rain sluices across the blacked out glass of his apartment windows, the low hum of thunder in the distance vibrating through the walls. Soonyoung rubs a hand over his face, sitting on the edge of his mattress in nothing but black sweatpants. He stares at his phone, the call from Angel ending ten minutes ago.
It feels weird. He doesn't know how he should react. He's hated the Tower for so long now that he thinks he's supposed to feel pleasure, but he doesn't. There really isn't anything there. All that's left is a what next?
Choi Moojin had been sick for a while. Ever since your mother died, he'd been a shadow of himself. Seungcheol has been slowly taking over for so long that it feels like the transfer of power already happened, like your brother has been the stoic leader of the Choi Syndicate for years now.
There's a lot that needs to happen. Soonyoung has never been through the death of a Tower, but he knows his days are about to become sleepless. Seungcheol will need to weed out anyone who seeks to unseat him or doesn't want him to inherit the title - though Soonyoung can't imagine there's much of that. He'll need to establish his panel of confidants and potentially switch Architects and Wisdoms if he feels like it, and -
A phone rings. Soonyoung looks down at his phone and frowns. His phone isn't ringing - it's still open on the call logs that shows when Angel dialed in. It takes him a second to realize that the ringing is coming from his nightstand.
Dread hits him like ice water. He only keeps his gun and the burner phone he owns in his drawer - his burner phone that he has for you, the only person in the world who knows that number, specifically given to you in case you ever needed him.
Soonyoung dives toward the drawer, ripping it open and fumbling with the device as he picks it up, hands shaking. He answers on the fourth ring, his voice trembling "Where are you?"
"The Kim family has turned on the Choi's," you whisper, voice raw. "They're mobilizing for a full-scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They're at the estate and all over the city. Anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt."
The world narrows to a single point of focus. He's already moving, pulling on a shirt. He rips open his weapons locker and the motion lights flicker on, flaring blood red across him. He texts Jeonghan a red alert code on his phone, tossing it aside.
"How many men at Yijun's estate?" He drags his pants on one handed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and face. "Are you armed?"
“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.”
He straps guns to his leg and slides knives into the holsters at his thigh. “Where are you in the house?”
“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.”
You recite everything back to him with meticulous clarity. His heart is slamming in his ribcage so hard he thinks about that time he tried to kill himself with frostbyte. He feels like that now, like this might send him over the edge, because he understands what you're saying and he can't bare it.
The best he can do for you is keep you calm and tell you exactly what you need to do to survive the next thirty minutes. He doesn't know if you can, but he prays to any god that will hear him that you do.
"Listen to me," he says, voice soft. "The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they'll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?" You say nothing and he slams his weapon's locker shut. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I need you to fight back." He swallows past the sudden sob in his throat. "Either kill him or hold him off until I'm there."
"You need to warn-"
"Don't worry about the fucking Syndicate! We'll be fine." He glances at his phone to see Jeonghan calling him. He ignores it. "You've given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself."
"Okay."
"Do you have frostbyte?"
"Maybe?" He hears you move on the other end of the line. "Yijun might have it in the nightstand."
"Take some." Soonyoung heads for the door. "Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes."
"Okay."
Rain hammers down outside. He flies down the stairs, the phone pressed to his ear. He's not willing to hang up on you. He ignores Jeonghan's call again and pings your location. Twenty-seven minutes. He needs to cut it in half.
"Hey," Soonyoung says when he realizes you're still there, breathing heavily. "Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to." Jeonghan starts calling again and his heart aches. "I have to go."
"Okay."
"I'll see you in thirty minutes." He says it because he needs it to be true. Says it to will it into the universe. He's never been good at that, but he tries it now. He swallows as he runs to his car, rain warm against his skin. "I love you."
It kills him to say it, but he needs you to hear it. Soonyoung needs you to know it, because if he can't say it to you again-
He can't think about it. Not right now as he dials Jeonghan, peeling out in his car. Jeonghan answers breathless and angry but Soonyoung cuts him off, "Full scale. Kim and Yong family moving on us in two hours. Yong in the Pearl District and the Salt. I'm going to extract the Tower's daughter."
"We're moving." Jeonghan shouts on the other side of the line. "We're sending a team to-"
"I'm faster."
"I'll send medical your way in case."
"Call your mom. They'll target her and Old Man Vero. Probably Angel - she's working-"
"Vernon is on her now. Wisdom is in her safe house already." Soonyoung's car fish tales as he hits the road, flying. "Bring her home, Soonyoung."
He intends to.
Soonyoung barely sees the city flash by. He drives like a demon straight from hell, applying every single trick of street racing Seungkwan has ever taught him. Soonyoung isn't much for fast reflexes behind the wheel, but he tries. For you. He tries for you, because every minute he's stuck in traffic is another minute closer to your death.
He cannot fathom the end of you. So he doesn't let himself. He focuses on the drive and hopes that the information you've risked to give him pays off. Jeonghan and Seungcheol have to handle the Syndicate now - Soonyoung's only concern is you. His friends will need to make it through the next however many hours alone until he can get you somewhere safe.
Safe.
How many times has Soonyoung driven to this exact estate and stared at the walls, thinking of climbing them? How many times has he thought about killing this family, taking you away, and driving you to the safe house be bought for you? The place he painstakingly built for this exact purpose, to extract you and take you back.
Countless, probably. You were never safe so long as you were hidden in the belly of the Kim family, and it was foolish for the old Tower to ever think you would be.
The Kim Estate sits on a hill, dark as cold glass. Soonyoung kills the engine and gets out the car, running in the rain. The gatehouse is exactly where he remembers it, lit with gold light and manned by two guards.
They don't see him coming in the rain. He appears like a phantom, gun raised as he steps into the open door and kills the first guard. He shields his body with the dying guard as the other turns to him, but he doesn't need to. Soonyoung pulls the trigger and kills the other guard before she can stand and she dies in her chair.
He leaves them bleeding as he jumps the fence, hands slick with blood. Wet earth sucks at his boots as he jogs. He slinks past the koi pond and marble statues of some deities he knows nothing about. He knows every inch of the Kim Estate grounds, having memorized it years ago when he used to dream about coming here in the dark and taking you back.
He never did.
Soonyoung finds the guard on perimeter and shoots twice. He falls, dead somewhere in the wet grass. Soonyoung keeps moving toward the house, the inside lit up with lamplight. He goes to the front door and curses when he realizes it's a biometric lock, forcing him back out into the downpour to find the guard on perimeter.
Cutting off the guard's hand costs him time he cannot afford to lose. He curses as he bolts back to the front door, slamming the bloody hand against the scanner. It flashes green and Soonyoung is through the door, tossing the part somewhere on the front long where it fucking belongs.
It smells like cedar wood inside the house. He enters with his heart hammering, gun raise, knife out. He spots the steps and climbs them. He strains his ears to hear anything, but there's nothing but the rain against the windows and his own ragged breathing as he climbs.
He's so nervous he doesn't see the vase near the top of the stairs. Soonyoung crashes into it and curses immediately, knocking it over. He fucks it all to hell and runs down the hallway, forsaking stealth for time.
Please be alive. It's all he can think as he approaches your bedroom. Please be alive, please be alive, please be alive, pleASE BE ALIVE, PLEASE-
You're on the ground covered in blood and for the briefest moment, Soonyoung doesn't see you. He sees his mother, laying in her bed with her palm under her hand, barely away, covered in scarlet. He blinks and he sees you again, panting, knife in hand, teeth bared.
Yijun is behind you, neck gored and bleeding. You're so slick with blood that it makes Soonyoung hesitate for the barest of seconds, taken aback. He's never seen you anything less than perfect and right now, you look like a creature from another dimension, face swollen, nose broken, eyes feral.
You're alive, though.
Soonyoung drops the gun. It's stupid - he doesn't know if he's actually clear the house. But you're alive and you're on your knees and you're alive. He grabs your face, hands trembling as he presses your cheeks between his palm, turning your face side to side to examine you.
"Where are you bleeding?" He asks, trying to find the source of the blood. You don't answer him, blinking up at him, pupils the size of saucers. "Baby. Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?"
You blink at him and your words come out heavy and syrupy. "S'mostly his. Maybe broke my nose."
Fuck. Fuck. He knows you can't feel the pain because of the drugs and adrenaline, but he needs to get you out of here. His finger brushes across your cheek, butterfly soft, as though he might break you. He fears he might - you look fragile right now, delicate like a moth's wing.
"Can you walk if I help you?" You shake your head. "Okay. I'm going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don't hurt you, Baby."
"Ribs."
"Left or right?"
"Right."
"Okay, tell me if I hurt you okay? I'm going to take you home."
Home. He doesn't mean the Choi Estate. He doesn't mean his apartment - never his apartment, filthy and sullied by other women. He means away from here and with him. Because your home is with him and no where else. It always has been.
"Thank you."
Your voice is soft and broken. He looks at you in surprise, leaning back to catch your eyes. You're crying - he's not sure you even realize that you are. The tears streak through the blood and fuck, even like this, you are the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.
"You didn't have to come get me," you whisper, voice small.
It shatters something inside of him. Don't you know? Don't you know what he would do for you? That even in his darkest moments where he waited to die, all he thought of was you? That even when he tried to hate you and when he tried to burn away every piece of himself, if you had asked, he'd have been there in a second?
You obviously don't know. Stupid. He'll worry about it later. Right now, all he cares about is getting you out of this house and somewhere safe, knowing that the walls are closing in on you both fast. He lifts you gently, trying to be careful with your ribs. You hiss anyway as you lean into him.
"Of course I did," Soonyoung murmurs softly. "When you say jump, remember?"
He's not sure you hear him. You're barely lucid, the fight draining from you now that he's here. You let him lift you and cradle him to his chest and you're so much lighter than he remembers. It makes him sick. He glances at Yijun's body and a thread of savage satisfaction goes through him. You haven't just murdered Yijun - you've ravaged him, tearing through his throat to the spine.
Soonyoung spits on the floor of your bedroom and carries you out. Your head lolls against his throat and he tightens his grip on you, hyper aware of your shallow breathing against his neck. He tries to be as smooth as he can down the stairs, worried about jostling you. If you feel pain, you don't show it. You just cling to him like if you let go you'll die.
He gets it. When Soonyoung puts you in the passenger seat of his car, he has to convince himself to let you go. His hands linger for a second and he stares at you as your eyes flutter, barely awake. He runs his fingers across the crown of your forehead, remembering the shape perfectly.
His phone starts to ring and he snaps out of it. Standing, he closes your side of the door gently and rounds the car, getting in and starting the engine. He looks at you again before he puts it in drive, heart fluttering, worried. He's pretty sure you have a concussion, a broken nose, and broken ribs, but you otherwise seem unharmed.
Swallowing, he hits the gas, tires peeling on the road. You sag toward him, like you're seeking his presence. He can't help it - he reaches over the console for you, wrapping his hand in yours. You don't squeeze back but your fingers twitch so he doesn't let go as the phone rings again.
He answers. "I've got her. We're heading to our meet location."
"Do you need a med team?" It's Seungcheol who asks. "Yes. Send one to our location. Nothing deadly. Broken bones."
"We're about to accept assault. Take the long way."
"Heard."
"Soonyoung?"
Soonyoung swallows thickly, tightening his hand on the wheel as rain washes over the window. "Yes, Tower?"
"Thank you, brother." Seungcheol pauses. "I love you."
"Love you too."
Soonyoung drives, his hand in yours after years of suffering, the sound of the rain pattering on the roof of the car as he drives toward the coast. You mumble something and he turns to look at you, split between making sure you're okay and not driving off the road.
"What, Baby?"
"Had to," you mumble. He's not sure if you're actually awake or aware the words are coming out of your mouth, but you continue to mumble. "Had to. Didn't want to. Was gonna kill you, though."
"What do you mean?"
"Dad?"
He frowns. "Dad?"
You nod and groan, like it hurts to think hard. He tries to hush you, but you seem dead set on getting this out. "Didn't want him to hurt you. Hated him for it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did it to you."
Slowly, he puts the pieces of what you're saying together. His stomach twists, equal parts rage and regret that he hadn't thought about it sooner. He doesn't know what to say, staring out the rainy dash, the black water of the coast ahead with Hyperion a glowing smudge of neon to the west.
"Moojin said he would kill me?" He asks, cause he needs to hear it for sure. "That's why you did it?"
"Yeah." You sniff. Then, quieter. "I'm glad he's dead."
Soonyoung's heart aches. Not because he feels for your father, but because he knows it isn't true. He wonders how long you've wrestled with hating and loving your father. You'd always been so unaware of the lengths the old Tower would go to, but Soonyoung never faulted you for it - and he doesn't now.
You drift to sleep again, conversation forgotten, and he lets you. He hopes you don't remember saying that you were glad your father was dead. In a better state, he doesn't think you would say it again. He understands the complexity of hating something you held so dear to you - he just never imagined he would get it back.
Soonyoung doesn't let himself think of the past. He decides in that moment he only wants to move forward, that he has his sights set on the what comes next. He has loved you his entire lifetime and he's prepared to love you for hundreds of more - thousands of more. He doesn't care about anything before now. Now, he has you in the passenger seat, driving you to a safe place he carved out for you, like he always knew it would come to this.
As long as he can be with you, Soonyoung knows it'll be enough.
── the night you spontaneously spend with a charming stranger, drawn by a connection beyond words.
♬ i don’t understand but i luv u seventeen
tags: f!rea x soonyoung | romance
wc: 4.7k
content: meet cute, strangers to ???, humour, light angst, kissing, for the sake of plot hoshi barely speaks english
notes: kinda songfic for one of my fave svt songs ever <3 thank u for hosting this & having me once again larie ily!!! divider by hers truly @lariesographic
𝓦HEN YOU MEET HIM, IT’S SNOWING. it came tumbling from the sky in heavy waves, the cold biting your face as snow painted the street with white. squinting through the cold confetti dotting your lashes, you hurried through the sudden storm towards the glow of a nearby bar.
from the opposite end of the path, a man reaches the door first, perking his head up when he notices your approach. he lugs the door open and holds it as you dart inside. you smile at him, though you can’t tell if he returns it behind the black mask covering the lower half of his face.
you sigh once you reach the warmth inside, christmas music playing lowly under the hum of chatter from bar patrons. brushing off stray flakes clinging to your clothes, you thank the stranger, and he simply nods, unhooking the face mask from his ear with an exhale.
your own breath halts a little when you take him in. not like you could make out much outside with the snow bucketing around you, but you’re taken aback by his presence at this proximity. he’s tall, his cologne’s heady, and he’s draped in a baggy hoodie and jeans — all designer, from what you can tell. he just smells expensive.
your job’s taken you to a plethora of places and you’re never bored of the faces, but it’s not everyday a stranger gives you pause.
because he’s handsome. incredibly so.
a sharp jaw that contrasts his soft cheeks; pierced ears paired with sharp eyes. he runs a hand through his black hair, pocketing the mask into his hoodie. neither of you realise you’ve been ogling him until he furrows a brow.
“i’m sorry,” you huff a laugh. he merely waves you off, a small smile gracing his lips. if you knew him past a fleeting encounter, you’d think that maybe he’s flustered.
realising you’re both still crowding the entrance, you pivot away from the door, the stranger following your steps.
“it just came out of nowhere, right?” you start, feeling the need to fill this silence. (also because you’re itching to match a voice to the face.)
he nods again, smiling, eyes drifting over the crowded bar. you figure talking about the weather isn’t his thing.
“i mean, what were you up to when it started?” you ask.
he hums this time, like it’s an answer. his gaze drifts back to you, and you must look pretty puzzled, because his smile twitches, brows furrowing like he’s deciphering the shift in mood.
“are you from around here?”
this time he just blinks at you. that’s when it dawns on you that he must not even know what you’re saying. just doing an okay job at pretending he does.
“english?” you ask, shaking your head to indicate ‘no?’
he shakes his head in turn, slightly bowing his head like in shame.
you’d just assumed he was a local. you don’t speak the native language here, but most people you’ve encountered could communicate efficiently in english, some even with just basic words. that’s on you for drawing conclusions, you suppose.
you decide to start over. with a palm to your chest, you introduce yourself properly by saying your name.
he seems to get the idea, pointing at himself. “soonyoung.”
you try pronouncing it yourself, stammering a little as you attempt to repeat the practiced way he said it. that earns a laugh from him, eyes crinkling as his face splits in a smile.
he returns the sentiment, tossing your name around on his tongue. he licks his lips, almost like he’s testing the taste, and you turn breathless at the thought.
soonyoung uses his hands to direct your attention to an empty booth across the room. you hear the wordless question there, if you’d like to sit, and you respond with a nod, already starting towards it. you hear him jog a little behind you as if he’d been frozen for a moment.
soonyoung slides in across from you at the booth, smiling so giddily you can’t help but chuckle. you weren’t even sure how you were supposed to communicate, and he’s asked you to sit down, maybe even for a drink or two.
but you’ll bite. not like you had better ways to wait out the snow, especially not with any more adorably attractive strangers.
soonyoung pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you watch him patiently as he types away, lips parting a little in concentration. he then offers you the device, and you accept skeptically — then nearly burst out laughing once you see what’s on his screen.
Korean ⇄ English
Would you like to wait here with me?
you can’t nod enthusiastically enough, cheeks already hurting from how hard you grinned while reading the translation. soonyoung exhales a noise of relief, as if you weren’t already sitting here with him and after multiple failed attempts of conversation.
you decide to revise what you asked him before: what he’s up to around here, where he’s from.
Korean ⇄ English
I’m from Korea. I came here for work.
“same.” you sigh out loud, mindlessly.
“same.” he parrots, earning a surprised giggle from you. that seems to satisfy him, sliding back in his seat as he waits for you to hand the phone back over. what do you do for work? you type into the translator.
Korean ⇄ English
I’m in a music group.
your face lights up as you read it. you glance back up at soonyoung, and his eyes have near disappeared from how hard he’s smiling at your reaction.
“seventeen.” he says, almost a whisper like it’s a secret between you.
“the name?”
he nods, understanding that at least. you chew your lip a little as you try to recognise it, but unfortunately you come up short.
do you have any songs i’d know? you typed, giddily handing the phone back over. his fingers glide over your knuckles as he retrieves it, and neither of you flinch away from the contact. his touch leaves a buzzing feeling on your skin as you watch him read the translated sentence.
you can visibly see the cogs turning in his head before he lifts his head once again, a smirk now tugging at his lips. he half-stands from his seat, spreads his feet for a wide stance, and shields the top of his face with his palm.
“aju nice!” he exclaims before attempting to jump forward on his feet in the incredibly cramped space of the booth while maintaining that pose. he ends up travelling too quickly and knocking his crotch into the edge of the table, folding in half with a groan.
“oh my g— soon—?” you stop yourself short before you can say his name fully. it just felt a little too close for what you were; not like he noticed as he collapses into his seat, hissing as he holds his crotch.
you take his phone to type a quick i’ll be back into the translator before sliding from the booth and beelining to the bar.
you return with a glass of water for him. when he looks up at you — sliding the glass onto his side of the table, eyeing him with genuine concern — he just cracks into a laugh. you can’t help yourself to laughing too.
even after all that, you couldn’t confidently say that you recognised the song.
after one hell of an icebreaker, you and soonyoung kept a steady back-and-forth with the translator. you’ve no doubt that it diluted your original words, his too, but there wasn’t really any other options. and you both seemed just as eager as each other to keep the conversation flowing, by whatever means.
you learned little tidbits about his life, his family. he endearingly showed you his dog latte, as well as the group mates he’s currently travelling with. you learned that he’s been in the industry for a decade, that he’s here on promotions since they just released new music. you also learned that he’s got a thing for tigers, though he didn’t exactly voice that one. the phone case, wallpaper, and sheer amount of tiger photos in his gallery said enough.
he was more than eager to learn all about you too. you’d giggle whenever he’d take the phone for his turn, fingers punching away at the screen as he hurriedly typed out his questions, bouncy with excitement to read your responses.
for a conversation that was almost entirely mute, you had a lot of fun just sitting there and passing a phone between you and soonyoung. without words you’d already remembered so much — the kimchi his mother makes that he swears you must try, the hardships of being a trainee with sixteen other teen boys, the time latte pissed on his designer sneakers.
the language barrier was a mere afterthought. and you adored soonyoung. he was charming, even through letters on a screen, but also silly and sweet and thoughtful and god he was fine. whenever he brought the glass of water up for a sip, you’d lock eyes. his throat bobbing with a gulp, a smile playing at his lips. you felt a little crazier each time.
when you’d eventually typed that tonight was your last night in the country and you were leaving early next morning, soonyoung’s face had dropped when he read it.
“no!” he’d exclaimed in tiny.
“no?” you giggled.
he typed his response so quickly like someone just pissed him off. your chest tightened at how his lower lip jutted out in a pout. how you wished you had met him earlier into your days here.
Korean ⇄ English
What are you going to do tonight?
English ⇄ Korean
i was checking out the city centre and the shops before it started snowing heavily. after that, i was planning to just go home and sleep
Korean ⇄ English
Could I spend more time with you? Is that okay?
when you glance up at soonyoung from the phone screen, he’s giving you puppy eyes. you smile, nodding, trying not to let it show how your stomach fluttered. he looked like he was close to begging. not as if he’d have to — you didn’t want to end the night here either.
you cut your gaze to the window, realising that the snowfall had reduced to nothing but a gentle drift.
you look back at him again. and this time, you almost can’t hold it. he looks absolutely entranced, pupils almost swallowed in black and mouth parted with shallow breaths. he blinks, licks his lips, suddenly acutely aware that you can also see the way he’s staring at you. guess that makes you even now.
your mind scrambles for something to say to fill the silence, until you remember he won’t even understand. instead, you turn your attention back to the phone screen to type your reply (an obvious yes), though you halt as a sudden thought bubbles to the surface.
you’re convinced meeting soonyoung like this is an experience you’ll only ever have once in your life. a classic hallmark movie setup to brag to your friends about; a cute story to tell your kids one day as you reminisce on when you were a young free spirit.
so why not live in it to the fullest? why not do away with the device, and immerse yourself in just existing in each other’s presence? cherish the kind of company where words didn’t feel necessary?
English ⇄ Korean
i’d love for you to join me. i’m just thinking, why don’t we stop typing on the phone to talk? we can just enjoy each other’s company 🙂
when soonyoung reads what you’ve typed, his head snaps up, his lips forming a little ‘o’ shape as he looks at you. you smile, and that’s enough to get him on board. he flashes his teeth in a smile back, quickly typing something before holding his phone speaker to his ear.
you can only faintly hear whatever’s playing, but you can’t make out what it is. soonyoung’s brow twitches as he listens, briefly pulling the phone away to press play and listen once more.
“i like that?” he pronounces like it’s a question. you chuckle, realising he must’ve been listening to the spoken translation to repeat it.
soonyoung pockets his phone to make good on your suggestion, and you take notice of how the tips of his ears were flush with red.
eager to learn where the night will take you from this point onwards, you slip out from the booth, soonyoung quickly following suite.
he rushes to get ahead of you as you reach the door, pushing it open for you like the gentleman he was raised to be.
“thank you.” you smile.
he returns it, muttering something back that must’ve been you’re welcome in korean.
you slip your hands into your coat pockets as you start down the street — full of market stalls and displays glowing gold beneath strings of lights. holiday music hums lowly from a distant speaker. a couple sitting atop a horse drawn carriage passes by, soonyoung marvelling at the fake antlers on the horses’ heads.
the wind carries the sweet and spice of fresh food from the stalls up ahead, soonyoung making a sound of awe as he breathes the aroma in. he nudges your shoulder, helplessly grinning as he points to a child making a snow angel in the middle of the path.
you laugh together, though his comes out uncertain, seemingly lost at the sight of your smile. his throat bobs as his eyes flick down to where your hands disappear into your pockets. would it be too weird if he wanted to reach for them?
you continue walking, lingering at each stall and talking yourself out of buying any useless trinkets or candy. soonyoung hovers close by whenever your pace would slow — and what you don’t know is that he’d buy you anything in a heartbeat if he knew the words to say.
there’s one stall that gets you to a complete halt, being a hot chocolate van. you’ve got a nostalgia for them around christmas time, and when you turn to soonyoung with a face full of wonder, he knows then he’s a goner.
already he’s starting towards the ordering window before you can even question what he’s doing, holding up his pointer to the van attendant to indicate ‘one’.
the attendant types the price into an eftpos machine and turns it for soonyoung to tap. he rustles around in his front jean pocket, and you realise you knew way less about him than you thought you did when he pulls out a black card.
it’s almost funny how he taps to pay, as if this isn’t nothing but loose change to him, while you’d have to justify fitting it into your budget.
when he faces you again, you shove his shoulder playfully with a shake of your head. he just shrugs and mutters something that might be an apology.
you jab a thumb at the surrounding food stalls, raising your brows to ask if he was hungry. soonyoung’s lip quirks when he gets what you’re asking him, and he pats his belly with a shake of his head (he ate earlier).
you can only laugh at the absurdity of your situation — spending your night in a foreign country with another foreigner, communicating through charades.
it’s more than worth it though. you don’t know if you’ve ever done anything as impulsive as this, and it felt so fucking fulfilling. soonyoung made a freezing night feel warm. he made you feel free.
soonyoung holds the hot chocolate with both hands to siphon the warmth as he hands it over to you. both of your palms envelop his as you gently slide it from his hold. such a small touch felt like everything in that moment, when your bodies were the only language you shared.
you take a hefty sip to drown out the incoming butterflies, coughing on an unexpected marshmallow.
soonyoung’s there in an instant to pat your back, face dipping to yours with brows pinched in concern; but it doesn’t last long before you’re backing off. out of pure embarrassment you had forced the marshmallow down. you give him a thumbs up, and he puts his hand on his chest as he sighs in relief.
you offer the drink to him, and he eyes you skeptically, as if you didn’t almost just choke on it. you shake the cup, insisting, and he relents at that — palm sliding over your hand as he takes it, much like you did.
you can see him thinking as he stares down at the lid. he goes to pop it off, but you stop him with a hand on his shoulder, shaking your head with a smile.
you throw up an ‘ok’ sign with your hand, watching a little breathlessly as he drinks from right where your lips had been.
what do they call it again — an indirect kiss? does this count as halfway to first base?
you think the very same thing might be on his mind as he hands the hot chocolate back to you, cheeks suddenly dusted pink. it could be from the warmth of the drink, but there’s a headiness to his gaze as he licks his lips, waiting for your next move — and the drink certainly didn’t do that.
silently, you keep passing the hot chocolate back and forth, walking the moon bathed streets to the backdrop of distant music like you’re in no rush.
eventually, you arrive at the entrance to a park, alive with vibrant lights. a christmas display, it appears. you both cast a glance at one another before walking the path together in awe.
the park feels like another world entirely. every tree is wrapped in vines of fairy lights, bridges dripping with glowing ribbons that reflect off the pond, gardens bathed in soft colours from floating star lanterns and drifting projections.
arches of LEDs flicker over the winding path, leading you and soonyoung past light structures of deers and snowmen.
at some point, you run into a projection of santa, and soonyoung jumps when his signature chuckle bellows from a speaker. you hadn’t taken notice of how close you’d been, how you were mistaking the warmth of his body for your own, until he goes to take a step back and nearly sends you to the ground.
by now you’ve noticed how quick his reflexes are since he’s pulling you to stand straight before you can register his hand is on your waist, muttering something that must be asking if you’re okay.
you nod, breathless at this sudden proximity, and you know soonyoung’s just as bad when you audibly hear his own breath get stuck in his throat.
gently, you slip your own hand around your back and brush at soonyoung’s across the knuckles. he understands the question there, and quietly, his hand envelops yours.
even if you both shared a language, you know that regardless it would stay silent like this as you continued down the path. it felt like a spark might ignite where your hands are clasped together. if it wasn’t snowing, you’d probably be sweating from the heat of his skin on yours.
or maybe he feels so hot because he’s sweating.
how funny, that such a simple touch could feel this loud.
eventually, you make your way to the centre of the park, the path opening to a clearing — and in the middle is a towering tree transformed into an entire galaxy.
star-shaped LEDs hang from the branches like constellations, glowing in shades of white and deep violet. spirals of flashing lights wrap the trunk to mimic nebulae, while clusters of bulbs flicker like distant planets scattered across the leaves.
“so beautiful.” you murmur.
the sound of your soft voice is enough to steal soonyoung’s attention away from the display, though his awe increases tenfold when his eyes find yours.
he smiles in a way you can tell he’s preoccupied with thinking. but then comes his voice, his eyes never leaving yours as he tries his best to repeat what you said. except, it’s directed at you.
you point to yourself, heart fluttering in your chest. “you’re calling me beautiful?”
he nods again, ducking his head shyly, fingers tightening ever-so-slightly around yours.
he’s quick to pass the moment by as he grabs his phone out from his pocket, handing it to you with the camera open.
“selca?” he asks softly.
you giggle, understanding. “yes, we can take a selfie.”
you hold the phone out, soonyoung stepping back to stand an awkwardly polite distance away even as he’s literally still holding your hand. you use it to tug him back in, his front pressing into your back as you snap the photo.
inspecting the product, you realise it’s no good since your faces aren’t in focus. though, you do notice something in focus above your heads — something you’d been too entranced to realise you were standing underneath.
you tilt your head up, turning breathless at the sight of the illuminated mistletoe hanging above you.
you avert your eyes back down to soonyoung’s, and it’s palpable how the air shifts under the weight of the unspoken question, lingering there as if time had stopped.
up until now, even with how flustered and shy he’s been at times, you haven’t seen him look so uncertain until now. there’s a ghost of a smile just barely present on his lips, though his eyes are all wide and searching, betraying his effort to keep his face composed as he tries to decipher your expression — the only means of communication between you.
even as he’s trying to read your mind, there’s a certain glaze over his eyes now. a weight that wasn’t there before. you realise now you’d been seeing it in glimpses: when you caught him staring at you in the booth, when you let him share your hot chocolate, when he caught you by the waist before you could fall.
it was smoothed over in the next blink in those instances though, so you couldn’t let yourself believe it was anything, anything that might’ve been the way he’s staring at you now. because there’s no mistaking it — he’s channelling everything he can’t say into those brown irises.
habit wins out, and his breath hitches, mouth opening as if he’s going to say something; halting when he remembers why he hasn’t already.
frustration surges in you suddenly. you would fucking scream that it’s okay for him to kiss you, that you’re dying for him to, if you just knew the words he’d understand.
soonyoung goes to take a step back, and you realise he may be misinterpreting your silence as rejection.
in a panic, your hand rises to his face to cup his cheek, and soonyoung’s fossilised in place at the warmth of your skin on his.
softly, you brush your thumb back and forth over his cheek, face splitting into a helpless smile as you nod and nod. of course he can kiss you under the mistletoe. god, you could almost be worried about the extent of what you’d let him do. you met a mere few hours ago by chance and you’re convinced you may have completely fallen for him already.
“soonyoung.” you say again, for good measure. soonyoung, you repeat to yourself to burn it into your memory.
your name leaves him in nearly a gasp — and you’re not sure which of you it was who leaned in first, but then his lips are on yours, and nothing has ever felt more right.
the first few curious, reluctant seconds slide easily into kissing each other like you didn’t just meet tonight. by the strings of his hoodie you tug him closer, pressing your body firm against his as your mouths move with urgency.
your fingers tangle in his dark locks, his sit carefully on your waist. you’re a little more forward than he is — parting his bottom lip with your tongue and tasting the heat of his mouth.
your whole body’s on fire as his tongue slides against yours, his hold on you tightening like your bodies pressed firm together like this isn’t nearly close enough.
after what could’ve been an eternity, your lips part for a second so soonyoung can catch his breath before diving back in to you, letting a noise down your throat that sounds too much like a whine.
at that, you pull him off of you.
that got way more heated than you were prepared for. even though it’s getting late, you still shouldn’t be so careless in a public place.
after his initial surprise of you cutting the kiss off, he looks like he’s pouting over having to stop, and you can’t help but giggle. you’re bad, but he’s a whole man, so you can only imagine how much worse it is for him right now.
you sigh and step away to give him some relief, smoothing over the fabric of your clothes. he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it back into place from the mess you made of it.
before you can think about where to go from here, the atmosphere quickly sliding into an awkward one, soonyoung’s pulling out his phone from his pocket.
though he doesn’t break his promise to you. instead, he holds it close to his face, and you’re taken aback when he starts speaking in korean.
even without comprehending the words you can still hear the sincerity in his voice — frustration, almost. an intensity behind what he’s saying.
he finishes with an exhale, handing the phone to you silently.
he’s using the translator again, though this time it’s set on interpreting spoken words into text.
Korean ⇄ English
This might sound crazy, but I really do like you. If you don’t feel this way, you don't have to listen to me. I’ll let you walk away and I won’t refuse. But if you do, I need you to know that I don’t want to let you go. I want to know you. I want to know where this is going. Our differences be damned. Language, timezones. It doesn’t matter. There’s something more important than words between us.
you could cry reading it. you can just feel how desperately he wishes to express himself to you. when you glance up at him from the screen, soonyoung looks like he’s bracing himself, his jaw ticking as he watches for your reply.
“let’s find out together.” you say to soonyoung, the phone interpreting your words. “i want to know too.”
he reads the translated sentence on the screen in record time, and in a blink his arms are flying around your waist, hoisting you off your feet in a bear hug. you shriek in the air as soonyoung presses kisses to your face wherever he can land them.
as he plants your feet back on the ground, you wonder how long he was wanting to do that with just how quickly he moved.
you don’t think about the train you’re scheduled to catch tomorrow. your job needs you more than you need it, and you may have— scratch that, you never would have got the chance to meet soonyoung ever again if you didn’t let whatever the hell this is take over all reason.
any workplace consequences scare you less than losing what might be fate itself.
maybe that’s dramatic. but it’s not like you’ll ever know if you don’t let soonyoung lead you by the hand; out of the park and back onto the snowy streets, retracing the path to his hotel room.
as you trail silently behind soonyoung’s steps, you slip your phone out from your bag and block your boss’s number for good measure.
rounding a corner, soonyoung turns back to check on you: a smile etched deep into his cheeks, eyes full of stars.
and you smile back, a silent promise that you’ll be his for more than just a fleeting night.
SUMMARY: You have been Soonyoung’s entire world from the moment he met you. When you marry someone else, Soonyoung’s world ends.
FULL FIC WC: TBD
AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers
GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
TEASER WARNINGS: Kids crying, implied that Soonyoung's dad is hard on him for being a crybaby. Nothing else.
A/N: Surprise :) We will be celebrating Baby's 1 year anniversary with the story re-told from Soonyoung's POV :) I wasn't planning on dropping this teaser today but I decided to be a full chaos demon when chatting with @daechwitatamic and just slap this here on a random Monday afternoon. Have fun!
THE COLLECTION | ASK | NOW ► PLAYING | READ FIRST | THE SYNDICATES INFO GUIDE
Coming December 31
If our love is a drug
You’re the one with the trigger
Shoot me down, shoot me down
I don’t wanna remember you
KWON SOONYOUNG IS CRYING THE FIRST TIME HE MEETS THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE. He hates crying because his dad hates when he cries. Soonyoung’s father has told him over and over again that crying isn’t a way to solve his problems, but Soonyoung can’t help it.
He twists his fists tighter in his mother’s skirt, clinging to her. He knows he’s here because he’s supposed to make friends, but the last time he’d tried to make friends had been at school and they’d hurt him. He hates being hurt - it makes him cry.
Everything in the unfamiliar foyer seems too big. The floors are impossibly shiny, the high ceiling stretching upward in what feels like a never ending spiral. It smells faintly of flowers - not like his house that smells like vanilla when his mom bakes. His house is large too, but not like this house, with its sprawling jungle outside and massive bulk of building.
Sighing, Soonyoung’s mom crouches down. Her eyes soften as she brushes the tears from his ruddy cheeks, her touch warm. He sniffs, trying to catch his breath as she gives him a look that he knows means enough. It’s not as scary as when his father does it, but Soonyoung knows his mother is giving him the opportunity to collect himself.
Soonyoung loves his mom. He tries not to let it dictate everything he does for fear of his father calling him a momma’s boy, but he can’t help it. His mom is the smartest and most loving person Soonyoung knows, and she knows exactly how much vanilla to add to his cookies, and when to give him time to process emotions.
Emotions have always been hard for him to process, which is why he cries all the time.
“You’ll be fine, Soonyoung,” his mother promises. Her voice is gentle but firm and he sucks in a breath and nods. “You’re here to make friends with the Choi family. You remember they’re friends of ours, right?”
Soonyoung does. He’s never been here before, but he’s seen the Tower before, a terrifying man who frowns a lot and makes even Soonyoung’s dad bow with respect. The Tower is the most important person to Soonyoung’s father - besides Soonyoung and his mother, of course. It is his father's job to protect the Tower, to be his most loyal friend, to be the Tower's sword and shield.
Movement catches Soonyoung’s eye. He glances over to see you peeking from behind your mother, who gives you a sharp look. You sigh and step around her, staring at Soonyoung with your nose scrunched. You link your hands behind your back, watching Soonyoung with the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen.
He thinks you’re an angel. He doesn’t know much about angels, but he’s heard they’re supposed to be the most beautiful creatures in the world. When he looks at you, he thinks you must be an angel. It’s the only explanation.
A boy steps out of what Soonyoung thinks is the kitchen. He’s older than both of you, his stride confident and self-assured. He walks like the kids at school with money and parents in high positions. His eyes narrow when he looks at Soonyoung up and down, unimpressed. Soonyoung stands a little straighter, realizing this must be the Tower’s son.
Soonyoung doesn’t understand a ton about the Choi family, but he does know the Tower is number one, which makes the Tower’s son pretty important. Soonyoung immediately feels a need to be careful around this boy, knowing that weakness won’t be appreciated.
“Seungcheol,” your mother chides. “Don’t be rude to our guests.”
The boy - Seungcheol - glances at you. Soonyoung watches you and Seungcheol exchange some sort of silent communication and realizes you must be siblings. There’s a little bit of Seungcheol in your face, though you’re softer and younger. Prettier. You shrug at your brother and Seungcheol sighs, turning to face Soonyoung. He bows politely, not too low, not too high - the perfect, practiced bow.
“It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung.” The Tower’s son straightens, his eyes dark. “Are you here to play video games?”
No, he almost says. He’s here to become friends with them because it's important for business. Even at a young age, Soonyoung understands this. His entire purpose here today is to become what Soonyoung’s father is to the Tower, but to Seungcheol. To love him, to protect him, to honor him.
Soonyoung straightens a little. He can do this. He’s always been up to any task - albeit, after a little crying - and when he looks at his mother for permission, he sees that she’s pleased. “He is,” she tells Seungcheol. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends. All three of you.”
Soonyoung looks at you again. His heart soars. He didn’t realize that he would get to be your friend too. If he’s being honest, he enjoys that prospect better. Seungcheol looks a little too scary and like he takes everything too seriously, where you look quiet. Kind. Pretty.
“Do I have to?” You ask your mom, frowning.
That makes Soonyoung deflate a little. You don’t seem eager to be friends with him and it stings. Thankfully, your mom tells you that you do have to get to know him. It makes it a little better, but Soonyoung shifts from foot to foot, suddenly angry that you don’t want to play with him. Makes him feel small like when the mean kids at school bully him.
“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks you, a little frustrated.
“I’m not any good.”
Oh. That makes sense to him. He doesn’t like things he’s not good at either, but he wants you to stay with him, so he says, “That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.”
Seungcheol groans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!”
“No way!”
Grid Fighters is hard for anyone to get a hold of. No one at Soonyoung’s school has been able to get it - much less afford the Rift console - and he’s been watching videos online of cool streamers playing it, living vicariously through them. The idea that the Tower’s son has it sends Soonyoung running after Seungcheol, excited to try it out.
When you don’t follow, Soonyoung stops at the door. You’re rooted to the spot next to your mom, mouth downturned. Soonyoung recognizes the look on your face - fear. Fear of not being accepted by others when forced to interact with them, fear of not being good enough. Of someone hurting you.
Soonyoung never wants you to feel that way around him.
“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.”
Your smile lights up the room. Suddenly, Soonyoung decides he will let you win no matter what, so long as he gets to see you smile like that again.
Synopsis: Hoshi the Tiger Kwon, one of south korea’s best boxers from the 90s, but before that —he was just the annoying guy you trained.
Pairing: Boxer!Hoshi x Trainer!FemReader
Word Count: 24.4k
Genre: Action, Romance, Smut
Warnings: Slow burn, boxing lingo and fight scenes, misunderstanding, angst, Hoshi and reader can be really mean to each other :(, kissing, unprotected intercourse, panties for safe keeping lol
A/n: LONG TIME NO SEE! <3 thank you to @svthub for being a great resource and community, @nerdycheol, @facethesunflower and @shinysobi for being there during its writing process. Also @supi-wupi and @hanniehaeo for corrections and beta reading ^^
💥 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥
“KWON ON THE ROPES, CAN HE DO A COMEBACK BEFORE THE END OF THESE 40 SECONDS?”
The stadium is a frenzy. Your ears ring as you look up through the ropes of the boxing ring. Your eyes focused on Soonyoung’s back, sweat shining on his taut muscles from the harsh lights, the sound of the rubber boxing gloves of his opponent colliding in dull hits to Soonyoung’s tight defense.
Heart beating, eyebrows furrowed as you grip onto the white towel in your hand. Stained with blood, his blood, from the earlier timeout.
“OH! — A COUNTER LANDS ON KWON’S RIGHT CHEEK!”
Your eyes widen as you watch Soonyoung’s mouth guard shoot out of his mouth, a mix of spit and blood splattering in the air as you see the outline of his face. His side profile crushed by the weight of the glove and force.
You hold your breath.
Your mind can’t help but hurl you back to your prior memories. The days, the months, the years, before all this.
When you were wiping down the worn ropes with a cloth. Face sour as you squeeze the handle of the Lysol, disinfectant spraying onto the leather ropes as you gently wipe it off. You don’t even blink an eye when the sound of the gym door opens, the familiar sound of loud men infiltrating your ears.
This gym was like a second home to you. Your father, an ex-professional boxer turned coach, used all his money to open a boxing gym while you were still learning how to walk on your own two feet.
It shouldn’t be surprising that one of your first words, well, according to your father, was weave! Weave! — Much to your late mother’s dismay.
As much as hanging out with friends was a pastime for most girls your age, yours was helping at your father’s gym. Cleaning the ring, sweeping the floor, and disinfecting the equipment. Anything really, so you could crane your neck to listen in on the practices. Like father, like son daughter, you were as interested in the sport as he was. His genes were, well, unfortunately, strong.
“Y/n, you still here?” Your dad chimes, curiosity in his low voice as he walks out of his office. Alerted by the sound of boxers falling in, from amateur ones practicing for their license, to the very few professional ones your father was training personally.
You look up, nodding with a sigh, “Yeah, well, the ring was looking rough.” You reply. Omitting the fact that you did have plans. A boy you were talking to asked you out last week, which you were incredibly giddy about. Until you heard through the grapevine that he was also talking to another girl.
Safe to say, he cancelled the plans after you threw a punch straight at his eye.
“Great! Because I need you to watch the new boy,” your father says lightly, hands on his hips as he walks up to you.
You raise your brow, putting the cleaning supplies down at your side as you face your father. “New boy? Thought you weren’t accepting any new fighters?” You remind him, throwing the rag into the bucket of supplies next to your feet.
Your father shrugs, “Seemed promising. Young, too. Your age, actually,” he says with a smile, “But I need to focus today on Seungcheol. His match is two weeks, so we have to —“
“Yeah, yeah, work on his slugging.” You say not skipping a beat. You were there when your father was going crazy in his office, trying to figure out strategies for Seungcheol’s next match. It ended up boiling down to something that matches the guy perfectly — just slugging it out.
Your father grins, “Hm, yeah. So you got this!”
You narrow your eyes.
Your father sighs, “Just give the kid a few exercises to go through,” he says, waving you off.
You nod, grabbing the bucket of cleaning supplies, as you greet all the fighters in the gym coming in.
It wasn’t long until Soonyoung came in, still baby-faced, skinny compared to everyone else. Huffing and puffing as he pushes the boxing gym door open, stumbling in. Probably running from whatever train station, as you checked the time on the clock. He was ten minutes late to what your father informed you he’d arrive by. And not to mention, his shoe laces were untied, dragging against the floor haphazardly.
You narrow your eyes, shaking your head. He definitely knew nothing about boxing, not yet, at least. Hell, what did your father see in this kid? He just looked like every guy at school.
“Hey!” You yell out, getting his attention. His head perking up like a dog being called, as he points to himself. You sigh, “Yes, you.”
He walks over to you, still surprised, catching his breath as he grips his bag. Clearing his throat, “Um, hi, I’m Kwon Soonyoung.” He introduces himself before glancing at the boxing ring in the middle of the gym. Your father in the middle of coaching Seungcheol.
He points with his thumb behind him, “I need to talk to uh, coach —“
You shake your head, “No need. He’s busy, I’ll be helping you today.” You say lightly, crossing your arms.
He turns back to you, brows raised, “You? I mean… you’re, uh, you’re a trainer or something?” He asks skeptically, eyeing you.
Your hair in a low ponytail, in a loose t-shirt, and grey sweatpants. Basically drowning in the clothes with your feminine figure, you looked like a sore thumb in the gym filled with muscular older men.
Before you can respond, your father yells out from the ring. “Oh, you finally showed up!” He muses, holding a hand up as a welcome. Taking the few seconds of Seungcheol emptying his water bottle to address Soonyoung.
“Listen to y/n, okay? She may seem unassuming, but she knows what she’s doing.” He says, before turning back to drag Seungcheol through more drills.
Soonyoung looks back at you, still hesitant, making you roll your eyes.
“Come on,” you say, heading to the shelf to grab some boxing mitts.
Soonyoung hastily follows after you, almost bumping into you when you turn back around. Making him stumble back in slight panic, before speaking.
“Uh, so you are a trainer? You look around, my age or something like that…” he starts, looking at you like a spectacle at the zoo. You roll your eyes, opening the mitts and sliding your hands in.
“I know enough to deal with you.” You respond back roughly, before glancing down at Soonyoung’s hands, realizing they aren’t even wrapped yet.
You huff, ripping the mitts off. This guy really knew nothing.
You gesture to the back, “Go to the locker room. Get dressed and wrapped.”
“Oh, okay!” He starts, nodding his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, but what do you mean by wrapped?”
You can’t help but step down on one of his loose laces, making it stretch tight as he walks. “Oh what – hey!” The boy toppling over a bench and someone’s bag.
The first few weeks of training went like that.
Soonyoung knew absolutely nothing, yet when you asked, “Why are you still doing this?”
He’d catch his breath, barely keeping his legs from shaking with his hands, finally having a chance to breathe as you grace him with a minute of rest.
Your voice is stern, “Obviously, by now you can see boxing isn’t as simple as throwing a punch and winning. How haven’t you quit yet?”
Taking a deep inhale of needed air, he looks up at you. His eyes had a sparkle to them, despite how he’s starting to form bruises from training. You could see sweat seeping into his t-shirt from the cardio, yet he still had energy to waste. His eyes said so.
“I want to box! I love it!” He’d say with a tired grin, sweat dripping down his forehead, as you sigh.
“Huh, right.” You say a bit unnerved, eyeing him. What kid would still be smiling after 3 miles of running? “Enough sprints, let’s finish your roadwork with another mile.” You add on, already sitting back down on your bike, ready to ride right on top of his ankles.
He jogs next to you; maybe, deep down, his enthusiasm was making you just a teensy bit soft. Making your pace slower for him to catch up, maybe even his breath.
He pants, “You want to do this stuff too, huh?” He attempts to say as you pedal.
“You mean boxing?” You ask, glancing at his sweating frame.
He lets out a strangled mhm that you assume means yes.
You shrug, your hands letting go of the bicycle handles to grab the water bottle from the holder. You take a few sips, and watching makes Soonyoung's mouth drier than he thought was possible. “You think I’d be doing this if I didn’t?” You respond, as you let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Just focus on your breathing.”
“Ah — wait!” He pleads, when you increase the cadence of your bike, his footsteps getting heavier to catch up.
You can’t help but snicker, “Come on, Kwon! The faster we get this last mile done, the faster you can go home!” You yell out as he pushes further to run parallel with you.
“I don’t get it,” He breathes. Trying to keep his eyes open and his feet moving. “You love boxing, yet you always want it to end.”
You stop your bike.
It takes Soonyoung a second before he stills his momentum, stopping a few feet in front of you. Hands to his knees as he takes long, deep breaths.
“Hey, watch your mouth.” You say firmly, “I’m just trying to motivate you.”
He straightens up, hands on his hips as he takes a deep breath. “Yeah?” He starts, “Well, that's not motivating to me.” He says, turning to face you. Face covered in sweat, dripping down his jaw to his neck.
He was soaked, that was for sure. The way the setting sun beams on the running path, warming both your and Soonyoung’s skin, the light outlining his torso through the thin fabric of his sweat-soaked t-shirt.
“You say you love it, but you never have a smile on your face.” He points out, his eyes flickering across your features. You had a noticeable scowl, not liking his random prodding.
You straighten up on your bike, gripping the handlebars tightly. “I love boxing,” You say simply, “It doesn’t mean I like it. Especially when I have to watch someone as annoying as you.”
He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You’ll understand later.” You huff vaguely, putting your foot back on the pedal. “Now one more mile, so I don’t have to deal with you anymore.”
"Can I have some water at least?" He calls after you, dragging his heavy feet to follow after your bike.
"Nope!"
And then it was almost the end of high school, and surprisingly enough, Soonyoung was still going to the boxing gym basically every day. And he was shaping up, slowly but surely.
He had a talent for doing things over and over again until his form was perfect. Sharp, efficient, and fast enough that the other guy couldn't even see it coming.
You didn't spend the last few years idling around either. Honestly — in all those interviews in the future, you were credited in everything. Safe to say, you were the reason he consistently improved. You didn’t let your studies suffer while helping out at the gym. Impressively, you found a good balance.
While memorizing flashcards for your school final? You reviewed them while with Soonyoung, throwing a card at the back of Soonyoung's head when he would doze off during match tapes. When you had that science project about egg drops? You taped the excess eggs to the bottom of Soonyoung's feet. Forcing him to perfect his footwork without making a mess in the boxing ring, while also seeing what random contraptions could prevent shells breaking.
This wasn't against his will, by the way. You'll say that to the end of your days, because strangely, Soonyoung took everything like a champ.
Once, you even felt a little bad as you made him throw punches until he stopped telegraphing. Your father nudged you, throwing you out of that state of pity.
"You know, you might be even harsher than me." Your dad would chime, "Is it safe to say you think he has what it takes?"
You scoff, "After two years of training? He's okay – I think he’s getting restless though." You mutter, focusing on Soonyoung's form, as he begins another set of ones and twos.
You tilt your head. He was shaping nicely. Was he always this toned?
"Hmm, well, I don't disagree." He says, nodding. "Since we got his license just a bit ago, I think it’s time we put him in an amateur tournament. I think I'll have him and Seungcheol spar a bit while training. It'll be a good warm-up for Seungcheol too."
Your heart twists, so soon? Sure, Soonyoung was improving a lot. But a little part of you wanted him to be hidden just a bit longer. But you wouldn't say that out loud.
"Right, that'd be good. Soonyoung's stamina can help with Cheol oppa's training." You muse, "And then a good jab at Soonyoung's head will rattle him a bit. Remind him how the pros are."
"You really are more ruthless than me." Your father snickers, which you respond to with a playful sticking out of your tongue.
"Careful though," He starts, his usual playful tone dissipating as he pats your back. Firm, like you're one of his many boys. It only makes you stand up straighter.
"I appreciate you picking up Soonyoung's training, but don't forget to live your life, yeah?" He points out, as he starts rifling through his pocket. You turn to him as you watch your father take out some rumpled bills.
You snicker as you hold out your hand. "Buy a dress or something. Or like, I don't know, go out with your friends and have a meal." He suggests with a shrug, as he drops the money into your open palm.
"Thanks, appa. I'll buy a dress and eat." You respond dryly. "I'll go on a date too, since I'm at it."
"Nuh-uh! Just the dress then!" He grins, snatching away one of the bills as you gasp in protest. "Well, give the boy a break. Enough reps." He adds on, using his coach voice as he nudges your shoulder. You can't help but nod in obedience as your father walks away.
You look back at Soonyoung, eyeing his form once more. After another punch, you can tell he was getting cleaner.
"Kwon, that's enough." You yell out as he catches the punching bag, stilling it with heavy breaths.
"Really? Alright," He sighs, looking over his shoulder at you, sweat dripping down his face like he was just in a sauna. He immediately rips the boxing mitts off.
You grab his towel next to his bag — "Coach said you're gonna be doing the local amateur tournament next month." You break, "You okay with that?" Asking like he has a choice.
And it was like hours of boxing drills never happened, as his eyes widened. Mouth turning in a wide grin as his cheeks rounded out against his eyes. "Seriously? Holy shit!"
You roll your eyes, "Don't get too excited. You’ve only done informal spars." You push the towel into his chest roughly, "Also, if you fail, I'm killing you for embarrassing me.” You pipe. “Got it?" Smiling sharply, making him shut up immediately.
He grips the towel, letting you step back, as he nods hastily. "Got it, don't worry." The smile finding its way back on his face. "I won't let you down."
You knit your brows, "Yeah, don't." You emphasize, pushing his forehead back with your finger, making him laugh in response. Grabbing your hand in his face, as he wipes the sweat off his forehead with the towel in the other hand. His hand tightening around yours to keep it in place. Which only makes your heart skip a beat.
Wait — a beat?
He moves to hold your hand properly, squeezing it firmly. "Seriously, don't worry. I'm gonna win, and you don't need to go to jail for murder." He promises, nodding at you with that assured look on his face, brows knitted and lips pursed into a tight line.
You wrestle your grip out of his hand before you overthink. "Okay, I get it, Kwon." You respond warily, "Drink some water and rest up. I'll see you next week."
"Yeah, next week!" He chirps.
But it didn't take the whole weekend to see him again. Per your father's suggestion, you do take the money he gave you to visit the shopping district.
You weren't an avid shopper, unless it was to help with restocking boxing supplies at the gym. It's not like you didn't value a cute outfit — it's just there weren't many instances when you could show one off.
Should you have asked someone to come with you? Sure, maybe, if it wasn't for the fact that most of your friends decided to spend their last summer of school on vacation. Unlike you, they were all heading out to university, out of the country, or at least out of the town. Using their grad money and the last summer before college to enjoy life before the inevitable.
But you realized all these years, boxing was your destined life path. You weren't the one in the ring, but nothing had beaten analyzing boxing matches, watching your father celebrate with his fighters after winning matches and belts, and wanting to do the same.
You wouldn't say you wanted to do this in the first place. It was like fate pulled you into it, no matter what. Especially when Soonyoung fell into your hands at the beginning of junior year.
"Ah, y/n, is that you?"
Speaking of the devil.
You turn around to the sound of your name, seeing Soonyoung at the entrance of an arcade. Clad in baggy pants and a flashy t-shirt that almost made you squint your eyes from its loudness. God, did you just manifest him right now just thinking of him?
You raise your brows, "Kwon?" You respond, as he grins.
A loud sound rings through the arcade machine as Soonyoung whips his head back at the screen, eyes wide-eyed. His face illuminated by bright red, with the words GAME OVER on the screen. "Dammit!"
He groans, before looking over at you, walking over until he's in front of you. His hands stuffed in his unbelievably baggy jeans as he drags his feet against the pavement.
You can't help but eye them. "I'm sorry, but you're drowning in those." You can't help but comment. But he doesn't take offense, smiling as he turns so that you can see the bright graphic patched onto them. Even a small tiger plushie was attached to where his belt should be.
"Cool, right? They're JNCOs, they're from America, they're super popular right now." He says giddily, as you nod at the unfamiliar brand. Popular with who? Maybe with those American artists Soonyoung always begged to play on the boxing gym's stereo. Might as well nod along like you understand.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, looking down at you, eyeing you curiously. The way you're out of your normal sweats, in the typical 90s outfit most girls your age were wearing. You glance at the Hello Kitty wallet in your hand, holding the crumpled money your dad gave you.
"Uh, shopping." You respond as you stuff the wallet back into your pocket.
"Oh, cool, where’s your friends?" He adds on, making you wince.
"I’m by myself." You sigh as you look away. "Well, don't let me get in your way. Seems like you're playing games anyway." You respond, already taking a step back.
Soonyoung shakes his head, "Hm, no, it's alright." He smiles, "I can't even get past the first level." He admits holding his hands up, "You think boxing would help with video games somehow, but nooo. Can't seem to remember the combos one of my friends showed me." He mutters as he scratches the back of his head.
He clasps his hands, "You know what, what if I tagged along?" He suggests, "We've never really hung out outside of the gym before. It'd be nice, you know." He starts, before he sees the wary look on your face. His volume quiets down, "Y-you know, if you want to."
You sigh, should you? I mean, you weren't that confident in shopping by yourself, especially with how crowded it was, with friend groups all over reminding you of how lonely you really were.
"Yeah, I mean... sure." You agree reluctantly, "You probably know this place more than me anyway." You fall into step with him, letting him guide you through the busy streets.
"Are there any good clothing stores you know, Kwon?"
The answer was no.
Especially when you found yourself holding up a gaudy reflective dress to the mirror, your face pale.
Soonyoung nods, looking at the piece like it might actually be a choice for you. "That's good, it reminds me of like, Lee Hyori or something."
"Lee Hyori?" you deadpan, looking over your shoulder to glare at him. "Do I look like Lee Hyori to you?"
He blinks, looking over you like it wasn't crazy to compare you to the most popular female idol in South Korea. "You could?"
You frown, throwing the dress back into the pile of clothes Soonyoung picked out, "You know what," you sigh, bringing your hand to your temples to massage them. "Forget the shopping, I don't need new clothes anyways." You conclude as Soonyoung picks up the pile to put them back.
He peeks his head out to the side to look at you, "Really? What are you gonna do with the money then?" He asks.
Shrugging, you cross your arms. "I don't know, save it?"
"What?" He whines, throwing the pile of clothes on top of the return rack. "Coach gave you all that money and you're gonna save it? Have you ever done anything fun in your life?"
You glare at him, shocking him back into remembering you're the one in charge of his conditioning for the next month. Your eyes giving: I'll make you do drills that make your head spin.
"Uh, I mean, good on you." He nods hastily, "Very respectable. Responsible."
You sigh, as you pat the Hello Kitty wallet in your front pocket. Your dad did say to have fun, and shopping was just a suggestion.
"You know what," Clearing your throat, "Let's go get barbecue or something. On me."
Soonyoung's eyes light up. "I like that more. I know a place!"
Once again, you don't know why you keep trusting Soonyoung's recommendations, as you walk into a small barbecue place. It was hidden in a corner near the end of the shopping district, where you could easily miss it. It was quaint, a little run down, with the smell of sizzling pork belly and a musk only old buildings could have.
"This place? Why this place?" You ask, as you step in with him. Soonyoung careful with his pants, holding them up so they don't drag against the greasy floor.
"Ugh, are you serious?"
You look up to see a shorter guy, seeming around both your and Soonyoung's age. With pale skin and short stature, with a white band wrapped around his forehead to push his hair out of his eyes. A scowl present on his face as he eyes Soonyoung’s entrance.
Huh, you recognize that look. It’s a similar one you make when you see Soonyoung as well.
"Jihoon!" Soonyoung greets, as he gestures for you to come sit at an empty table. Kicking a plastic stool out for you to sit on, as he readily plops down on one across from it.
He clears his throat, holding out his hand to introduce the guy. "This is Jihoon. We went to the same school together." He beams, "Which means he won't ID us for beer –"
"God, you gonna bring every girl here? I'm gonna stop serving you if you keep –"
"Every girl?" you question, raising your brow. Was Soonyoung popular? To you, he only existed within the boundaries of the gym. Was he some sort of ladies' man or something? In that flashy t-shirt and gigantic pair of pants?
Soonyoung's cheeks flush slightly, his mouth agape as he tries to find words. "Nuh-uh!" He refutes, shaking his head, "Um, besides. This is y/n, she's not really a girl."
Your palm makes contact with the back of Soonyoung's head, not enough to injure him but to make him jolt forward in surprise. Besides, even if you did, you’re sure his skull was hard enough to withstand it.
Jihoon snickers, "Deserved."
You roll your eyes as you throw up two fingers. "Bulgogi and some bone-in beef rib, please."
"Oh, she's paying for you too. You really are something, Soonyoung." Jihoon adds on dryly, which you can't help but snicker at. "I'll bring it out." He nods, as he heads to the kitchen.
"Oh! A bottle of soju, too, please!" Soonyoung calls out as you shake your head.
"You shouldn't be drinking. It's bad for your body," You reprimand, as you settle into the plastic stool. "I'm gonna order some more water, and more banchan as well." You state, pushing the small plates of Kimchi and other vegetable side dishes towards him.
He pouts, "Even now, all you think about is boxing." He sighs, taking it upon himself to shove some kimchi in his mouth. "This is supposed to be fun! I'm sure you know how to have fun, right?"
"Mhm, but your first tournament is soon." You add on, "I'm still working out the kinks of your conditioning schedule. I don't think you need to learn any new techniques, just focus on improving and maintaining your agility. There's also the possibility that some rookies could be a problem. I need to check the fighters registered and —“
You're silenced by a piece of fish cake in your mouth. Eyes wide in surprise as Soonyoung jabs his chopsticks in your mouth. "Yeah, I appreciate that. Also, aren't the side dishes good? I swear, they put magic in these." He responds lightly, going back to pick at the different side dishes, as if he didn't just feed you. You know, like it's a date.
Hold on, is this a date?
“Besides,” He clears his throat, “I’m not worried. You and coach have been training me. What’s there to be worried about?”
You don't have time to calm your heartbeat, as Jihoon comes by with the plates of beef, settling them down and also swirling a bottle of soju.
"Right, here you go," he sighs, freeing his arms of the food. He flickers his eyes to you, "Careful. If he drinks too much, you’ll have to drag him home."
"Thanks for the warning." You say, still distracted by Soonyoung’s affection. Sure, you knew the guy for the past two years. And you’ve had your fair share of bonding, but outside the gym? Eating a real meal together? This was a whole different ballpark.
You look back at Soonyoung, who’s already piling meat onto the grill, as Jihoon grumbles — hey! Let me turn on the grill first at least!
You go quiet for a moment before clearing your throat. Chill out. This was Soonyoung for god's sake.
And as you watch him stuff his cheeks with kimchi like a chipmunk, you can’t help but wince at the sight. Right, this was Kwon Soonyoung.
“Hey, don’t forget water. Don’t choke!” You warn, as you pour some water for him, pushing it into his face, which he gladly accepts.
“Also, what the hell are you doing? That’s not how you cook meat.” You grumble, prying the tongs from his hand, in favor of flipping and spacing out the meat yourself.
He pouts, “Jeez, you’re already paying. Can’t I at least take over cooking the meat?” He complains, slouching over as he watches the smoke rise.
You shake your head. This was your expertise. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been doing this forever,” You say, “Coach always takes fighters out after matches for barbecue. I always take over and cook while they pig out.” You recount absentmindedly, the tongs being second nature to you at this point. The way boxers inhale meat, you knew how to keep up.
Soonyoung raises his brows, “You live and breathe boxing.” He states, “I like that about you.”
Your cheeks burn.
“You like boxing too, everyone at the gym does.” You mutter, focused on flipping the pork belly.
Soonyoung shakes his head, “Yeah, but you’re on the sidelines. Most of us are just dudes who like to punch.” He explains, “Sure, some guys are more involved, with knowing more technical things. But you’re boxing. Does that make sense?”
You stare at him in confusion, straightening up as you put the tongs down. “I have no clue what you’re saying. Are you saying I’m the sport? Boxing?”
He smiles as he picks up a piece of pork belly, popping it into his mouth.
“Don’t worry, you’ll understand one day.” He chimes, like he just graced you with profound words. The words themselves feel like deja vu.
“That’s not even done cooking!”
Another month passes, and you realize Soonyoung basically became your summer. Training never seemed to end. One day, you found yourself rooting your feet down into the floor, looking at him with slight hesitation.
Asking something simple like: Hey, you want to get ice cream? You know — because you finished your roadwork!
And it wasn’t a surprise when Soonyoung dominated the amateur boxing tournament, while you watched from between the boxing ring’s ropes. As much as you and fellow boxers at the gym teased him, the hard work was finally pouring out of Soonyoung’s fists.
Throwing the final punch, your eyes widen as you watch Soonyoung throw his arms up in victory, a stupid grin on his face. The bell rings as his opponent fails to get up after the count, another KO for him.
You don’t fail to push yourself up onto the ring, slipping through the ropes to reach Soonyoung, your father following in suit. Your father laughing heartily as he pulls Soonyoung into a bear hug, Soonyoung wincing but straining a smile with the mouth guard threatening to pop out of his mouth.
“Okay, tiger! Winning your first tournament — food on me, eh?” Your dad boasts, patting Soonyoung’s back hard enough to make him stumble over a bit.
But you’re there to catch him. A small smile on your face as the referee hands Soonyoung a championship belt. An amateur one — but one of the many he was gonna collect in his career.
“Good job.” You breathe, as he forces his muscles to hold onto the belt.
And in that moment, he looks at you. Like really looks at you, sweat dripping down his face, wiping his bloody nose with one arm.
Hurting all over, already feeling the throbbing of his face, where a black eye and busted lip was inevitable. He felt like it took his whole body to take deep breaths to fill up his lungs. But in the haze, the bright lights, his eyes narrowed in on you, your face coming into focus.
And he couldn’t do anything but feel at ease.
Amateur tournament after another, Soonyoung was making a name for himself. KOs, WPs, Soonyoung was keeping up a winning streak. This followed into the next few years, where your father had him get his professional license, after making a name in the amateur tournaments.
And around your twenty-second birthday, your father clinks his beer with yours.
“You know, Soonyoung may be training under my name,” He starts gruffly, “But he’s basically yours. I’ll admit that.” He points out, taking a swig of his beer.
You shake your head, joining your father by taking a sip of your beer as well. “No, you come up with his strategies during matches and his training regime.”
“Yeah, and who holds him up to it?” He smiles, “Thanks, buddy.” He laughs, moving in to mess your hair up, and even with your dramatic, annoyed look, your heart swells inside.
He sighs, taking another sip as he leans his elbows on his knees. “I know I’ve been gone a lot. Seungcheol’s been moving up —“
“And for good reason.” You tack on. Choi Seungcheol, your father’s favorite fighter under him, was taking championships left and right, making his way up in the IBF, and became the current IBF middleweight belt holder. “Oppa’s basically my brother at this point, the way you’ve raised him.” You chime with a smile.
Your father doesn’t dispute it, “Yeah, and then we’re looking into the WBA too. After this title defense, I’ll bring it up to him. It seems like his dream of holding multiple belts isn’t so stupid anymore.”
The way your father talks about Seungcheol’s future was something else. The way his eyes light up, and how he doesn’t care for the beer spilling from swinging his arms around talking about it, you can’t help but laugh.
You shake your head, sipping on your own beer. Your head might as well be in the clouds, too.
Could Soonyoung do that? Be as successful as Seungcheol?
You can’t help but feel your heart beat with the possibility of it.
“We’ll be gone for a month.” Your father points out, “Little retreat to train. Think it’d be good for his head to travel a bit, do his thing other than here.” He glances over at you, pointing his beer bottle towards your face.
“I need you to look over Soonyoung —“ you make a move to say that’s what you always do, but your father cuts you off, “— ah! Ah! I know. Like always. But this is his first pro match.” He says, his tone turning stern.
You close your mouth with a sip of your beer. Right. After getting the pro license with your father’s approval, Soonyoung’s been bouncing off walls waiting for a real pro match. Waiting almost every day for your father’s approval for a real match, not another small-time tournament. And this time, he finally has one scheduled near the end of your father’s trip.
“I should be here,” He sighs, “But, honestly, something tells me he won’t miss me that much.”
You scoff, “You should still be here anyway, it’s an important match for him.” You point out, a little bummed about it. Sure, your father was always gonna focus on Seungcheol’s career. But Soonyoung was from his gym too.
You lean back against the wall, holding the beer to your chest as you look over at your dad. Staring at the back of his head, his hair was starting to resemble salt and pepper.
“I know buddy, I know.” He says as he takes another swig. He looks over his shoulder, flashing you a smile. “The kid has you. That’s more than enough for him.”
You scoff, bringing a knee to your chest. Shaking your head, “It’s not the same.” You mutter, but your face softens. “But you have nothing to worry about. I’ll keep him in check like always.”
“Thanks buddy.”
And you aim to follow through with that. But you feel your patience start to run thin, as you open your door to Soonyoung a couple of days later.
Swinging it open after incessant knocks, he stands outside with his baggy hoodie on. Hiding his face under the hood, only illuminated by the light peeking from your house.
You take a breath, ready to berate him for whatever the problem is. Until well… he shrugs the hood off.
“It’s late, why are you here? I have you scheduled to do your roadwork at —“
Your voice fails you when you look up at him.
Stripes of yellow, orange, and what — green? Decorate strands of Soonyoung’s hair, as he lulls it down in embarrassment.
“I wanted a new look,” He starts, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “You know, before the pro match and the magazine reporter coming in this week.”
“Right, and is this the new look you wanted?” You say wide-eyed, watching him peek through his stringy bangs. “You look like a melted box of crayons a kid leaves outside.”
He stands there for a moment. Not even bothering to fight back as he accepts it, “I thought doing my hair would be easier.”
You shake your head, “Yeah, with what?” You say in awe, as you move out of the way to let him in, not missing the chance to trip him slightly with your foot coming in. “Did you use battery acid?”
He stumbles, only huffing in discontentment. He needed your help after all, he was gonna hold back his tongue until he didn’t look like, well… this.
He slips his shoes off, used to visiting your family’s house, as he places them next to the shoe rack.
“Well, I just wanted my pro debut to be cool!” He starts off, turning to face you, where he’s met with your amused eyes. You had to flip the main room’s light switch on right now, just to see the full array of colors on his head.
He runs his hands through his stringy, damp hair, “My noona had a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, so I just, you know! Did it!” He starts to explain, following you through the house to the bathroom.
His footsteps pattering behind you, “I was reading the new Dragon Ball while I waited, and then it started burning randomly? Like, my scalp was on fire, so I washed it, and then it was uneven! So I did another round, but I accidentally fell asleep while cuddling with Latte, and when I woke up, it was stiff straight! and so I washed it…”
Of course.
You let out the most tired, not-surprised-but-disappointed sigh you could muster.
Thank god you knew where your father put everything, as you grab the clippers behind the cupboard. Taking out a few guards and throwing them in the sink.
“Come on,” You start, making Soonyoung sit on the toilet cover as you browse through the different clipper guards, trying to figure out what length Soonyoung should go for. You take a glance over your shoulder to reassess the damage, before you had to bite down on your lip not to laugh.
He had to go short, no question.
You pick up the 16 guard. “Why come to me?” You ask, clicking it into the clippers.
He blinks. “Who else?”
You pause for a moment, “I don’t know. Like, Jihoon? Hell, your mom?” You list out, just trying to find an answer as you focus on the clippers.
“Jihoon would shut the door in my face. And eomma is sleeping, I don’t wanna wake her.” He explains, as he shifts on the toilet cover. He winces, “Besides, I can’t touch my hair anymore.” Pouting, “I’m scared, you do it.”
You plug the clippers into the socket next to the mirror. “Right, lean your head forward.” You start, “Also, how would you know I wouldn’t shut the door in your face?” You ask, as you gingerly hold the side of Soonyoung’s head to steady him.
You start buzzing away at his hair, a slow stripe down on the side. “I was kind of scared you would, honestly.” He admits, “But I would knock again. You would’ve helped me no matter what.”
He watches as his hair falls to the tiled bathroom floor, nudging it with his foot.
You roll your eyes as you pull back the clippers to check the length. “Shut up. I just don’t want you to embarrass the gym with hair like this.”
But there was some truth to Soonyoung’s words. Have you gotten a little soft over the years? Sure, you will always run his training like the Navy. But when it came to outside the gym — maybe there was something different there.
You fold Soonyoung's ear slightly, getting the clippers as close as you can behind his ear. “By the way, you’re sweeping all your hair after.” You add on as more hair floats to the ground.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He sighs, before a yawn follows. You push down Soonyoung’s head, getting to the nape of his neck.
You turn the clippers off, the buzzing returning the quiet silence of the room, as you put the device down on the edge of the counter.
It’s just your breathing and his, as you simply dust off his cut hair from his shoulders and the side of his neck. His eyes are on you as you make that familiar face of focus, cleaning him up. Only squinting when you brush stray hair out of his face. Fluttering his lashes as he avoids the shaved hair, but not fully closing them. He needed to look at you.
It was weird to him that you were quiet, all soft touches and careful checking of his new haircut. How you tilted his chin to make sure everything was cut off and at the right length. He liked that about you. Under the initial berating and disapproval, when it came to helping out, you always did genuinely.
“Do you think I can stay over?” He asks, looking up at you hopefully as you dust your hands against your pajama pants.
“Stay over? Why?” You question. It’s not the first time Soonyoung has crashed. Your father always invited his boxers to the house before, and offered them dinner and a night’s sleep. But he wasn’t here.
He shrugs, “It’s late now, and…” He yawns again, “I’m tired. I’ll sweep and everything and even make some instant ramen.”
You raise your brow, “You mean make instant ramen from my pantry?” You correct, gaining a sheepish grin from him.
Shaking your head, you grab the unplugged clippers. Returning them to the cupboard, shutting it closed. “No, we don’t need to risk your weigh-in soon. You can stay, but that just means the second you wake up, we’re starting your roadwork here all the way to the gym, alright?”
“Yes ma’am.” He muses, standing up with a stretch. “Let me get the broom.” He adds on, moving past you. Using the side of your waist to squeeze behind you, disappearing past the door frame. Already knowing where the dust pan and broom were located in the familiar home.
It’s like autopilot, as you set up the living room for Soonyoung. Pulling out the couch into a mattress, grabbing the blankets from the storage closet, as soft music plays from the old stereo on the coffee table.
It’s not long until Soonyoung comes shuffling in, putting the broom back after cleaning. You’ll check that bathroom in the morning to see if he properly cleaned it.
“It’s really a bummer coach isn’t here,” He mutters, running a hand through his now short hair.
“I know. Sorry about that,” You sigh, straightening up as you finish the sleeping arrangements. “We talked about it. It’s the only time right now in the schedule they can do their little trip.”
You look up at Soonyoung, a frown present on your face. “Does it bother you that much?”
He shakes his head, walking up closer to you, “No, no. It’s okay. Hyung was always his favorite. Besides — He’s doing crazy things. Like, reaching the top of his weight class in the IBF? Fuck, I wish.” He muses, calming your concern. He pushes your arm affectionately, “Besides, you’re here.”
“Yeah, lucky you.” You say dryly, not missing the chance to poke Soonyoung between the eyes.
He hums, “Yeah, lucky me.”
You don’t catch the way his eyes stay on you for a bit longer than normal. He flickers his gaze away, taking a sharp inhale. “I mean, what about you? Like,” He starts as he pushes his hands along his knees. “Seems like you want coach here pretty badly.”
You frown, “Yeah, well, this is important to you.”
He cracks a smile, “It is.” He nods. “But it’s important to you too, I think.”
You swallow down the uneasiness in your throat.
The last few weeks have been quite easy. Keeping Soonyoung on track with his regimen, you even kept the gym running smoothly with the help of other boxers who were between matches. Nothing was wildly out of place. But you guess, if anyone could tell you were on edge. It’d be Soonyoung.
You sigh, sitting down on the plush couch. Soonyoung follows, the cushions under him dipping from his weight next to you. “He should be here,” you state quietly, “For you, obviously. It’s your first pro match.” You tense, “But also, my first time handling such a big responsibility.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. ‘Like,” You start, tilting your chin down until your head is facing the floor, “Am I saying all the right things while he’s gone? Did I miss anything at all with your training? And if I’m good, if I did everything right –” you turn to Soonyoung, “— Shouldn’t he be here? To say good job?”
He’s a little wide-eyed when you turn to him for advice. Despite him asking you how you felt, a little bit of him is surprised you actually did confide in him. Just even a little bit.
You narrow your eyes, maybe you shouldn’t have told him — “Wait, wait, no, hold on.” He starts, holding up his hands in defense, before looking for your hands. Gripping them in his calloused ones. “You’re right, he should be here.” He nods, agreeing with you.
He squeezes your hands as he furrows his brows in concentration. “And you are doing a good job.” He claims, “I don’t know how you could do any better!”
“The whole gym trusts you. I trust you. Coach — your dad — trusts you.” He says, each person mentioned with a pull of your hands. “And you know what?” He clears his throat.
“What’s one winning match out of a million?” He points out, “I’ll win, and I’ll win the next one too. He’s not missing anything, right?”
You bite down on your lip. Yeah, he’s right. “So you’re confident then?” You question, looking up at Soonyoung.
He nods, brows knitted with his lower lip jutting out in a confident pout. “In winning? Of course, with your demon training, who wouldn’t be?” He reasons. “Your dad will be proud of you no matter what. I’ll make sure of that.”
And Soonyoung kept his promise, after a few mistakes and a break where you shook him by the shoulders in the corner — DO YOU WANT TO WIN OR NOT KWON? you screamed, as your stand-in cornerman dabbed his forehead — one well-placed punch to the chin knocks out Soonyoung’s opponent, resulting in a KO.
This was only the start of Soonyoung’s rise. When your father and Seungcheol returned, you got a simple pat on the back. But that was okay, you thought, as you watched Soonyoung grin at the reporter taking his interview.
“Kwon Soonyoung, rising talent in the Korean pro boxing scene,” He begins, writing down in his notepad. “From your fights, it seems like you have a good handling on stamina and technique. But there's the problem with your impulsivity and your flashy gimmicks.”
Your eye twitches just remembering how he tried to show off flashy footwork in the first round. His idiocy was rewarded with a straight jab to the nose just for playing around too much.
He laughs, “Heh, well. I can’t help it. That’s just how I am.” He grins, but stops immediately. Suddenly turning serious as he leans forward. “It’s the tiger inside me, you know?”
“Tiger?”
You couldn’t take it anymore. You turn on your heel, deciding to go bother Seungcheol, currently sitting on a bench. Retightening the gauze around his hands.
He glances up, flashing you a polite, casual smile, his dimples on display.
“Ah, Soonyoung’s getting another interview, huh?” He starts. You can’t help but nod, crossing your arms as you watch the older boxer (only by a few years!) get ready. “He’s been talking to a lot of interviewers and magazines lately.”
Sighing, you sit down next to Seungcheol. “Yeah, trying to get a tiger agenda out too.” You huff, “Coach promised Soonyoung tiger print shorts if he wins his next two bouts.” Seungcheol laughs heartily at that, shaking his head as he straightens up next to you.
“He’s got promise though,” Seungcheol shrugs. He nudges your shoulder lightly, “He always had it. That’s why coach even accepted him in the first place,” He admits, “But it’s mostly because of you.”
“Me?” You question, turning to look at Seungcheol.
He nods, raising his thick brows. “Mhm, you. You know how to manipulate that guy’s crazy amount of energy into something productive.” You guys both look up. Seeing Soonyoung pose, raising his hands into claws. Baring his teeth as the flash of the camera goes off.
“It’s good for you too.” He adds, “You unload all your stress on that guy. God, I still remember finding Soonyoung after you made him do laps around the neighborhood until you felt like it. It felt like I was returning a fish back into the water when I gave him something to drink.”
You smile at that. Right, you did that once.
Soonyoung does another pose, this time throwing an upside down peace sign at the camera with his chin tilted up. Flash. “Yeah,” You mutter. “I’m still uneasy though. His next match is in two months, against this really strong infighter. We’re gonna have to work on his counterpunches, this guy’s known for cutting off the ring. We’ll have to —”
Seungcheol pats your shoulder, “And it’ll be fine, y/n. I don’t think I’ve ever seen coach reject the schedules you make for Soonyoung.”
“Hoshi!” Soonyoung yells out, making both you and Seungcheol perk your heads up. “My name from now on – Hoshi. Horangi and Shiseon: Hoshi! Cool right?” He beams, announcing his new stage name to the reporter and to everyone else in the gym.
You stand up from the bench, “Yah! Now who said you can just decide that?!”
Unfortunately, the name plagued the next few posters across town and in the newspapers. Hoshi vs. whoever-was-unlucky-enough. And despite your worries about this fight, Soonyoung wins it with a KO in the 2nd round, after his opponent runs into a timed counter punch, that you swear, made his head spin 360 degrees.
He was making a name for himself with his flashy blonde hair, tiger shorts, and taunting. Sure, you knew this came with proboxing, the more matches Soonyoung won, the more the spotlight increased.
Brand deals? Suddenly, Soonyoung was the face of an energy drink brand that you don’t even permit him to drink. Being stopped in the street? That only happened once – but still, it was enough to inflate his head for a few weeks.
Not to mention the women as well. You saw many girls around the gym before, especially for Seungcheol. And it was starting to develop with Soonyoung as well.
You remember the first time it started to happen, as he walked into the gym with proud hickeys on his neck. Or when he offhandedly talked about a girl he was going on a date later. If there was one thing, Soonyoung was wielding this new attention well.
And while the money wasn’t that impressive yet, it grew the more matches were held. And in Soonyoung fashion, he would show up the next day in new jewelry. A pair of expensive dunks the next week, and skipping the line to exclusive places a month later. Like the club.
You sour, seeing Soonyoung begging on his knees as you spray clean the bench from god knows how many sweaty butts.
“Please – just one night. It’s to celebrate the match I just won last week!” He says, rubbing his hands together in a plead. “My black eye is basically gone, and my ribs feels better –”
“But, they won’t heal as fast if you get black out drunk, Soonyoung.” You say plainly. Soonyoung’s been partying and clubbing more, which you don’t bother bringing up. If he came back to practice on time the next day, you had nothing to complain about. At least, in a way that didn’t come off as personal. But this time it was different.
He took a bit of a beating in that last bout, Soonyoung taking a sharp punch in the ribs when he angled his initial dodge wrong. His diagnosis was to rest for a few weeks, which you wanted to honor.
He pouts, moving to bunch up the hem of the large jersey you were wearing in his hands. “Y/n, but listen! I’m just going to go dance. And not even that hard. Maybe just some fist pumping? And at most, a beer. What’s wrong with a beer?”
You warily look at him, observing his busted lip that was already healing with a small slit, the dotted brusing around his eyebrow. You push your fingers into the side of his torso.
“Ow! Shit – what the hell?!”
“You’re not going.” You say immediately, as he shoots his hand up to where you poked him. He definitely was still bruised bad if he flinched like that.
Soonyoung huffs, pushing himself back up onto his feet. “Please? I promised Jihoon. It’s his birthday,” He reasons, “I can’t leave my best friend to celebrate by himself. Who does that? Don’t you remember how many soju bottles he served us for free back then?” He complains, making you shake your head.
“The soju bottles only you drank?” You ask with raised brows, “Of course I do.” You sigh, as you push your hair back with one hand. “You need to be resting though, Kwon.”
He frowns, before stepping closer, daring to grab your shoulders. “Please?” He asks, “Ah – hold on,” He starts, eyes lighting up. “Come. You should come!”
“Absolutely not.” You shoot down immediately, that it makes Soonyoung wince from how straightforward you are.
“Why not? We can get free drinks, since I’m kinda famous now. Last time I was there, they got me a whole bottle on the house.” He claims, “And when was the last time you went out? Like, truly out?”
He leans closer, squeezing your shoulders. “We’re only twenty-four, what's your twenties without partying?” He asks, making you groan immediately.
There he goes again, reminding you of the inevitability of growing old.
You feel your blood boil a bit with annoyance, as Soonyoung continues to blabber pros of going, not letting go of your shoulders as he shakes you around. You stop him, grabbing onto the side of his arms.
“Okay, fine. Only because it’s Jihoon’s birthday.” You give in, “And I’m watching you. No crazy drinks or dancing. If I see you try and do a backflip like that one time — “
“Yay! We’re going to the club!” He beams, pulling you into a tight embrace, making you squeal as he lifts you off the ground.
“Put me down! Don’t strain yourself!” You scold, jumping out of his hold. A small pout on his lips, as he reluctantly lets go.
The club is as loud and dark as you remember, not bothering to dress up for it. All you did was change out of the normal athletic clothing you wore as a trainer (you were an official one now, thanks to your father’s acknowledgement), into a simple ringer tee and jeans, feeling a little awkward standing next to Soonyoung. Proudly wearing his designer shirt he spent too much of his money on.
You follow him, as he stops every few seconds to greet someone you don’t know. Laughing and shaking hands like they’re lifelong friends, navigating the nightlife like it was second nature to him on your way to the bar.
“Two waters please –”
“Make one a whiskey on rocks.” You chime in over Soonyoung, making him snap his head at you in betrayal.
“A whiskey on rocks?”
You shrug, “I said you couldn’t drink. Doesn’t mean I can’t.” You answer, cracking a smile at Soonyoung’s offended frown. You grab the glass of whiskey slid to you, as Soonyoung weakly takes a sip of his water.
In the club lights, you can’t help but study Soonyoung. He really was starting to change, the way his face isn’t as full as you remember as high schoolers.
His eyes were sharper now, with some eyeliner he stole from his noona, his bleached blond hair gelled up into tiny spikes. His ears were littered with ear piercings he got during the rest period he had last year. In a tight expensive brand top accentuating his muscles, and a golden chain decorating his neck, he wasn’t the fresh-faced boy you once knew.
He sets the cup down, looking over at you. “Can I have a sip though?”
You nod, “Yeah, fine. Here,” You relent, holding out the glass for a happy Soonyoung to take a sip.
Handing it back to you, he looks out across the crowd, his eyes dancing already with excitement at the moving bodies in the crowd.
You sip your drink leisurely, “Come on, I can’t wait anymore!” Soonyoung exclaims, “Jihoon can find us. Screw it!”
You have to knock your drink back to not waste a single sip as Soonyoung pulls you into the crowd, as you barely manage to throw the glass back onto the counter.
Finally in the middle of the lively crowd, you can’t help but cling to Soonyoung, the bodies around you warm and sticky with sweat. Music pounding hard, you feel the bass bumping in your legs from the vibrating floor.
“Come on! Dance!” You hear faintly, knowing it’s Soonyoung trying to yell over the loud music.
And you try to follow, nodding your head to the loud techno, still not ready from being pulled in so suddenly. You can only hear a groan from Soonyoung, before you feel him entwining his fingers with yours. “Come on, don’t worry. Follow!”
He holds your hands out, raising them with a grin, as he starts moving both of you to the beat. Jumping along, pumping your arms to the instrumental music with Soonyoung’s help. Until you felt comfortable enough, unhooking your hands from his, starting to follow the current music with the sway of your hips.
He nods in approval, smiling as he watches you get looser, following you by getting closer, his own body thumping and moving to the beat. He leans into your ear, “Not that bad, huh?”
You can’t help the small smile crawling onto your lips. Maybe it was how the whiskey was warming your body, or how the bass infiltrates your senses, but you could understand why. Why Soonyoung liked this. He notices, only smiling widely, as he dances with you. Keeping you close, as one hand moves to your waist to stay in his eyesight.
It feels intimate, despite the loud music and the many bodies around you, it was like the music was flowing through both of you. Turning into dull background noise as it quiets the more you stare into Soonyoung’s eyes. First, focused on yours, before you find them drifting to your lips.
You don’t even know how it escalates, feeling an invisible pull towards Soonyoung, his hand resting on the side of your waist as you come closer, before your noses brush.
Then you’re there. Lips against his, warm and soft, as he takes your top lip gently. It’s not long, the way you both pull back slightly. Feeling his warm breath against your lips as you lean forward to connect small chaste kisses before – wait —
Are you kissing Soonyoung?
You pull away, eyes wide. Soonyoung himself, fluttering his eyes open at the sudden disappearance of your lips.
Your mouth goes dry, the lingering feeling of his lips on yours making your cheeks burn bright in the dark club, as you swallow down your throat hard. “Y/n?” He questions, eyes widening as he sees you freeze up.
And you do freeze up. Taking a small step away from him, as he looks at you puzzled. Searching your face for an answer as he gingerly lets go of your side, giving you space.
“Um, sorry,” You say, shaking your head in an attempt to shake yourself out of it. “I just —“
You can’t be here right now.
“Say happy birthday to Jihoon for me.”
“What? Y/n —“
You follow your feet mindlessly, your mind overwhelmed by the loud sound of your pounding heart. Escaping Soonyoung’s questions as you weave through the crowd of drunk dancers until you find a semblance of peace around you.
You didn’t find that feeling of peace for a while.
Especially the next few weeks, as the energy between you and Soonyoung started to twist into something you can’t even describe.
He tried to talk to you the next day when it happened, but you stayed quiet all morning. Going through the normal routine of conditioning, as he stared at you like you had a third eye.
It wasn’t until you were putting your hands through the mitts for his padwork, that he finally spoke up again. “Y/n,” He begins softly, walking a few steps to stand in front of you. Your eyes focused on tightening the velcro around your wrist so they don’t slip off.
“We should talk, it seems like —“
“Kwon,” You start, jaw tense as you glance up at him. Fuck, why did he have to look like that? Like he cares about your wellbeing?
“It’s fine, seriously,” You shoot down, “Lets just get back to practice. We only have a week to sort out the kinks in the strategy, so lets focus on your combos.”
He frowns, “That again. Can you stop deflecting?” He asks, annoyance rising in his tone. “I’m trying to talk to you, and all you’re talking about is boxing.”
Scoffing, you cross your arms. “We’re in the middle of training, Kwon. I thought you wanted to box?”
“Not like this,” He says tightly, ripping his own gloves off, “Not when you’re being a bitch.”
Now wait a fucking second.
Even though everyone else practicing in the gym was minding their own business, doing their drills or talking amongst themselves, the sound of Soonyoung calling you a bitch rang loud enough to stop everyone. The thumping of punching bags die down, conversations stop, as everyone turns to the boxing ring you both currently were in.
Like a play on stage, everyone looks at both of you.
“Bitch?” You repeat, your voice low.
He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes, a bitch. You’re being a bitch.”
You could probably hear a pin drop if you tried. The loud boxers around not even bothering to make a sound to disturb this commotion.
The only one daring, was your father, who comes out of his office with no clue of the stand down. Closing the door behind him, before his eyes shoot up to the middle of the boxing ring. Already feeling the tension in the gym, like lightning cracking through.
You let out a loud, humourless laugh. Taking the punching mitts off without breaking eye contact with Soonyoung, throwing them to the floor. “You crazy, stupid idiot — “ You start, clenching your fists, eyes wide, “ — I’ll clean out your fucking mouth with soap!”
Thank god for the trained boxers at the gym, because the second you lunge for Soonyoung, everyone else immediately sprung into action. Fighters immediately pulling into the ring, an arm around your waist, another pulling your arm back, and two more holding your flailing legs.
Soonyoung is being held back too, despite everyone knowing he’d never lay a hand on you. But he’s willing to taunt, his eyes also wide with anger, as two people hold him back by his arms.
“Yeah? Try it I dare you! Might as well, since you’re acting like nothing happened — wheres your stupid can of Lysol?”Oh, so he’s even going after your favorite cleaning product? Unbelievable!
You scream, almost deafening everyone holding you back. “Fuck you Kwon Soonyoung! You spoiled piece of shit!” You screech, straining against many arms.
“Fuck you, Y/n! Hurry up and do it!” He yells back, jerking against the hold against him as well.
“Whoa, whoa!” Your father bellows loudly, coming between the both of you. His face tense and shocked by the display you and Soonyoung created.
His loud voices does still both of you, as you stop struggling against the boxers holding you back. Letting them carefully set you back down, as you rip your arms out of anyone’s grip.
Soonyoung is let go too, as he throws daggers at you with his stare, jaw tight.
“What is going on?” Your father demands sternly, his voice loud and low, as he glances at both of you. When you finally make eye contact with your father, you can’t help but shrink.
He was mad. Like, mad mad. Something you haven’t seen in a while, other than a couple years ago when one of the fighters at your gym confessed to cheating in a match once.
You take a deep breath, “He called me a bitch.” You spit out, your voice a little shaky with hurt.
Regret flashes through Soonyoung’s eyes at the tremble of your voice.
“Kwon Soonyoung, apologize.” He orders roughly, “Thats not how you speak to y/n, no matter what happened.” He says, walking up to Soonyoung, towering over him. “Go. Apologize.” He doubles down.
Soonyoung swallows his pride down, but listens anyways. “I’m sorry,”
Your father nods, but his face doesn’t soften. He looks towards you, “Y/n, what happened? Tell me.”
Your own mouth goes dry. You glance around, seeing the amount of people really invested in the current scene. Many boxers listening and watching intently, before your father realizes your discomfort.
He claps his hands, “Everyone! Get back to what you’re doing!” He yells out, his voice reaching every corner of the gym. People immediately turning around to continue their drills at the command.
He looks back at you, “Buddy, you gotta tell me.” He starts, “So I know what to do with both of you.”
You bite down on your tongue. How could you tell your dad, hey, I kissed Soonyoung at the club, got extremely freaked out and ditched him by himself without warning? Answer is — you can’t.
“Y/n, you have to tell —“
“It’s my fault.” Soonyoung speaks up, both you and your father looking over at him. He scoffs, running his hand through his short hair. “It’s my fault, I thought there was something, but there wasn’t. I’m the idiot, so it’s my fault.”
Your heart drops.
Your father creases his brows, a frown on his face as he hears Soonyoung’s explanation. “Okay,” He starts, “I have no clue what the hell that means.”
“Either way, your next match is in two weeks. No more fighting, or I’ll kill both of you.”
Soonyoung’s next match was still another win for him, not breaking his winning streak. But it was different from his past ones. The whole prep from the locker room to the match, Soonyoung ignored you. Only listening to your father’s insight, as you faded back as just a cornerman.
At first it was looking grim — the first round, Soonyoung took a few hard hits immediately. Only being able to defend as the opponent does an onslaught of combos, trying to find a crack in Soonyoung’s defense.
And he broke his block at one point, landing a hit on Soonyoung’s cheek. It was enough for you to grip the towel in your hand tightly until your knuckles turned white.
Even when you went to put ointment on a cut on Soonyoung’s face, he jerks his head away from your touch. Only challenging you with his sharp eyes, as you attempt to do it again. Focused on just smothering the open cut with the ointment.
“Don’t worry,” He breathes, “I’m winning again.” He says, and that softens the nerves just slightly in you. “So stop looking so scared.” He adds on coldly, shrugging you off as the bell rings.
And in the end, Soonyoung prevailed. His speed finding its foot and rhythm in the ring, as he dodged all major attacks, finding times to do quick sharp jabs. The multiple well aimed sharp jabs caused a quick KO, after a failed ten count.
It was this insufferable for the next few months. Sure, you were still in charge of his training, but any semblance of friendliness halted the day you made the mistake of going to the club with Soonyoung.
He’d work out, go through drills with you, and listened to your instructions during spars. But right after training ends, he was out the gym like it was an office job.
He started going out a lot more too, just from the sightings you see in the magazines. The famous Hoshi “Tiger” Kwon, out at clubs, partying with girls and rappers.
It didn’t help your resentment either, that when he would show up hangover, or late to training, he still did well in matches. Except now, instead of to make you happy, it was to spite you. To prove he could win any match now without your real help.
It was infuriating, and even more, you still couldn’t wrap your head around the jumbled feelings in your gut.
You’ve known Soonyoung for years now — and yet this was really the first time he truly felt far away. Out of reach, with his eyes focused on his career, you were just there.
After having 5 pro matches, your father deemed it was time. Time to test of Soonyoung had what it take to aim higher, as he finally entertained the many match invitations from other gyms.
HOSHI vs. JEON WONWOO
You stare at the poster glued haphazardly on the wall, stilling you on your walk as you stare at it. Soonyoung’s flashy pose with his rebellious looking persona, contrasting with the man next to him. Tall and calm, arms crossed as he pushes a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Jeon Wonwoo, you’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t? Anyone who kept up with the latest boxing magazines knew who he was, and even rumored to become one of the many candidates for the national olympic boxing team. It was definitely a high profile fight, one Soonyoung’s been chasing since forever.
And it stressed you out immensely. While your father was doing a lot to train Soonyoung this time, you can’t help but need to research. Hell, as much as you could kill Soonyoung with your bare hands, he needed to win this fight.
“I’m gonna go and —“
“Yeah, whatever.” Soonyoung cuts you off, as he throws a punch at the punching bag, drowning you out with thuds of his fists.
You tense your jaw, “Okay.” You sigh, “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Finish your drills by then.” You say tightly, before making sure your bag is securely under your arm. Stomping out the gym with a huff.
You had to take the train all the way to Jeon Wonwoo’s gym. It was a little farther away by transit, but this was important. And the transit time on the train gave you time to draw Soonyoung on the notepad you brought, letting out your frustration with shitty doodles of him being set on fire.
FUCK KWON SOONYOUNG !!! — you scribbled this until the ink started bleeding into the next sheet.
A boxing reporter you were acquainted with let you know that a practice spar was happening today. And they were right, as you step into the boxing gym. Attempting to blend in with other journalists as the practice spar is being set up, you hold your notepad timidly in your arms. Jeon Wonwoo in the corner as his coach speaks to him.
Looking at him, he didn’t seem much. He was tall with broad shoulders, with a calm face, as he takes his glasses off and hands them over to his coach. Seems like he doesn’t fight with them on. Not really note taking worthy information, but you write it down anyways.
While maybe outside of the ring he seemed normal, when he finally takes a step towards the middle to start, the room felt colder.
He was calm, calculated, as he readies his fists. Well-mannered as they begin the spar with a simple acknowledgment of boxing gloves tapping each other, before getting into stance. Just a regular orthodox stance so far.
What happens next makes your pen stop, as you watch the spar play out. Despite his tall frame, Wonwoo was light on his feet. His eyes calm and focused as he dodges and dances around his sparring partner.
There was also the fact that his reach was long. No matter how far you thought the opponent threw Wonwoo off, his glove always made contact no matter what.
And when the spar ends with Wonwoo’s obvious win, you can’t help but feel a sense of dread in your stomach. Jeon Wonwoo was gonna be a tough one for Soonyoung.
You sigh, deciding you’ve seen enough as Wonwoo leaves the ring to speak to some reporters. Ready to turn on your heel, you hear your name.
“L/n y/n, right?” A deep voice calls out, making you stiffen. You turn around in slight confusion, locking eyes with the sharp-eyed man.
Well, he knows who you are. Too late now.
You walk up to him and his coach, as he dries his sweat with one towel. But his eyes focused on you like a hawk, as you nod.
“Hi, nice to meet you. Surprised you can see that far without your glasses on.” You decide to say.
He waves his coach off, leaving you both alone in the conversation. He cracks a smile, as he wipes his glasses with the towel before putting them back on his slim nose. “Hm, yeah. Well, how could I not notice you?”
You narrow your eyes, “What do you mean?”
He shrugs as he throws the towel back onto the bench. Taking a step closer to you, his hands on his hips. “You’re from the Pledis Gym. Specifically, you train Kwon Soonyoung.” He explains, flickering his eyes around your face. “I’m a fan of your work.”
“Work?” You question.
“Your work.” He reiterates, as he glances at your notepad. He doesn’t even ask before he nabs it from your hand. “I heard you’ve been training Kwon Soonyoung since high school. It’s impressive.”
You blink, not even noticing the theft of your notepad, “What — hey!” You start, but he holds it away from you. Flipping through your notes. You shake your head, “He’s actually under Coach l/n,” You correct, “I’m just second —“
“Hm, no. You train Kwon Soonyoung.” Wonwoo interrupts plainly, looking you up and down. “No need for technicalities. He’s yours.”
Wonwoo continues, “I’ve studied Choi Seungcheol, and all the other fighters under your father. He has a specific style, Kwon Soonyoung doesn’t operate like that.” He points out.
That was true, your father tended to flock to certain boxing styles. Soonyoung’s style of boxing was a lot different than Seungcheol’s, or any other boxer he mainly trained himself.
Soonyoung’s skills were nurtured with your utmost attention, ever since you met in high school. You took what he was good at and amplified it. Engaging in strategies you built Soonyoung to adapt to easily, all tailored to fit him perfectly. Every match suited to destroy whoever he was going against with small different adjustments. When it came to your father, he trusted in the skill of his boxers. But you always took in account the opponent’s abilities.
“You’re good. Honestly, underutilized.” He admits, “You’re barely mentioned in interviews. I learned your name in a pretty old one.”
Yeah, because Soonyoung hates me now. You shake your head, “Thanks for the praise, but I don’t do anything special.”
He chuckles, “That’s what you believe? That you don’t do anything special?” He asks, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “These notes say otherwise.”
“I had no idea I had such a fan.” You say dryly, Wonwoo’s praises getting tiring. What was he getting at?
“Really? Anyone who cares about the current scene has talked about you.” He informs, making you even more perplexed. “Up and coming trainer, inheriting your talent from your dad. It’s admirable.“
“You’re pulling my leg.” You respond fast. You? Talked about? That was hard to wrap your head around.
As much as you threw yourself into the boxing gym, you never perceived your presence in it at all. You’ve been helping out at matches with your father since you graduated high school, being there during some Seungcheol matches, and all there for Soonyoung.
You always ignored reporters when they turn to you, always redirecting them back to Soonyoung. And you kept to yourself, only talking to the nearest people around you. When you think about it, you never really thought of your reputation now as an adult. You weren’t just a little girl following her dad anymore.
Wonwoo shakes his head, “No, I’m not.” He says matter-of-factly, “Maybe if you weren’t always hiding behind your father and Kwon Soonyoung’s shadow you’d see it.”
“Excuse me?”
Wonwoo smiles politely, shaking his head, “I don’t mean to insult you. I think, if you took your talents to another gym, your effort would stand out.”
“I mean,” Wonwoo sighs, taking a leisurely step towards you. Looking down from his tall frame. “When was the last time Kwon Soonyoung mentioned you in those magazine interviews?”
Ah, so he noticed.
He then chuckles at a page, before handing the notepad back to you. “Nice drawings by the way. Can you do one where he’s eaten by sharks?”
His words stuck with you when you get back to the gym.
Your bag heavy with Wonwoo’s question, and with notes of his skill during the spar. Soonyoung was done with his drills as you expected, as you walk in on him gulping down water.
He shakes his head, his sweat flinging into you as you grimace in disgust. “Kwon — what are you a dog?” You scold with annoyance, as he sets his water bottle down.
He doesn’t respond, just glancing at you up and down before looking away.
“Finished the drills.” He says simply, “What now?”
You sigh, rummaging through your bag as you take out the yellow notepad of hurried notes, settling it against your arm. Soonyoung leaning over to look at the notepad upside down. “Ugh, you write like its a doctors note.”
“Shut up, just listen.” You snap, shooing him away. “Your stamina training is shaping up, but we need to address some things.”
“Some things?”
“Yes,” You nod, as you shift some weight on one foot. “Jeon Wonwoo is a technique-based outfighter. He’s gonna do his best to tire you out, and his reach is no joke. It’s gonna be one where you’ll have to in-fight, cut off his reach so he doesn’t have so much power behind his punches.”
Soonyoung feels his eyes glaze over. Turning away from you as he pushes his tongue against his cheek in boredom.
“Are you listening?” You huff, putting your notepad down. Is this guy for real? Is he ignoring you?
“It’s six pm now, can we discuss this tomorrow?” He suggests, scratching the back of his head. Tomorrow? The old Soonyoung would stay hours after training, listening to you yap about strategies.
You blink, “What? Why? Do you have plans?” You ask perplexed.
He crosses his arms with a sigh, “Yeah, I do. There’s a party later, some guys —“
“Who cares?” You frown, “We need to talk about this. Jeon Wonwoo isn’t a normal opponent. He’s higher skilled than the boxers in your recent fights and I don’t say this lightly. I visited his gym to witness his spar —“
“Oh, so that’s where you were?” He huffs annoyed, “You don’t trust me enough to win, you have to visit the guy? I can’t believe you.”
You grit your teeth. “You’re getting cocky, Kwon.” You say lowly, walking closer as you poke the center of his toned chest hard. “I’m not gonna entertain this anymore. You have to listen to me, you didn’t just get here on pure luck —“
“Bite me.” He doesn’t let you finish your lecture, as he pushes your hand away. Looking at you like you’re just a buzzing fly around him. You’re starting to forget the last time he looked at you warmly.
You’re speechless for a moment at his disrespect. Your mind goes blank. God, you’ve been training this guy since you were both teenagers. Who does he think he is? With his finger in your face, looking down at you like you can’t tell him what to do.
You take his advice.
Soonyoung yelps, as you bite down on his shoulder, “Jesus! What the fuck! Y/n!”
You don’t let down as he tries to shake you off, before you finally let go when you hear the footsteps of other boxers in the gym drop what they’re doing.
Soonyoung is wide eyed, slinging his arm around to shake off the pain as he looks at the damage you caused. Your anger still boiling inside you, as you wipe your mouth.
Red-faced, “Are you CRAZY? Did you just bite me?”
You glance at the bite. It didn’t even break skin, just hard enough that the imprint of your teeth rounded out his shoulder, the skin around it red. If only you had fangs or something.
Forget being in your mid-twenties, the teenager in you can’t handle it anymore. The same girl who had Soonyoung wrapped around her finger — she couldn’t take it.
“LISTEN TO ME!” You yell out, pushing Soonyoung roughly at his chest, making him take a step back.
You bundle your hands into fists, your voice echoing through the gym.
“I DON’T CARE WHAT STUPID RAPPER OR GIRL IS WAITING FOR YOU AT SOME DINGY CLUB — YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING LISTEN TO ME WITHOUT INTERRUPTING, YOU GOT THAT?”
You lean forward, your wild eyes meeting Soonyoung’s scared shitless ones.
“I said,” You grit, “You got that Kwon?”
He nods timidly.
Seungcheol’s on the other side of the gym, chewing on his protein bar as he watches the scene from the sidelines. Lee Chan, a new kid checking out the boxing gym has his mouth agape in shock.
Seungcheol pats his shoulder, “Don’t worry, that’s normal.” He deadpans, “Welcome to Pledis gym, by the way.”
Your outburst seemed to work though. Soonyoung was a lot less bratty the next few weeks, still as cold but no longer challenging you. Were you really that scary? Either way, it was tolerable.
On your day off, you can’t even shake off the boxing mindset you were in. You spent all of the afternoon writing down possible ideas for Soonyoung’s training. You have confidence in his stamina, but with Jeon Wonwoo’s way of aggravating opponents, you could see Soonyoung burning through all his gas before the 3rd round. It was no good.
You decide to go and check out that amateur tournament happening tonight. While Soonyoung and Seungcheol were now in bigger leagues, you can’t help but gravitate towards the same tournaments that used to intimidate you earlier in your career.
The stadium was quite bare, as it was early in the bracket tournament. You couldn’t see much of an audience as you slip into a seat, looking down to watch the amateur bout.
You remember Soonyoung being in that ring. It was vivid, even to the detail of how he taps his feet at the corner, a habit he picked up to make sure his shoes were tightly on. A hard lesson he learned when his own shoes slipped off when he accidentally stepped on his laces during a match.
The memory makes your stomach warm. Back then, he’d smile sheepishly, causing a break in the middle of the round to tie them back up. Your father having to pull you off the ropes from jumping in and strangling him for being an idiot.
Those days seemed far now.
“L/n y/n?”
You perk your head up, turning to your left. To your surprise, it’s Jeon Wonwoo. Clad in a simple zipped up hoodie and jeans, pulling his hood back to reveal his face.
“Huh? Why are you here?” You question, as he walks through the aisle of seats to sit next to you. And he sits right next to you, knocking his knee against yours as he settles down in his tall frame.
He gestures at the ring, “That’s my junior. Wanted to show up and support,” He informs, “Besides. You never know what talent shows up in the amateur tournaments.”
You glance at the boxing ring, as the two men have already started the second round. “Your junior, huh?” You mutter, “He telegraphs his punches too much. It’s fortunate his opponent doesn’t notice.”
Wonwoo chuckles, “Right.”
You lean forward, leaning on your cheek. Analyzing the fight in front of you. “Not even just that, you can tell what's going through his head. But he has promise. While I can tell what he’s gonna do, it’s a good idea.” You continue, “The other guy is too slow. When he pulls back, he takes too long to shift on his feet, it's the perfect time to aim for his jaw. Throw him off balance.”
And as you say, a few seconds later Wonwoo’s junior attempts just that, but only grazing the opponent’s jaw slightly. But it’s enough for the guy to jump back to recuperate.
You bite down on your lip in concentration. “If he just practiced his form to be more tight —“
You turn your head to look at Wonwoo, your voice trailing off as you see his sharp eyes focused on you. Not on his junior, but you.
“You’re wasted on Kwon Soonyoung,” He says lowly, flickering his eyes around your face as you straighten up. “You’ve barely been watching for two rounds, and you already know what to do with Mingyu.”
You turn away, crossing your arms. “Anyone could, he’s like an open book.”
“Hmm,” He hums, “Either way, you’re right. Mingyu’s been trying to improve his technique for the past few weeks.”
You shake your head, “It’s also his stance.” You say, “He’s obviously left handed. Why is he boxing orthodox?”
“Left handed?” Wonwoo questions, as he glances back at the ring. He didn’t notice it until now, but when Mingyu hands his water bottle back to the cornerman with his left hand.
“Yeah, left handed. Thats why he’s telegraphing so hard, he’s too weak with his right jab.” You observe, your eyes dancing around the ring. Watching as Mingyu throws another punch. “There it is,” You mutter, when Mingyu’s opponent falls in Mingyu’s blind spot and Mingyu braces a hit to the side. “It’s awkward. He should switch to southpaw. A lot of amateur boxers aren’t trained to handle southpaws either, it’d be a better strategy for him.”
Wonwoo blinks, “Are you free after this?”
You don’t even know how you got here. Walking with Wonwoo alongside the river, a cup of fishcake in your hand as he goes to town on a skewer himself.
You blow on the steam from the cup, before taking a tentative sip of the broth.
“I can’t believe Mingyu never brought up he was left handed,” Wonwoo speaks up, “Or at least, the fact no one caught onto the fact he was. He really listened to our coach with no objections on anything.”
You shrug, “Yeah, you guys are… idiots.” You can’t even sugarcoat it.
Wonwoo snickers, biting off another piece of fish cake as he turns to look at you. “Why were you at the amateur tournament anyways? You don’t know any of the fighters, do you?”
You shake your head, “No, I don’t.” You admit, “I just found myself there.”
“On a Saturday night, you found yourself at a random amateur boxing tournament?” He clears his throat, throwing his empty skewer into his cup, “Even with rookies like Mingyu you pay attention so seriously. Is it safe to assume you do this often, watch matches no matter the boxer?”
You wilt. Might as well call you a crazy obsessed boxing lady — you basically grew into that. Maybe you should get a cat just to become a crazy cat lady instead.
Wonwoo notices you shrinking back, as a soft smile creeps onto his face. He looks forward at the sidewalk, “It’s not bad. It’s impressive, honestly.” He says, “We need passionate trainers, you know? Sometimes it feels like you’re throwing punches at the air, not knowing where to aim.”
You look up at him. “Getting caught in trivial things, like interviews and money. It’s nice to have someone to ground you and give you structure.”
“I don’t know about that,” you say, “There’s that, and then there’s having no life. All I think about is boxing.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Wonwoo asks, knitting his brows. “You like what you like. Just embrace it.”
Soonyoung flashes in your mind. If only it was that easy.
You both stop, as the familiar building of your boxing gym comes into focus. You take another sip of the warm broth, before looking up at Wonwoo.
“Thanks,” You start, “I’ll think about your advice.”
“Yeah of course,” He nods, “Whatever helps.”
“What advice?”
A familiar voice makes you snap your neck to the side to chase it. Seeing Soonyoung across from the both of you, in sweats and a hardened expression on his face.
Crap.
“What are you doing here?” You question, perplexed, taking a few steps forward. Your eyes dart from him to Wonwoo, who stays calm behind you.
Soonyoung holds up his hand, keys jingling in the glow of the streetlights. “Couldn’t sleep.” He says gruffly, “Wanted to grab some tapes from Coach’s office.”
His eyes shoot to Wonwoo, jaw tense. “Don’t think he’s here for the same thing.” He says tightly.
Wonwoo clears his throat, walking up to stand beside you. His face cool, nonchalant as he smiles at Soonyoung. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Kwon Soonyoung, right?” He says lowly, “Nice to meet you. Didn’t think we’d really see each other until the weigh-in.”
Soonyoung narrows his eyes, walking up closer. “Me either. Let alone seeing you with my trainer.”
You frown at the impersonal way he mentions you.
Wonwoo chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “Ah, y/n. We ended up running into each other.”
“Yeah, running into each other.” Soonyoung repeats dryly, as he eyes the food both of you are holding. His stare makes you hold the cup of fishcake lower to the ground.
“Wonwoo was walking me back,” You decide to add in, “I was gonna rewatch some tapes too.” This wasn’t a lie. After the amateur tournament, you were gonna rewatch some matches. Soonyoung’s matches to be specific, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to mention that. You just had to hope Soonyoung believed you.
“Wonwoo, huh?” He says, before letting out a dry chuckle, “First name basis. You guys must be close.” He smiles, but there's no friendliness behind his smile. Actually, this might be the first time Soonyoung has made an active chill run down your spine.
You turn to Wonwoo, an apologetic look on your face. “Uh, thanks for walking me back. And for the fishcake.” You say awkwardly, “Um, goodnight.”
Wonwoo turns to you, like Soonyoung isn’t watching you both with the intention to burn holes through your heads. “Yeah, goodnight.” He nods, “Think about it though. You’ve got a lot of potential.”
You stiffen. You can already feel Soonyoung’s confusion from that vague statement already. “Yeah, thanks. Goodnight.” You say quietly, as Wonwoo starts making his way back. But not until he locks eyes with Soonyoung.
Eyes sharp, focused like he wasn’t just looking at you so softly a moment ago. “See you in the ring, Kwon.” He says, words heavy, simple, but enough to remind you that you were galavanting with the enemy.
“It’s Hoshi!” Hoshi yells out, as Wonwoo walks away. “Fucking asshole.” He mutters, stomping towards the boxing gym door.
You catch up to Soonyoung as he fumbles with the keys. “It doesn’t turn that way —“
“I know!” He snaps at you, as he jams the key into the lock, wiggling it roughly until it clicks into place.
The door swings open with the swift kick of his foot, banging against the wall as Soonyoung walks in. Footsteps heavy. You can’t help but follow after him, closing the door.
“I thought you had plans tonight.” You say, as you follow the angry Soonyoung into your father’s office, the cup of fish cake in your hand feeling like a burden as you find a surface to rest it on. “I heard you were going out with some of the new boxers from Seungcheol —“
“Well, I didn’t go.” He interrupts, as he takes his hood off. Turning around to look at you, as you switch the light on. The blinding fluorescent light flickering on, as Soonyoung stares straight at you.
“Why not?” You dare to question, “It’s not like you to turn down a night out.”
He scoffs, ruffling his hair with one hand, dragging it down his face with a groan.
“Well,” He starts, as he turns his body to face you properly, his movements sharp and dramatic. “I wasn’t aware you’d be on a date with Jeon Wonwoo, the guy I’m fighting in two weeks. Guess we’re both wrong, huh?”
You clench your jaw. “It wasn’t a date, we met —“
“Bullshit!”
You step up to him until your finger jams into his chest. “What the fuck did I say about interrupting me?” You hiss, “I don’t care what shitty hissy fit you’re throwing. I wasn’t on a fucking date, first of all. You would know if you would just fucking listen —“
Soonyoung chest pushes into your finger, leaning his head forward into your personal space. Eyes challenging, “Oh yeah? And why should I listen to you?” He responds back with equal bite, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve! For someone who I thought —“
“Thought what?” You ask sharply, “Come on, tell me. Are you gonna call me a bitch again? Or something new?” You say angrily, tilting your chin up to stare into Soonyoung’s eyes as intensely as he looks into yours.
His adam’s apple bobs, gritting his teeth as he searches your eyes. “For someone who I thought only had time for boxing.” He replies, his voice steady. “This whole time, I thought I mistook your interest in me for just wanting to be a good trainer.”
He sneers, “Guess I’m just a fucking idiot. You’re capable of dating someone, it’s just not me.” He swallows hard, “That your type then? Tall annoying assholes with glasses being begged to be snapped in half?”
Your face drops. “That’s not true, you’re assuming things.” You say hastily.
Soonyoung laughs humorlessly, “Really? Don’t think I am.” He claims, shaking his head. “How long have we known each other? Fuck, like eight years?” He recounts.
He furrows his brows, “You know how many damn times I told myself to wait for you?” He begins, taking a step forward, making you take one back. “Every single match — I think about confessing to you every single time. Every win, the first thing I think about is you.”
“W-what?” You choke out.
“Why do you think I never lose?” He asks, “It’s so I wouldn’t fucking disappoint you. Shit, no matter how much I wish you would disappear, your face shows up when I feel like I can’t stand up anymore.” He says hurriedly, his voice quieting down.
You’re rendered speechless. Is he being serious? Sure, you knew you hurt his feelings after ditching him at the club a few months ago. But this came out of left field, at least for you.
His breath hitches. “Don’t look at me like that.” He says pained, “Like you actually care.”
“Soonyoung, of course I do. Of course I care, why would I not care?” You say in disbelief, eyes widening as he shakes his head. “I thought you loved boxing. You can’t just say you’re doing all of this for me.”
“You’re boxing!” He basically yells at you. He lets his hands fall to his side as he groans, pacing around your father’s office as he tries to controls his outburst. “You’re boxing, y/n!”
He rushes towards you, this time his finger poking into your chest roughly. “God, for some boxing genius you’re really clueless, you know that? You think I’d be here if I didn’t see how much you love boxing?” He asks.
He sighs frustrated, “I was just some kid when I met you. All I did was mess around, before finding the gym. Sure, Seungcheol hyung was cool — but you?” He lets out a scoff, “I was gonna do a few sessions at most. But the way you pushed me, I believed that I could actually be something. That boxing was something worthwhile.”
He shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter. I could knock out Ray Jones Jr in one round and you wouldn’t blink a damn eye.” He mutters.
Clarity flashes in Soonyoung’s eyes.
“After Jeon Wonwoo, I’m moving gyms.” He states, “I’m not gonna train under you. Not anymore.”
It felt like your heart was breaking into two, the way it beats against your chest in panic. Your eyes darting around his face as your body freezes up at his words.
“You don’t mean that.” You say, your voice cracking. “Soonyoung, you love this gym.”
“Not with you in it.” He says shaking his head, “I’ve dealt with enough. You and your mixed signals, I can’t take it anymore.”
Your anger spikes, as you push Soonyoung’s chest with both hands. “Fuck you,” You hiss, “You’re gonna throw away eight years because of this?” You ask in disbelief, “I can’t believe you!” You push him again, with more force. But it barely makes Soonyoung stumble.
“I thought you were more than this Soonyoung, but you’re worse than I thought.” You say lowly, as tears gather at the corner of your eyes. “You think this has been easy for me?”
You take a deep breath, as you shove Soonyoung again. This time hard enough that the back of his legs hit your father’s desk. The old furniture rattling.
“I’ve been dealing with your mood swings, your disrespect, your lack of focus for months. Giving you space, because I felt guilty.” You say, trying to get all your words out before your voice fails you. “You think you’re the only one performing?”
You hold your hand out, the slight tremor obvious as you slam your hand onto your father’s desk. “I feel like I can’t mess up either. Disappoint my father, give you or anyone else in the gym the wrong advice. I’ve been up every night thinking about what to do with you, hell, what to do with me.” You grit, “I don’t know the answer. That's why I ran away.”
Soonyoung furrows his brows, “You don’t always need to know the answer. You think I would’ve judged you if you just admitted you were confused?” He asks, making you return his words with your own humorless laugh.
“Right, like how you’re just gonna run away because of what's happened between us?” You point out. “I don’t know who you are. Not for a while now.”
Soonyoung clenches his jaw. “I don’t know who you are either.”
You take a step back, as you move towards the office door. Gripping the doorknob tightly. “Also, you’re not leaving the gym.” You say firmly.
Soonyoung narrows his eyes, “And why’s that?”
“Because I’m leaving first.” You announce, as you swing the door open. You raise your head up, eyes cold. “I’m taking Wonwoo’s advice. I’m not gonna hide under you or my father’s shadow. You can stay at Pledis gym, I’m the one moving.”
“What?! That’s crazy —“
You glance at your father’s desk. “If you’re watching the tapes still, watch the ones marked with the blue sharpie.” You say tightly, “I taped them specifically for you.”
Soonyoung blinks, “What? Can you just — hold on, y/n —“
You slam the door closed, not giving Soonyoung a chance to finish his sentence. Bolting out the damn boxing gym, only the glow of your father’s office serving as a guide as you leave.
The next two weeks go by fast. Mainly due to the fact that you were dissociating like your life depended on it.
Your mind is anywhere else but the gym. Even to the point where when you were helping Lee Chan with his pad work, he almost hit you with an uppercut. Your heart basically popping out of your chest as you narrowly avoided it, your father on the sidelines scolding you — y/n! Watch it, you want to die before Soonyoung’s bout?
And honestly? You wish you could. Soonyoung could barely look at you, and when you told your father he could handle everything up to the match from now on, he looked at you skeptically.
“I don’t know y/n, this is an important match. I think Soonyoung would want you around, no?” He says warily, as you focus on getting rid of some sort of mysterious stain on the floor.
You shake your head as you aggressively mop the spot, “No. I have nothing else to offer, anyways. He needs your advice on something so high profile. I’ll just get in the way.” You reason.
“That’s wrong. You’ve been helping out since forever, you always have something to say.” Your father disagrees, as he stops your mopping by grabbing the hilt of the mop. “And stop it, will you? That spot’s been there for years. Your obsessive mopping right now isn’t gonna wash it away you know.” He says gruffly, shaking his head.
“Either way,” He sighs, “You’re attending the weigh-in. Just as my second, you have to.”
And you do so begrudgingly. Despite the fact both you and Soonyoung treated each other like ghosts, you find yourself standing to the side as camera flashes blind you. All documenting the weigh-in, as both Wonwoo and Soonyoung are checked for the weight limit.
They both were under the limit fortunately. And as a final end to the meet, both boxers stand beside each other for photos. Another influx of camera flashes, as you and your father stand a few feet away.
You catch Wonwoo’s eye, as he nods at you. You don’t respond back, but it’s enough for Soonyoung to narrow his eyes further at Wonwoo.
“Hey, eyes on me.” Soonyoung says firmly, “You get this distracted in the ring too? That’s fine, just means I can finish it early.”
Wonwoo flickers his eyes back at Soonyoung, before his lips curl into a mocking smile. “Confident as ever. Guess we’ll see if you’re bluffing tomorrow.” He muses. “Give y/n my regards yeah? Looks like you’re really stressing her out, are you really your best right now Kwon?”
The simple taunt was enough for Soonyoung. The sound of your name was enough for him to black out for a moment, only to come back to the sound of surprised gasps and yelling.
Your arms wrap around his waist as your father and other officials pull Soonyoung away, as cameras flash wildly until you could only see white.
“OH — WHOA! HOSHI, THE TIGER KWON, STRUCK JEON WONWOO DURING WEIGH-IN! WHAT WILL HIS PENALTY BE?”
“You idiot!” You yell, as you help drag Soonyoung away. Your eyes darting to Wonwoo, who has a smug smirk on his face as he stretches his jaw from Soonyoung’s strike.
The paper is slammed straight onto your father’s desk, the photo and title making you wince.
HOSHI “TIGER” KWON STRIKES JEON WONWOO BEFORE FIGHT!
It feels like you’re in the principal’s office. Sitting timidly in the worn out metal chair, next to Soonyoung. Wait, why the hell are you sitting here? You didn’t even do anything.
Your father sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know how much they’re charging us for that?” He asks, as he leans forward with his hands on the desk. Using one hand to press a finger right on the photo, onto Wonwoo’s face.
Both you and Soonyoung don’t respond.
“Four point five million won.” He states, emphasis on each number. “Four point five million won, because this idiot here can’t keep his hands to himself!”
Soonyoung grits his teeth, looking away as he slouches in the chair.
Your father lets out another deep sigh, “Soonyoung, no matter how much the other guy taunts, you settle it in the fucking ring.” He reiterates, “An amateur boxer knows that. Hell, a little kid knows that.”
Soonyoung starts to speak, but your father puts a hand up. “No, I don’t need an explanation.” He huffs, “Your match is in less than twenty-four hours. Focus on that.”
Your father checks the time on his watch, “Now I’m going home.”
Both of you start to stand, before your father holds his hand up again to stop you both.
“Not you two.” He says firmly, “You guys can focus on the match while mopping the floors.” He says roughly, “Then you can lock up the gym and leave.”
Your mouth drops agape. “Me? What did I do?” You ask in disbelief, as your father shakes his head, waving his hand.
“I don’t know, but I have a feeling this has something to do with you.” He adds on quickly. Soonyoung snickers.
“Don’t stay up too late.”
You mopped like your life depended on it. And maybe it did, since Soonyoung didn’t bother speaking to you the whole time. At most, he would gesture for a mop, or the bucket of water. And you would do so for the sake of wanting to bolt out the door.
But when you went to the bathroom after finishing the punishment, it felt like you were mopping up your own thoughts as you splash water against your face.
In the mirror, you saw the changes. The way your hair was longer, your face slimmed down with age, and the tired look in your eyes. You weren’t that teenage girl anymore, and yet, this whole fight with Soonyoung was making you feel like you were.
You bite down on your lip. This is ridiculous.
And you bring that energy when you walk back out into the gym, “Let’s lock up now.” You yell out, but you stop in your tracks when you hear the familiar grunts and squeaking from the boxing ring.
Looking up, Soonyoung throws a hook out, before jumping back and practicing some weaves. Considering the small beads of sweat on his forehead, he’s been shadowboxing since you went to the bathroom.
His fist snaps back with a crack of the wind, filling the empty gym as you take a step forward. “Take it easy, the match is tomorrow.”
Soonyoung stills after a few combos, eyes flickering to you. He takes a breath, “Like you care. You’re moving gyms anyways.”
You place your hands on the platform, pushing yourself up and slipping through the ropes. “Maybe, but you’re still under my watch. At least for now.”
“Lucky me.” He says dryly.
You walk up to him, stopping only a foot away. Folding your arms to your chest as you attempt your best to soften your eyes. You don’t want to fight. Soonyoung has enough fights to worry about.
“Why did you punch Wonwoo earlier?” You ask, “You’ve never started a skirmish before. You taunt, sure, but you never actually attack anyone.”
Soonyoung stiffens, “It’s called hyping up an audience, there’s more to boxing than —“
You roll your eyes, “Bullshit.”
He stills. Huffing, “You’re moving to Jeon Wonwoo’s gym aren’t you?”
You frown. What? Where did he get that from? “What? Says who?”
He scoffs, “Says him! It’s all over his face, poaching you like you’re some kind of prized animal. It’s stupid, it’s annoying — why him?”
“You don’t care about anything unless you have full control. Like, I’m just some sort of puppet to you. Everyone in the gym is.” He mutters as he takes a step forward, eyebrows furrowed as he stares into your eyes. “I despise it, I hate you.”
Oh, there it is. The three words you’ve never thought would come out Soonyoung’s mouth.
He expects you to say it back. Spit in his face, strike him across his cheek. Maybe knee him in the nuts.
But you don’t.
You’re quiet, still. Your face pensive, as you stare back up at him. Your silence is loud, filling up every corner of the gym, and every crevice in Soonyoung’s brain.
You finally speak up. “I don’t feel the same way.” You start, swallowing hard. “I could never hate you. No matter how insufferable you get,” You take a deep breath, “I can’t hate you. I never will.”
Soonyoung doesn’t know what to say, a look of confusion flashing on his face, his attitude faltering as he eyes you. “What?”
You sigh, unfolding your arms as you run your own hand through your hair. “If I hated you, I would never have dealt with you this long.” You say quietly, “So I can’t do it. I can’t play along and say I hate you too, because I don’t mean it.”
Soonyoung’s face contorts into a look of hurt, like your proclamation of being fond of him was more devastating than playing along. Why couldn’t you just say the same thing, dammit!
Soonyoung takes a deep breath, looking up as he collects his thoughts. “I just don’t understand you. You — you’re exhausting,” He says, his voice cracking. “You’re making me feel like a bad person. Hate me! Why can’t you hate me?”
You shrug, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
He scoffs, “Don’t apologize, dammit. Fuck,” He groans, wiping at his face before grabbing onto your shoulders. He pulls you close, “Why do you make me feel this way?” He cries out.
“Same way for me.” You reply back, “I can’t explain it, how I feel about you.” Pained, you swallow back the nervousness threatening to escape through your throat. “It’s confusing and it’s scary. I know nothing about it, so that’s why I’ve pretended it doesn’t exist.”
“But you exist. And I can’t stop pretending you’re not in front of me.” You say firmly, “You’re loud, stupid, and the way you run through my head all the time makes me want to pull my hair out.”
Soonyoung searches your eyes, pulling you even closer to him. Until your breath fans his face, and his nose nudges yours. Eyes focused on yours as you speak.
“You understand, don’t you?” You say quietly, “I don’t hate you. I never felt hate towards you, in all these years.” The proximity of Soonyoung is intoxicating, like his presence is finally pulling out months of your jumbled thoughts.
You swallow hard. “I miss you.”
That’s all it took. Your own three words, and Soonyoung closes the distance roughly. Pulling you by the shoulders until your mouths collide.
At first, it doesn’t feel like a kiss. Could you count this as one? It was unlike the one at the club months ago under the hazy lights. This time, you could feel everything. The way his nose sits against your cheek, and how he pushes into your mouth. Forcing to fit his against yours, so impossibly close it felt like he was merging with you.
But then he’s warm. His mouth is, the way he kisses you back. His hand snaking up to hold the side of your face and gripping like you’ll slip out of his hands. And who says you won’t? To Soonyoung, it was a very real worry. You’ve done it before, and he’d die before letting you do it again.
His tongue pushing past your parted lips as you greet him with your own. Wrapping your arms around Soonyoung’s neck to deepen the kiss. He takes a deep breath through his nose, breathing in the scent of your skin as his hands move up to thread through your hair. Pads of his fingers against your scalp before pulling slightly.
Your head is pulled back by that, finally giving you a chance to breathe. Eyes fluttering open as you detach.
“If you run away now, I’ll chase you down and tie you to the corner post.”
Funny. “You have a way of ruining the moment, don’t you?” You reply with a narrow look of your eyes.
He nods, “Yeah, and I have a way of bringing it back too.”
He grips the back of your neck with one hand, pushing you back towards him until his mouth crashes against yours once more. It’s all encompassing, not giving you a chance to really think about how cheesy Soonyoung’s lines could be.
His other hand snakes its way around your waist, pulling you against him. Making your knees fold under you, Soonyoung follows the flow with no protest as he gently pulls you to the floor of the ring.
He cushions your head with the back of his hand, letting you down easily until his body weight rests against yours. Trapping you against the boxing ring floor.
You let Soonyoung guide you, following the curve of his mouth against yours, and deepening the kiss more with the push of your tongue against his. He groans into your mouth, before softly detaching himself from you.
“Where did you learn how to kiss like that?” He asks, flickering his eyes to your lips.
You shrug under him, “You weren’t the only one running around with girls all the time. You think I’ve been completely celibate the past few years?”
He frowns. “Stop, don’t say things like that. Especially when you’re under me.”
You take a deep breath through your nose as you both kiss once more, more hands moving to the sides of his face, caressing the short strands of hair near his ears.
He pulls away, taking your bottom lip into one more kiss before trailing down your jaw. Placing chaste kisses against your skin, before leaving an open mouthed one against the crook of your neck. You sigh in response, embracing Soonyoung’s soft touches as you tilt your head back against the canvas floor.
He grabs the zipper of your sports jacket, the pull of it making a sharp sound that fills the gym. You help shrug it off, revealing your tank top under it. He looks up at you with big eyes.
Ah, he wants permission.
You nod, your cheeks pinkening slightly, as you glance away flustered. As much as he wants to tease you, he doesn’t. In favor of pulling the hem of your tank top up, revealing your chest to him in the dim gym.
He sighs, grabbing your chest with both hands, supporting his body with his knees straddling you. A shaky breath leaving your lips when you feel his calloused thumbs rub gentle circles against your nipples. Hardening even more under the cold air conditioning, and Soonyoung’s touch.
“Pretty,” He mutters, “You’ve always been pretty.”
His lips graze against your breasts, goosebumps appearing against your skin from the gentle caress. Exploring across the valleys of your chest before circling his mouth around one of your nipples, lapping his tongue against the bud.
You gasp against his touch, arching your back to fill his mouth, and his other hand palming your neglected breast. It should be illegal how into your chest Soonyoung is. The way he massages them together, and sucks your nipple to make you twitch under him. You can even feel him smiling against your boobs.
You push him off, connecting your lips against his for a string of kisses, “What’s wrong with you? I swear, if I didn’t pull you off you would just be making out with my boobs forever.” You mutter against his mouth.
“Why can’t I?” He responds back, returning your kiss with a pucker. “What, you don’t like it?”
You roll your eyes, “I’d rather our first time being intimate be more than just about my boobs.”
“Well, that's just unfair. You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?”
You shake your head, looking at him with surprise as you push yourself up, both you and Soonyoung changing your positions to sitting upright against the floor. “No, how long?” You ask, scooting closer to him, pulling his t-shirt off, tossing it to the side.
“Everytime you wear a sports bra,” He answers, “Or a tight top in general. Like when the ac was broken for a week that one time,” He answers, as you oggle Soonyoung’s abs in the dark room. Letting your hands be your eyes as you feel his warm chiseled abs under your fingers.
You blink, “W-what? You think about it that often?” You ask in confusion, feeling a bit flustered by his shamelessness.
He nods, “Yeah. I even broke the thermostat just to see you dress like that again.”
You still your hand, slapping Soonyoung’s arm. “That was you! Oh my god, we were trying to figure out how that happened!” You scold, but Soonyoung just grins smugly, no regrets in his eyes at all.
You shake your head disapprovingly, leaning forward to land a short kiss against his lips. “You’re gross.” You huff, but there's no bite in that.
Soonyoung leans back against his elbows as you lean forward, deepening the kiss into another series of long ones, opening your mouth to press your tongue against his with a moan. His lips stutter against yours as your hand travels down, slipping into his shorts. Feeling his hardening erection against your hand.
You palm slightly, feeling his size. Oh thank god.
He pulls away from your lips, letting out a deep breath through his mouth, before biting down on his lip. “Is this heading where I think it is?” He asks, and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter the way his eyes look hopeful.
You nod, “It is, if you want to.” I say, “Do you want —“
“Yes,” He nods hastily, “Absolutely. No problem here.”
“Have a little humility, Soonyoung.” You scold lightly, as you move from palming him to gripping his shaft, dragging your fist up at a slow pace, feeling him in your hand.
He groans, “In this situation? No,” He shakes his head, “You’re getting all of me. And that includes my desperation for you.”
Your stomach flips. God, how embarrassing, the way Soonyoung being so unapologetic is soaking your panties to the point of discomfort.
You bite down on your lip, “Just stay still. I don’t want you overexerting yourself when your match is in less than twenty four hours.” You say softly, kissing his cheek despite his sulking pout.
“We’re gonna have sex for the first time, and you want me to stay still?” he asks exasperated.
You pinch his side, making him yelp. Oddly, you feel him twitch against your hand. Oh, so he likes stuff like that. Of course he does.
“Just listen to me,” you mutter, pushing his chest so that he lays down against the ring floor.
You shimmy yourself out of your pants, tossing them across the ring. You feel your confidence falter slightly when he eyes your polka dot panties.
“To be fair, I didn’t think this was gonna happen today.” You defend poorly, sliding them off hastily.
Soonyoung shakes his head with a small smile. “It’s cute.” He reassures, as you help him pull down his shorts further. Seeing the sliver of tiger print on his boxers — guess there really was no point to feel embarrassed.
You smile. Right, this was Kwon Soonyoung. There’s nothing to feel scared about.
Seeing Soonyoung’s dick was something else. The way it stands proudly, already begging you to do something about it. Especially the way the tip blushes pink, slightly angled to the side as he uses his hand to grab it and do some experimental strokes of his own. Small breaths escaping through his mouth as he smears his precum down to the sides.
You feel your stomach flutter in anticipation, warm from the idea of him inside you. You straddle him, your knees digging into the canvas floor as you hover your core over the tip of his dick.
He takes a sharp breath, “Fuck, you look so good.” He moans, not being able to restrict himself to grab your breasts. Almost like they’re his handlebars for a ride. (Well, that's one way to describe it!)
You lead the tip of his penis with your hand, gently letting it graze against your dripping folds before finally sinking down onto him. The air in your lungs escaping through your nose as you slowly stretch yourself out onto him.
Soonyoung wasn’t huge or thick like the AV stars on the tapes your friend once lent you, but it seems to be a blessing. Because the way Soonyoung slides into you, your walls hugging his shape as it angles into the gummy spot that immediately makes you bite down on your lip — he was made for you.
And you assume he feels the same way. Especially with how big his pupils dilate under his heavy lids, his mouth agape in awe. Palms finding themselves to the meat of your ass, squeezing in anticipation.
He bottoms out, your knees digging into the canvas floor as you breathe through your nose. “Fuck, if you don’t move I’m going to.”
You shoot Soonyoung a glare, this man never shuts up. Not even with his dick inside you.
You lean forward, placing your hands against Soonyoung’s chest. One of his hands coming up to squeeze your wrist and cover your hand in support.
You rock forward, a shaky breath escaping your mouth at the sensation. The way he rubs inside you at the angle you push, makes your eyes flutter close in pleasure.
For once, he’s listening to you. Letting you take reign as you establish your own pace. Slow at first — but inevitably you succumb to how your body reacts. And Soonyoung does as well.
He sits up, adjusting as he wraps his arms around your waist. Your eyes opening at the new position, Soonyoung sitting up as his forehead rests against yours. His breath is warm and heavy, fanning over your face as he starts pushing into you with focus. Your breath catching at your throat at how deep he’s pushing in. How malleable you feel, as you wrap your hands around his neck in support.
“Jesus — Soonyoung,” you gasp, as he takes control. A hand gripping your hip roughly, pushing you down onto him as he pistons up.
It’s rhythmic, the sound of skin slapping on skin, the combined moans and panting. Echoing across the empty gym. Who knew you would sacrilege the boxing ring you’ve trained Soonyoung in since day one?
“Y/n, baby, you feel so good.” He can’t help but praise, a hand wrapping around the side of your neck, supporting your head as his thumb presses into your mouth.
You respond easily, enveloping his thumb into your mouth. Sucking and circling his thumb with the tip of your tongue before you let go with a pop. A string of saliva to his thumb that he swipes across your lips.
He pulls you into a messy kiss. A stuttering one, as you feel Soonyoung’s pace becomes less consistent.
You feel it too, the way you’re starting to squirm, your own movements stuttering as moans fall from your mouth. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, staying in place as Soonyoung’s efforts become faster. Your mind melting at the pace, until you feel the familiar build up in your abdomen.
“Soonyoung! I’m going, I’m going to —“
Soonyoung doubles down as he favors sacrificing one hand to circle your swollen clit, spiking the incoming release you were basically hurling towards.
You gasp, white hot feeling flaring up in you, as you shiver and squirm. Your hands shooting up to Soonyoung’s hair, grabbing for any support.
“Fuck, so tight, Fuck —“ Soonyoung breathes. He pulls his cock out as he lifts you slightly off. A groan escaping his lips as his eyes zero in on the sight, his hips twitching forward as he releases on your stomach. Painting you quite messily. It takes you a second to recover, finally back when you feel the hasty wiping Soonyoung’s doing to your stomach with his poor t-shirt.
You look up at him, “Soonyoung.”
“Hm?” He questions, focused on cleaning you up. Rumpling up the t-shirt once finished, meeting your eyes.
Your eyes soften. Despite the intensity of just only a little earlier, You can’t help but finally let out a little bit of your feelings you had for him. You pull Soonyoung in gently to kiss his lips. It’s simple, but genuine, pulling away to see a soft smile on Soonyoung’s features.
“You know,” He whispers, “Didn’t think it would go this way.” He admits sheepishly, “Next time, I’ll promise a pillow at least.”
You chuckle, “Win tomorrow’s match first, and then we can talk logistics.”
He tosses you your clothes. But as he grabs your discarded panties off the canvas floor, he holds them up. Not to give them back to you, no, but to bundle it up and stuff it into the pocket of his sweatpants.
“For good luck.” He says smugly, making your cheeks run hot.
The air in the dressing room is static the next day.
It felt like any bristle of movement sent a chill down your spine, the room quiet as Soonyoung prepares for the bout. Your father repeating strategies to Soonyoung as you sit on the bench, wrapping his hand.
It’s all you can do for now, as you tighten the wrap around his knuckles, your hands shaking slightly from nervousness. He notices.
He squeezes your hand, making you shoot your head up.
“Calm down,” He eases, “Just checking if the wrap feels okay.” Liar. He was making sure you feel okay.
You let out a deep breath, “Is it?” Clenching your jaw, “Okay?”
“Yeah,” He says softly, “Don’t worry about it.”
And you tried. You really tried. Walking behind him and your father, the familiar hype music and cheers of the crowd turn into dull echoes as you watch Soonyoung’s back. Strong and confident like always, his head held up high, his gloves up as he greets the greedy crowd through the stadium.
The stadium is packed to the brim, people pressed up against each other as they try to get a good look at Soonyoung. But yet, the combined sweat and body heat in this room could barely rival the sweat beading down your forehead.
You can’t even register anything, just going through the motions of it all. Helping Soonyoung shrug off his robe, the loud announcement of the fighter intros, hell, even making eye contact with Wonwoo you stared through him like a ghost. You weren’t here.
Your father nudges you, “Come on buddy, leave the ring.” He reminds you, snapping you out of it as you realize the fight is about to begin.
Soonyoung bounces on his feet, turning to you as you head for the ropes. “Y/n!” He calls out as your feet hit the ground.
You glance up at him.
He doesn’t do much, taking a deep breath before mustering the biggest smile he can. The corners reach his eyes, curving into the crescent shape you know and love. Holding out his boxing glove, pointed straight at you.
“Y/n!” He calls out proudly, “Just sit pretty and watch!”
Ah.
Of course, you expected something else… but you can’t deny the way the simple words warm you. Just easing even the littlest amount of anxiety built up.
You smile softly, “If you lose I’ll knock your teeth out.” A sweet tone to your voice, contrasting the shameless threat.
Soonyoung probably should’ve expected that. He grins, nodding. “That’s definitely not happening!”
The bell rings, and both boxers start moving towards the middle of the ring. Soonyoung, his feet light, as they both circle around to size each other up.
From this angle Wonwoo’s height was more intimidating than you remember. When was the last time Soonyoung went up against someone at 6 feet? And the way his eyes are dead focused on Soonyoung, you can’t help but hold your breath.
Soonyoung tests, feigning attacks to gauge Wonwoo, the two going at it back and forth until a real swing comes. And it’s a straight jab from Soonyoung.
Wonwoo’s guard is quick, blocking Soonyoung’s exploratory straight jab. God, you hoped Soonyoung actually watched those tapes you recorded for him.
The first round ends as quickly as it started, the two using it to test each other despite the audience’s disatisfaction.
Punch him! Why are they just dancing? I thought Hoshi would be throwing hard combos by now!
You can’t help but clench your jaw. Take your time Soonyoung, you think, play it smart.
It finally starts heating up.
“OH, ELBOWS TIGHTLY IN. THIS IS A GOOD MOVE AGAINST HOSHI “THE TIGER” KWON, WHO WILL SURELY THROW BODY SHOTS!”
Wonwoo blocks smoothly at every punch Soonyoung throws. Soonyoung testing his blind spots and tolerance as the round continues, and yet Wonwoo doesn’t really break.
Soonyoung’s no easy opponent either. Dodging anything Wonwoo throws his way, maneuvering around the ring like some sort of dance routine. His feet light, and starting to get a feel of Wonwoo’s patterns the way Wonwoo’s punches slip off him like water.
But you can tell this can’t drag on longer than a few rounds. If Soonyoung wants to finish this match in a KO, he’s going to have to start making bigger moves.
“SEEMS LIKE THESE VOLUME PUNCHES ARE GETTING TO KWON HERE, WILL HE START PUSHING FORWARD?”
The fourth round, and you could tell Soonyoung’s patience was waning. Wonwoo was using his reach to throw multiple punches, none very powerful, but enough to tick him off.
He finally surges forward, making you grip tightly onto the clean towel in your hand. He pushes a punch through Wonwoo’s defense, opening up his guard to place a swift blow to his side.
“OH — A SIDE BLOW TO JEON, WILL THIS GIVE KWON THE RIGHT OPENING?”
Soonyoung manages that side blow, but Wonwoo leans forward and clinches, stopping any momentum. Goddammit.
Separated by the ref, the round continues. Both trying to wear each other down with their individual styles.
You can see both, sharp and focused in both gazes, but their bodies are starting to become a little more sluggish. After consecutive rounds of constant moving around the ring, you anticipated this.
Your father calls a timeout, giving Soonyoung a second to catch his breath. Your body moving instinctively as you join Soonyoung’s side at the corner.
“Okay tiger, not doing so bad. But you can do better.” Your father starts firmly, aware of the short timeout as he tries to hammer his words into Soonyoung’s head.
He’s breathing hard, as you wipe down sweat from his neck and face with the towel. You wipe some blood from a graze on his right cheek, from Wonwoo’s glove barely grazing him in an earlier round. Gently slathering ointment onto the small cut.
He nods at your fathers words, his eyes focused on Wonwoo in the other corner. The bell rings again.
It seems like an equal stalemate for another 20 seconds. That is, until your focus shoots forward, and you catch Wonwoo’s change in stance in slow motion.
You can barely widen your eyes as you watch Wonwoo counter Soonyoung’s heavy punch.
“OH! — THE COUNTER LANDS ON KWON’S RIGHT CHEEK!”
Your eyes widen as you watch Soonyoung’s mouth guard shoot out of his mouth, a mix of spit and blood splattering in the air as you see the outline of his face. His side profile crushed by the weight of the glove and force.
Soonyoung stumbles back, hitting the ropes as he tries to tighten his guard. Wonwoo uses it as a chance to throw a sequence of punches, each one feeling like he’s punching you instead.
The cheers and screams are deafening, the announcers voices boom with excitement as you watch the love of your life get pummeled.
When Wonwoo’s movements slug, the referee interferes immediately. Pushing him away from Soonyoung, as you and your father jump into the ring immediately.
“FOLKS, A SMALL TIME OUT TO CLEAN THE MOUTH GUARD!”
Your father drags Soonyoung to the corner, sitting him on the stool the minute you set it down. You run to grab the bloody mouthpiece off the canvas floor, ignoring your shaky hands as you retreat back. Wiping the blood and saliva off of it with your towel.
Soonyoung swishes water in his mouth, spitting out the blood into the bucket your father’s holding. His breath heavy, small grunts escaping him as he tries and blinks back the pain and shock of the rattling counter.
You can’t look scared now. If you were a trainer worth your salt, the last thing you should do is show this — that you’re scared for him.
You rinse the mouthguard with the leftover water, crouching down to Soonyoung as you smack the side of his cheek a couple times (not the one where he just got punched).
“Hey,” You start, steeling your voice. “Look at me.”
Soonyoung turns his head towards you, and you can see how wrecked he is already. The graze on his cheek from earlier, the swelling of one of his eyes, and the way his hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. It even takes some effort to focus his eyes on yours.
“Soonyoung,” You call out firmly, “Snap out of it. You hear me?” You say, holding his face. “I know you can do this. That fucker may have gotten a good counter, but he doesn’t know how hard your punches can hit.” You say hurriedly, eyes boring into his, trying to grab hold onto anything behind his eyes.
“Push forward, hit him with those sequences. You know the ones.” You instruct. He knows this. You spent half of your lives together training said combos.
And for a moment, he registers you, nodding clumsily, giving you the a-okay to shove the mouth guard back into his mouth. Your father patting his back as he rushes back out into the ring.
“He’s got it.” Your father gruffs, “You got through him.”
You hope so.
The bell rings once more, and despite your confident words to him, your legs felt like they could give out at any second.
Sure, everyone’s focused on Soonyoung’s state, but Wonwoo wasn’t perfect either. You could tell he was tired, and that if he could last the next few rounds, he could win with a points decision.
But fuck that, that’s not how your gym rolls. Especially you and Soonyoung.
Soonyoung moves forward, immediately going in to make contact first. Wonwoo anticipating it, as he jumps back.
But he can’t avoid the ropes forever, and after fifteen seconds of constant avoidance, Wonwoo’s back hits the ropes.
Finally Soonyoung’s fist collides into Wonwoo’s guard, splitting it open and throwing two jabs to his face. Before using the momentum to uppercut Wonwoo’s side.
It doubles him over, and Soonyoung throws his other fist to punch. But he slips — on his own sweat on the floor.
“OH! — AND THE TWO SLIP AND TAKE EACH OTHER DOWN!”
The room gasps for a second when Soonyoung grabs Wonwoo as they hit the canvas floor. The ref comes in to pull them apart, and because of the last few seconds, end the round. You curse to yourself.
Even in crucial moments like this, Soonyoung manages to baffle you.
“END OF ROUND FIVE, AND AN INJURY TIMEOUT! CHECKING TO SEE IF ANY OF THE FIGHTERS ARE OKAY AFTER THAT UNFORTUNATE SLIP!”
The referee asks and examines both of them, and from where you are you can only make out Soonyoung apologizing profusely, his ears red from embarrassment.
But with one glance at Wonwoo, you can tell something’s shifted.
Soonyoung’s last minute punch affected him. Did Soonyoung’s fist graze the back of Wonwoo’s head when they slipped? Either way, it shattered Wonwoo’s rhythm.
Soonyoung noticed it too. Because the brief time he has in the corner, his sharp eyes lock with yours. And whatever you saw in his eyes — confidence, willpower, or psychic foresight — you didn’t feel so worried anymore.
“ROUND SIX — FIGHT!”
Soonyoung doesn’t waste time, moving inward to get as close to Wonwoo as possible once more. Wonwoo doesn’t give up easily, throwing jabs to push him back.
He eats them like no problem, taking Wonwoo’s punches like nothing as he surges forward. Throwing a messily large left hook, following it up with an uppercut that connects.
Soonyoung doesn’t miss the chance, swinging his other fist as hard as he can at the awkward angle for another uppercut at Wonwoo’s doubling over body.
Wonwoo keeps stumbling back at each punch Soonyoung throws, his body back at the ropes.
“KWON THROWING A FLURRY OF COMBOS, BUT JEON IS STILL UP!”
After a few more seconds Soonyoung lets up at the sound of the refs whistle, clumsily stopping his combos, briefly using the ropes to stop his momentum before giving Wonwoo time to recover.
And you hold your breath.
“SEEMS LIKE JEON IS — WHOA!”
Wonwoo stands tall, as you mentally ready another round in your head. But he doesn’t give you both the time to strategize, as his once proud head lulls forward. His body following in suit as he crumbles to the ground.
“DOWN GOES JEON WONWOO! 6, 7, —“
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!
The stadium erupts in screams, and at the count of eight, you’re up yourself, rushing towards the ring, your heart pounding in your ears.
“8! A KNOCKOUT! HOSHI “TIGER” KWON HAS THE FINAL BLOW!”
The stadium erupts in screams and cheers, Soonyoung himself surprised, eyes wide before snapping his head around. Not to the crowd, but to you.
He runs to the corner where you are, climbing onto the post as he holds his fists up to the crowd. His name chanted in synchronized voices that shake the very building.
You climb onto the ropes, and with a grin, he leans forward and hooks his arms around you, pulling you over them. Stumbling into his sweaty arms as he swings you around.
“Soonyoung! You did it!” You scream, as he lets you down onto the canvas floor of the ring. Your father laughing heartily in the back, as Soonyoung spits out the mouthguard onto the floor.
He runs his tongue against his teeth before responding, his voice raspy and breathy, “I told you, didn’t I?”
For the first time, you don’t have the bite in you to be defensive. Your smile widening across your face as you look at Soonyoung in awe, “You did.”
He grins back. His sore muscles, aching body and screaming lungs don’t matter. Because the smile on your face was a soothing balm that made it all feel trivial.
The cameras, the reporters, the hundreds of people in the arena were drowned out as you both exchanged looks of pride and awe. His victory was as much yours as his.
Soon his arm is grabbed, as the referee pulls him to the middle, showing off Soonyoung to the huge TV camera.
You take a step back, proudly.
You beam as you watch Soonyoung being praised, and Wonwoo respectfully shaking his hand even after the taxing match.
Your father himself patting your back, “So you finally know how it feels,” He starts.
You snap out of your trance, glancing at him, your dad. “Huh?”
“Nothing better than seeing the guy you spent your blood, sweat and tears on winning a major match.” He says with a proud smile, “And even better, seeing someone you love happy.”
“What?” You say baffled, not expecting him to add on the last part. He nudges your side, an amused chuckle escaping him.
“Congrats, buddy.” He says vaguely, before walking forward to congratulate Soonyoung loudly, shaking the beat up guy with rough affection.
“Barbecue and drinks — on me tonight!” Your father boasts with a laugh.
Which he probably regrets, when an hour later the impromptu congratulatory party is held at a familiar run down barbecue place after hours. Courtesy of Jihoon, Soonyoung’s friend. Claiming — only this one time! Because he won!
Beers and soju bottles litter the table, as your dad grumbles on a plastic chair. Already nursing his head from too many drinks.
“Lee Chan, go and run off and get some hangover cures.” Your father orders, despite Lee Chan not being quite sober either. Lee Chan blinks in confusion as he points to himself, Seungcheol reacts with laughter.
He snaps his fingers lazily, “Jihoon, another plate of pork belly. Need ta’ soak this alcohol up.”
Jihoon nods, knocking back a shot of soju himself before tiredly heading to the kitchen, “Right, on the way.”
When Jihoon disappears to the kitchen, Seungcheol pats Lee Chan’s back, “You heard the old man, I’ll come with you.” He teases, before the two leave on their little errand.
You, on the other hand, are outside. Sitting on the curb near the restaurant’s entrance. Your head turns when you hear the sound of the door, Seungcheol and Lee Chan walking out, their hoodies on.
Seungcheols greets you with a small smile, Lee Chan bowing clumsily as well. “Going to get some more drinks, want anything?” Seungcheol asks.
You shake your head, “It’s alright oppa, I’m good.” You say, nursing the half full beer in your hand.
Seungcheol nods, “Alright.” He says easily, before clearing his throat. Keeping the entrance door open with his foot as he yells out, “Kwon, she’s out here!”
And you can hear Soonyoung’s voice — What? I thought she was in the bathroom! Hold on!
Seungcheol glances back at you, “Hey, be nice to him. He won today's match.” Seungcheol aims at you, “Everything seems fine now, but if Chan and I come back and you guys are —“
“It’s fine.” You shut down, “I’ll be nice.” You reassure, cracking a smile.
Seungcheol raises his brows in intrigue, but decides not to question it. Just taking the tipsy Lee Chan with him to walk to the convenience store.
It’s not long until Soonyoung burst out the door. Freshly showered after the match, in baggy sweats and his wounds bandaged up.
“Hey,” He breathes, as he adjusts the beanie on his head. “I really thought you were in the bathroom.”
“Well, I’m not.” You shrug, “Just needed some fresh air.”
Soonyoung settles beside you on the curb, his thigh practically glued to yours as he knocks his own beer to yours. “God, my face is killing me.” He mutters, “Say what you want about that guy, his fist is deadly.”
“I warned you that already.” You chime in absentmindedly, your instinct to correct Soonyoung was just too strong.
He pouts, “Yeah, well, I was too busy being heartbroken at the time. Forgive me for not listening.” He says, before cracking a smile. He takes a swig of his beer.
“I just want to say,” He takes a breath, “Thanks. I really thought it was over around the third round.” He furrows his brows, “Or fourth? Fifth? I don’t know, at one point everything was blurry.”
You snicker, “I didn’t do anything, that was all you.”
He shakes his head, “Nope, wrong. If you didn’t snap me out of it and reminded me of the basics, I would’ve crumpled there and then.” He says strongly, “You were my rock tonight.”
Your face softens at that.
“And,” He takes another big deep breath, “I don’t want to just spring this on you, but, since we’re already on this wave,” He fiddles with his fingers before meeting your gaze.
“I want to ask you to be my girlfriend.” He asks, like it’s the scariest thing he ever has had to say. The same man who fights professional fighters in front of thousands — just simply a guy in love when he looks at you.
And for a second you see that, the awkward bumbling kid that ran into the gym late that one day.
You set down your beer on the pavement, “Your girlfriend, huh?”
“Well — you can say no. No pressure. Just because I won today doesn’t mean you have to say yes, or —“
“Soonyoung.” You stop his rambling, grabbing his hand, the same one you were wrapping only hours ago. “Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend.”
He doesn’t register your words for a moment, but when he does, he grins wide. His eyes full of affection as he looks at you, soft as he studies your face.
He clears his throat, “Great, awesome.” He replies, “And most importantly, finally.” He adds on with a breath of relief, making you elbow his side. “Hey — ow! Not too much!”
“Oh sorry!” You say immediately, your hands shooting to his side, leaning forward in worry. But he catches you, a smug grin on his face as he matches your distance.
He catches your lips into a kiss, nothing like the ones you shared in the gym the night before. But this time, soft and comforting. Savoring the moment between the both of you before pulling away, his nose grazing yours.
“By the way,” He starts quietly, his breath fanning against your skin, “Your panties are still in my bag.”
Your face heats up, leaning back as you ignore Soonyoung’s injuries to punch his shoulder. Again, he just had to make use of his talent of ruining the mood of things.
“What — hey! I said you were my rock! It’s good luck!” He defends with a couple laughs, your punch turning into punches.
The late night street hums with the sound of the street lights, cicadas, and the buzzing of the telephone wires of the crowded alleys. Laughter and music from the celebration spilling outside, disapproving comments leave your lips while Soonyoung’s laughter carries through the streets. This night is just one of the many you’ll share together.
But one thing's for sure — you’re making sure Soonyoung omits this “lucky charm” in his interviews.
── inviting soonyoung to film was meant to stay a casual arrangement, that is until he breaks the singular condition… to not fall for you.
tags : camgirl!reader x soonyoung | college au, porn w plot, humour, angst. 18+
wc : 17.9k 🤨
content : fuckbuddies to lovers, emotionally constipated reader, pussy whipped hoshi (well duh!), alcohol, vomit mentions, grinding in public lmao, multiple smut scenes with handjob, both oral, masturbation, power sub hoshi ‼️, protected sex, drunk sex, choking, overstimulation, recording
♬ : r u mine? - arctic monkeys / masterpiece - ateez / mmmh - kai / yuck - charli xcx
notes : i’ve been writing this fic for a while now but kinktober is what motivated me to finally get it out, even though the word count got away from me :,)
thank you to larie @breakmeoff for hosting this event and letting me participate!! and to emmie & mer who listened to me complain about the writing process and cheered me on <3
SOONYOUNG chased after his own breath as he downed a red plastic cup of water, sweat sticking to the back of his neck that the vehement dancing wasn’t entirely to blame for.
he and the rest of the trio, seungkwan and seokmin, had been practically glued to the wall and off in their own world until they’d drowned out their anxiety with liquor. and when the bass of fantastic baby’s opening rattled the walls, soonyoung had shamelessly dragged his friends by their wrists to the dance circle.
it wasn’t long before the crowd ended up parting for the tipsy trio, egging the boys on as they tore up the dancefloor. the other two (show offs) even sparked cheers when they both belted the bridge.
seungkwan and seokmin had been ridiculously loud, impossible to tune out — and yet soonyoung couldn’t hear anything but the thrum of his own heartbeat when he caught sight of you.
in the midst of all that noise, your eyes crossed paths. it was literally just a chance contact: a pretty girl amongst the sea of people, tongue pressed into your cheek as you looked him up and down — eyes flitting from face to crotch, raising your brows like you knew exactly what he’d taste like. seungkwan had to shove soonyoung into position because you’d turned him to stone with just one look.
his body moved to the music on instinct, while each thought in his mind had been set to fire — the flames roaring a feeling he really didn’t want to think about or else he’d pop a rager right here in front of everyone.
soonyoung hadn’t meant to keep staring, even long after they song ended and the circle started to disperse. hadn’t thought about it when he got on his tippy toes to catch sight of your face again amongst the crowd. he may as well have been floating in the air following your scent like a pie on a windowsill.
he felt crazy. more than his usual.
to his luck, he finds you again across the room, pouring tequila into two shots glasses: one for you, one for your ponytailed friend.
just when he thinks he can’t possibly drool at the sight of you, your tongue darts out to lick a stripe of salt off your hand. together, you link arms with your friend and throw your heads back to down the shots.
the clear liquor seeped from the corner of your lips and caught on your chin as your face scrunched, reaching for a slice of lime to suck on. that’s when he should really look away, before his thoughts revert to caveman and all he can think is peepee want suck.
his brain’s halfway to regression as you pop the shrivelled lime from your mouth, lazily tugging up the hem of your shirt to blot the juice and liquor around your mouth, flashing the bare skin of your stomach to what should’ve been no one in particular.
his eyes dart away before yours could catch him, but it was still too late. his throat felt tight, his body reacting in ways that made his stomach twist. oh, shit. was he—? oh my god. he’s really become the guy who gets hard at the party.
soonyoung resolves to turning to his friends, the hand in his lap slyly readjusting the front of his sweats under the table. he tunes back in to their conversation, desperate for their lunacy to repulse him out of this evil.
“soonyoung, you know that chick?” seokmin pipes up, voice loud over the music.
fuck my life.
he gulped. “uh, who?”
seokmin extends an arm out to fully point at you without any regard for socially acceptable behaviour. seungkwan’s quick to intercept it and shove it back down before any heads can turn.
soonyoung shook his head, threading a hand through his hair to slyly catch a bead of sweat about to run down his forehead. seungkwan’s more demure in his approach, gaze casually flitting around the room before he catches on who seokmin was pointing at.
“you don’t mean that tall one, right? ponytail?”
“the one who just did a shot with her friend, yeah” seokmin drawls. “she’s gorgeous.”
seungkwan gives him wicked side eye. “that’s a hyung. his name’s jeonghan.”
“oh.”
“wait, what about the other one?” soonyoung cuts in; practically blurts. “do you know her?”
“not her name, no.” well that was surprising. seungkwan knew the names of just about everyone’s mother and their dog. “but i think she—”
“—is coming over.” seokmin says lowly through a smile full of teeth.
and sure enough, soonyoung’s got no time to compose himself before you’re standing in front of them, radiant and certain.
“hey cuties,” you purr, bending at the waist and resting your palms on the table to lean closer. a soft perfume hits his senses, and it’s enough for a violent storm of butterflies to start flapping their wings in his stomach.
maybe it was the five dollar snoop dogg wine he bought on clearance (dancing with a bellyful certainly didn’t help), but his insides were shaking up. he didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust that opening his mouth wouldn’t just spill all his nerves onto the floor.
“hey.” he manages to croak out at last. seungkwan’s side eye dug sharp into his skull.
if you notice, you don’t seem to care — rather you jab a thumb toward the dance floor where the crowd was swaying along to bae bae. “you know this one?”
”yeah,” he replies pitifully.
“good.” your smile curled, sly and unbothered. “mind if i steal him?”
soonyoung doesn’t even get to answer for himself before his friends are shoving him out of his seat, barely concealing their groans of secondhand embarrassment as he shyly takes hold of the hand you’ve offered him.
as he trails behind you, he shoots them one last glance: narrowing his eyes with pursed lips, as if to say i got hit on and you didn’t, so stop making fun of me!
the floor rattled with bass, bae bae flooding the room as bodies moved along. soonyoung found himself orbiting you in the middle of the dancefloor, inching closer with each beat until you were swaying together, just the two of you in your own little bubble.
“what’s your name?” you asked, leaning in so he could hear you, not without your breath fanning his face.
“kwon soonyoung.” he replies, unintentionally straightening his back and stating his full name without hesitation. you laugh softly at his sincerity.
you repeated yours back the same way. his head bobbed in a curt nod. and then… nothing. he opened his mouth, closed it again; mind suddenly wiped clean of every scrap of charm and every line he’d ever used. he wasn’t some virgin loser, he swears to no one in particular. he just needed a second to defrost.
“what’re you up to here?” you asked, taking the reins to fill the silence.
“oh, i got invited with the rest of the football team.”
you nod without a word, teeth catching your bottom lip. was that you biting back a thought, or were you deliberately teasing him? either way, it leaves his eyes lingering at your mouth.
he scrambled for something to return. “what about you?”
“jeonghan’s friends with everyone,” you nod towards the wall where jeonghan leaned, charming the hell out of one of soonyoung’s teammates, wonwoo. jeonghan caught your gesture and threw you a wink.
a pit opened up in soonyoung’s stomach. boyfriend?
“not my boyfriend.” you tag on, as if you’d plucked the thought right out of his head.
“oh, cool.” his relief was instant, though he tried not to sound too obvious about it. okay. so maybe you were flirting.
the song rolled into its final stretch, the part where the backup dancers draped their bodies over the guys and swayed in sync with them. around you, couples mirrored the choreography. you stepped toward soonyoung and turned your back to him expectantly.
your arm comes to hook lazily around his neck, body already swaying side to side while his feet stayed planted to the ground as if he wasn’t a dance major as well as a raging bigbang fanboy. his arms hung rigid — among other things — at his sides when your ass brushed against his front.
“don’t tell me you’ve gone shy on me,” you pouted over your shoulder.
that did it. his hands found your waist at last, and you rewarded him by grinding just enough to make his head spin. he tried to follow the steps on instinct, but his body was uncooperative: half stiff from nerves and half from the amount of blood rushing south.
you laugh, the sound dripping with knowing mischief. you both knew damn well what you had roused in him. worse, you’re taking the piss out of it, almost enticing him to make a mess of his pants out here with each not-so accidental slide against him.
when the song comes to a torturous end, you don’t step away — rather you spin in his arms, looping both of yours around his neck before leaning in to kiss him.
it was dizzying. the taste of his cheap dodgy wine mingled with the bitter taste of your tequila and lime when you licked into his mouth — just once, then his tongue was chasing yours. when his fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, you take it as a sign to end it here. any longer and he might not let go.
soonyoung nearly whines in dismay from parting with you, and you have to press a palm to his chest to stop him from leaning in for a second go.
“got places to be?” you ask, tilting your head towards seokmin and seungkwan, whom he completely forget he came with. he shakes his head. “they won’t miss you too much?”
he’d literally skip attending their funerals if it meant getting whatever you’re offering to give him right now.
okay, maybe that was too extreme of an example, but the point still stands. it’s been a while since he’s gotten some. he silently prays that his abilities haven’t slipped from him during his hiatus.
“let me just get my bag from jeonghan, and we’ll head out of here? my place?”
he nods along. your smile’s worth a million dollars. “good boy.”
you turn away without regard for what the hell you’ve just done to him, pushing past the crowd while he stands there horny and conflicted.
he glances back to his table, where seungkwan and seokmin are giving him thumbs up and silently cheering him on. the youngest’s eyes flick down, and his face drops in horror. he mimes to soonyoung by frantically pointing downwards and covering his lap with his hands. soonyoung just waves them off with a roll of his eyes, trailing after you — but not without clasping his hands at the front of his body to conceal the tent in his pants.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧
after a handsy uber ride back to your apartment (which was all you, grabbing at his thighs and kissing his neck. he was too scared of the driver glancing in the rearview mirror), soonyoung finds himself laid out on the couch underneath you.
your ass was sat in his lap while you bent down to kiss him; your hands roaming underneath his shirt to palm at his abs, hips rocking to grind frantically against him.
“god, you’re so hard,” you exhale onto his lips, fingers tugging at the strings of his sweatpants. months of no play will do that…
you sit back on his thighs, slipping a hand under his waistband and grazing your fingers over his length. his cock twitches at the featherlight touch, and you snicker at his sensitivity.
“it’s.. been a while. sorry. i don’t know how long i’ll—”
the words die in his throat when your fist wraps tight around him. you watch him gasp with a glimmer in your eye.
“do you see me complaining?” you croon.
he makes a silent vow to pound you til this couch is creaking, but only after he gets past the chills leading up to his first orgasm. you deserve better than the whiney mess you’ve got under you right now.
your palm lets go of its vice grip around him, fingers sliding up to dance across his abdomen. you giggle in amusement when his torso flexes under your nails.
“soonie— can i call you that? okay, good. i wanna ask your permission for something.”
he nods with a gulp, eyes trained on your hand swirling circles on the bare skin of his toned chest.
you lean down to press a kiss to his lips that lasts longer than intended — him catching your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking your tongue into his mouth. you swat his side playfully as you part. that could definitely turn into something he’s into… but the thought passes as quick as it comes.
“do you mind if i record this?”
soonyoung stares at you for a moment, and you’re happy to wait patiently as you watch the cogs turn in his head. at last, his face shifts into one of surprise, and intrigue.
“oh, yeah. sure.”
his response is calmer than you thought was coming (him too). you smile, pressing quick kisses to his lips and leaving him chasing after you as you get up off his lap.
soonyoung watches his small reflection on your phone screen as you set it on the coffee table, propped up on a tissue box. it’s angled to cut off anything above soonyoung’s jaw, and he could still tell just how sweaty he was even from the distance. he’s not sure what he expects to happen when you press record, but he curiously trails your every move once the camera’s rolling — letting you lead this dance and for him to follow.
your ass plops back down to the home it’s made on his thighs. “if you’re gonna call me anything, make sure it’s ‘baby’.” you whisper.
soonyoung nods, hypnotised by your hands crawling to his waistband.
his eyes flit back up to your face to watch your reaction as you tug his sweats down, revealing where he’s been straining against his briefs.
you lick your lips, fingers rubbing at the head of his cock where the fabric’s already damp with precum. his hips roll into the featherlight touch against his will (lie) and you giggle.
“big boy.” you say absently, rolling the last layer down his thighs enough to be out of the way. he swears his dick jumps at those words.
there’s no preamble as you spit right onto the tip, soonyoung jolting at the sudden contact. you use a loose fist around him to glide your spit and the leaking precum down over his length. when you reach the base, your fist wraps around him properly, and he hisses sharply to hide the whine that almost left his mouth on camera.
with a vice grip you ride your hand up and over him; smiling at how his dick bobs at your touch, how his face scrunches from the effort of trying not to bust all over your knuckles already.
soonyoung lets out a shaky whimper when your fist reaches his tip, cut off by a startled moan when you give a flick of your wrist. you snicker and repeat the action to get him to duplicate the noise. he catches your eyes drifting to the phone, watching your reflection as you jerk him off.
you keep working him like that — a tight grip and steady paced strokes of his cock, with a quick twist at the tip to keep him vocal. even with the amount of soft moans you were pulling from him, he still found himself holding himself back, hyperaware of everything being documented. he’d probably be belting high notes from how fucking good you feel if not for the camera.
only a good few strokes later and soonyoung’s reaching for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist where your hand is undeterred in fisting him. his hips jolt, cock twitching violently in your hand as soonyoung feels that familiar tightness curling far too quickly in his lower belly.
“holy fuck—” he throws his head back, urging out stammers between his moans, not sure himself whether he’s trying to get you to slow down or speed up. “baby—”
your movements come to a torturous halt. your hand’s wrapped tight around the head of his cock, thumb pressing cruelly onto his frenulum. his breath comes out in shallow heaves as he simultaneously holds back on orgasm and prays to not make a bitch of himself. your hands slide off of him, and when his eyes flutter open, he’s surprised to find that yours are back on him — captivated and gleaming.
if he was in any position to make demands he’d tell you not to edge him. but he’s completely out of it, hazy at the edges and sensitive to every drag of your fingertips on his skin. you’ve got his shirt hiked up on his chest to watch his abs contort under your featherlight touch, face plastered with a wicked grin.
he swallows the urge to sit up and kiss it off your face. he doesn’t know how far he’s allowed to go, instead just laying there and taking whatever you’ll give him.
for a minute, you rake your nails over his chest and watch how his cock jumps and leaks, every soft whine from soonyoung a plea to get your hands back on him. though he’s grateful for the breather so he can hold off his orgasm to a less embarrassing finishing time. your eyes weigh heavy on him the entire time, until you’re suddenly raising off his lap.
he cuts himself off before he can say the first syllable of your name. “baby, what—”
the rest of his sentence dies in a choked moan as he witnesses your face drop down and lips wrap around him. soonyoung’s back arches off the couch at the shock of your tongue dragging over the underside of his length, hollowing your cheeks to suck him into the heat of your mouth.
“baby, baby,” he’s babbling, hand instinctively burying into your hair. your hum in reply vibrates around him, tongue swirling circles onto the head of his cock, pressing down hard enough for him to see fucking stars.
it takes everything in him and then some to not close his fist around your hair in fear of uprooting it as his orgasm seizes him — hips deliriously bucking up into your throat, you bobbing your head to match his urgency. soonyoung quite literally yells as he cums, burying him to the base around your lips as hot ropes shoot down your throat.
you’ve got no mercy as you move off him, cheeks still sucking him in as you drag your mouth up his length with that same unrelenting tightness, leaving soonyoung a whimpering mess when your lips detach with a wet pop.
you lick your lips, and he watches breathlessly as your throat bobs, swallowing the taste of him down. his dick twitches at the sight.
you smile, satiated, patting his thigh like you’re telling him he did a good job. you don’t move from your spot this time as you lean to the coffee table and retrieve your phone, pressing the recording off. after, you reach for a few tissues and wipe soonyoung’s crotch with one hand, while staring at the other holding your phone.
you tuck him back into his pants, giving him a smile as he stares at you with wonder like he just got a handjob from an angel.
“that was good,” you tell him, turning your attention back to your phone.
“are you kidding?” he replies. that gets your eyes to flick back to him. “you’re, like..” don’t ask what he’s saying because he doesn’t know either. “that was goated.”
you close your eyes with a scoff in disbelief over his word choice. “thank you.”
he finally sits up, moving to wrap his arms around your waist. you’ll come to learn he acts like a clingy sloth after he nuts.
though, you shift in his hold, and he backs off when he realises he might’ve overstepped. you look more at ease once his arms fall off you, and he feels a pang of regret.
you look up at him, flashing a smile that wipes the slate clean.
“did you want to see?”
you hold your phone up, no preamble as you press play on the video. his desperate noises echoed back at him and the slick sounds of you fisting his cock has him turning away instantly, flustered and horny all over again.
you get the hint, turning your phone off with a giggle. “i can send it to you if you’d like.”
“uh, sure.” it’s a good excuse for your number. and he’d be a god damn liar if he said he wouldn’t rewatch the fuck out of that video to jerk off.
“why’d you record anyways?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him. a small part of him hopes you’ll flatter him and say it’s because he’s so hot you want to remember this moment forever.
you look a little taken aback that he’s asking, which slides back into your casual confidence. “to post it.”
he just stares at you: lights on, no one’s home. you crack up into laughter.
“i’m kidding, i wouldn’t dare without your permission.”
it feels like he’s swallowing a rock in his throat as he gulps. “you’re serious? where would you even..?”
“you know where.” you snicker, perplexingly casual about this whole thing. “you gonna go look me up now?”
yes. “um…”
thank god you don’t press him for an answer, instead just brushing it off with a giggle.
“since you’re asking, i’m a camgirl.” you go on. “i don’t usually record with anyone else. but i wanted to try something new.”
visuals of you naked and touching yourself on video flash through his mind against his will. the thought has him shifting his weight, trying to find any relief from his already damp pants. he felt like he was in heat or some shit.
you hold his face in your hands, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. if you’re trying to sway him, it’s already working.
“that brings me to what i was gonna ask. it’s completely up to you, and don’t feel pressured, but i wanted to ask if i could post—”
“—go ahead.”
he practically shrugs it. for a moment, your eyes widen as his words register. once your grin splits across your face, soonyoung knows then he’d do absolutely anything you ask of him just to get this reaction out of you.
you squeal and pull him into a hug. his hand comes to rest on your back, his own smile pressed into your shoulder.
“don’t worry, i’ll crop it so your face isn’t in it.” you push back his hair, leaving pecks on his forehead. you’re really affectionate for a girl who approached him at a party with the sole intent of hooking up (and filming it?).
the urge to pry wafts through his mind — whether he should ask about what this means, if there’s any more of tonight in the near future, but he doesn’t dare break the moment. just sits there pliant in your hands as you kiss all over his face.
“before i forget to ask, could i get your number?”
“so forward,” you tease, “not just trying to get in my pants, are you?” like his whole dick wasn’t down your throat just a moment ago.
he chuckles, your thumb gliding over the swell of his cheeks as he smiled. “ah, guilty.”
it’s a known fact that soonyoung has a bad habit of thinking with his dick first and brain second. the one thing his exes could agree on is that he was the type to fold without a fight. all it took was one suggestive glance mid-argument and his mind would be wiped clean of any grievances. he’d walk to the ends of the earth with the promise of some pussy.
so when you asked if you could upload the video, he’d agreed without so much as a second thought. because in the moment, the thought of making you smile outweighed anything else.
only now, whenever it hit him that there was a literal sex tape of him online, his moans and his junk on display for strangers, his stomach twisted into knots.
he wasn’t exactly ashamed. more so.. embarrassed at how eager he was to please you. how quickly he undermined his own dignity in favour of not disappointing you.
he was battling and near losing against the urge to ask you out on a real date — but settles on an excuse to text you instead.
[ soonie ] hello ☺️ how’s the video doing?
seungkwan’s at his side right now, sulking about soonyoung paying more attention to his phone and trying to lean over his shoulder to see what could possibly be more important than him. really, he’s just nosey and figured soonyoung probably got your number.
three dots appear on the screen, and soonyoung all but bitchslaps him to thwart his thrashing to snatch the phone.
[ you ] hey! it’s doing really well, already pulling in a lot
one hand’s outstretched to keep a pouting seungkwan at arm’s length, the other’s holding his phone while he grins down at your reply.
he was about to think up another weak excuse to keep the conversation going when your next message landed:
[ you ] wanna get lunch soon? we can talk business
business. right. that was how you saw it. he needed this reminder.
he should’ve played it cool in front of seungkwan, should’ve at least pretended to think about it and left you on read for a few minutes to check his nonexistent schedule. seungkwan had wriggled past the grip on his forehead, so soonyoung could only send a thumbs up before quickly shutting off his phone.
luckily, when he checked it again after ducking from seungkwan’s flying kick and locking himself in the bathroom, you’d already taken the initiative to text him the when and where.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧
the café was noisy enough during the lunch rush that you could talk openly, though soonyoung still leaned in across the booth table like someone might kick you both out for discussing such debaucherous things in public.
he fiddled with the straw of his iced americano, drawing onto the condensation to avoid meeting your eyes. “so… how exactly do you get paid?”
you smirked over the rim of your own coffee, delighted by his curiosity. “why are you whispering like i’m a drug dealer?”
he stammers when he tries to backtrack, but you just laugh, putting him out of his misery. “it’s largely through subscriptions, with tips being pretty common. i also do private requests. the platform takes a cut of course.”
he nodded like he was taking mental notes, chewing on the end of his straw. “and you interact with your viewers? like, talk to them?”
“sometimes i go live just to talk to them. other times, only for the good stuff.” your smile tilted knowingly. “you’d be surprised how much i’ve been paid to just say someone’s name.”
soonyoung nods, the burning tips of his ears betraying his exterior of composure. he was itching to know if anyone had asked about him yet.
“pros and cons?” he croaks out instead.
you hum in thought. “the money’s great. so is the attention, and the flexibility too. i can masturbate in bed and have rent covered within the day.” soonyoung coughs, drink having gone down the wrong pipe. “otherwise, it’s draining. people thinking their money means they own you.”
he frowned at that, stabbing his straw into a melting cube of ice. “i don’t like that.”
“it is what it is.” you half-smile, leaning your chin onto your hand. “a girl’s gotta eat. i can pay the bills without having a day job, and also focus on my studies more.”
you keep indulging in playing twenty questions with soonyoung over your coffees. he begins to realise his grave mistake in ordering one since he was getting the nervous shits — face beet red as the conversation had steered to your collection of toys, you not even lowering your voice as people walked by and shot you sideways glances.
you’re in the middle of telling him a story about how you squirted once and the vibrator stopped working, but what’s weirder is soonyoung feels this pang in his chest. it doesn’t hurt; not like his stomach that’s churning with public anxiety, or his dick that’s been hard with no relief since you started talking about this.
the warm feeling swells in his heart and spreads through his veins. answering his questions without pause, giggling at his coy attempts for jokes, smiling as he does. even as you speak things out loud that’d give a pilgrim a heart attack, he can’t help but feel adoration. you’re so you. unapologetically. admiringly.
he suddenly asks, “how do you do it?”
you pause for a moment, regarding him. “oh, well i usually drink lots of water befo—”
he chokes on a cough as he rushes to stop that sentence before you finish it.
“not.. that,” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat awkwardly and being reminded of where he’s been straining against his pants. “i just mean, posting yourself. talking so openly about it, even inviting someone else into it. you’re just so…” sexy beautiful perfect hot god i want you please let me fu— “confident. like this whole thing wouldn’t be a big deal to most people.”
“because it’s really not.” you affirm coolly. there’s a hint of sternness there that makes his dick twitch to his own utter confusion. “i’m not harming anyone. if someone feels personally offended by how i make money, i kindly remind them that it’s only made possible by the demand.”
you chuckle. he does too, halfheartedly since he’s so caught up in that self-assured look in your eyes.
“i’ve had to explain that too many times,” you sighed, setting your empty mug aside. “let’s move on to business now?”
soonyoung straightened in his chair, suddenly hyperaware of how solemn your expression had turned. he nodded quickly, hands folding in his lap (to nervously fidget with his fingers out of sight).
“alright,” you start, leaning forward. “ground rules. if this is going to keep happening, we need to be on the same page.”
his pulse jumped at your choice of words: keep happening. he tried not to look too thrilled, but the corner of his lips upturned on their own. “got it.”
“what do you want out of it?”
he hesitated. the honest answer? you, in any way he can get. he’s a grown ass man with a budding crush, even though you skipped all the courting and dived straight to home base. but saying that was probably too sentimental for the arrangement in talks.
instead he swallowed and managed: “just more of what we had. it was— well, you already know.”
“yeah.” you sat back, satisfied with his answer. “then here’s how it’ll be: we keep it casual. we have our fun, record to post, and split the profit. easy.”
easier said than done, soonyoung thinks with a furrow of his brow. he’s never done anything less than serious, full-term commitment with someone he’s been interested in. he wouldn’t know what casual is even if it was lit up in neon lights.
“no strings attached,” you add firmly, like these exact words are no stranger to leaving your mouth. “i don’t do relationships.”
soonyoung nods along, though his chest aches in a different way now. “yeah, of course. that’s totally fine.”
“cool. what do you want your cut to be?”
“huh?”
“well, my subscribers ate the fuck out of the surprise cameo. i’ve made alot already because of you. if we have a deal, it’s only fair to share what i earn.”
“no, er, that’s okay. i wouldn’t ask that of you.”
you eye him curiously, waiting for him to think it over and have a change of heart. but soonyoung’s not so materialistic he’d charge you for his time like an escort.
he gets to sleep with a gorgeous girl who’s insanely out of his league, you get your money, everyone orgasms, it’s a win-win.
…maybe doing it all for some pussy was materialistic in a different way. but the point still stands.
“what a gentleman.” you tut, smirking. “you’re not gonna fall in love with me, are you?”
that’s the one deal he can’t agree to, so his only answer is a laugh. thankfully, you don’t push for anything else.
you stood to shuffle out from the booth, scooping up your things while soonyoung scrambled after you, one hand clutching his stomach.
“i gotta hit the bathroom first,” he muttered.
you laughed, practically announcing it to the surrounding café patrons. “better now than mid-thrust.”
a couple of heads turned, brows raised and mouth grimacing. before soonyoung could will himself to melt through the floor, you gave his bicep a squeeze on your way past.
“i’ll be waiting outside, soonie.”
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧
the red light on the camera blinked at soonyoung as he watched you adjust its angle on the tripod. the room was cloaked in a deep purple from the LED lights lining your ceiling. he laid behind you on the bed propped up by his elbows, dick already half-hard with the knowledge of what you’re about to do to him.
it’d be his second time being recorded and appearing on your account, though this would be the first time he’d get to have sex with you.
he’s gone through the steps of this dance before, enough to have a reliable skillset and confidence in his abilities to make a woman happy — but you had this air to you, made him doubtful in his own capabilities. the looming audience in the form of a camera didn’t help either.
“ready?” you asked, turning to face him on the bed.
“yeah.” soonyoung murmured, shifting under the weight of your gaze.
there’s a moment where you drink him in: teeth tugging your lip as your eyes drag over his body, lingering at the imprint forming at the front of his pants. he has to remind himself it’s just for show — to get him writhing for the sake of good content.
your hands plant on the mattress, and you make a show of crawling up to him on the bed, your ass hiked in the air on full display for the camera. count him in as one of the first viewers for when you post this.
your ass finds his lap once again, your knees bracketing his thighs. you cup soonyoung’s face for a tender moment before you’re diving in, lips finding his with an urgency he’s quick to match.
the room fills with the sloppy, wet noises of your feral make-out. your fingers bury in his hair as his tongue breaches past your lips, and you swallow the pretty noise that leaves him when you give an experimental tug of his locks. soonyoung’s knuckles ached from where he’s been tugging at the sheets, aching to touch.
he whines when you chew lightly on his lower lip, the sound blending into a gasp when your hips roll, clothed heat grinding down onto his lap. he can’t help himself to finally raising his hands, fingers finding your waist on instinct to guide you back and forth against him.
you come off his lips with a wet smack, brows pinched together as you look at him.
“hands stay there.” you murmur, returning them to the bed.
he nods, the heat of embarrassment crawling up his neck. you swallow the sorry he tries to offer when you steal his mouth in a kiss.
soonyoung continues to sit there, completely at your mercy as you ravage his neck and tug at his hair. your hips stay determined as they rut against him, and with each of your movements he has to restrain from flipping you both over and dryhumping you silly. not like he’d even get there — one suck of your lips below his ear and his pelvis is jolting, a whiney noise slipping from soonyoung as the warning pulses of his orgasm race to his dick.
you recognise what’s happening and pull off. there’s an amused glint in your eye when his hands flex against the sheets, resisting the urge to reach for you. he sits there obediently as you tug his waistband and boxers down his thighs, and pull his sweater off over his head. he reminds himself to keep his hands to himself when you discard your own top — mouth watering at the sight of your bare chest. he leans forward, intending to take a nipple into his mouth without thinking.
“lay back.” you order. he complies, breath coming out shallow when you wriggle out of your shorts and crawl back to your position above him — pussy glistening in the purple light.
you reach for soonyoung’s pants and fish around in his pocket for the condom packet you requested he bring. you tear it open with your teeth, and he hisses from the faintest contact as you roll it down over his length.
you prop yourself up by your knees and line up your core with him. soonyoung moans out when your hand grabs him by the base, gliding his tip through your folds and smearing with your arousal. he’s so worked up he could full well cum from it. a sharp whine from him is his way of asking you don’t tease him, and a snicker from you is your reply — nudging his head into the warm velvet of your pussy.
he’s surprised he didn’t rip your sheets from how hard he gripped them as you sunk down on his cock, your lip bite the only evidence that he’s affecting you even a portion of the amount he feels. soonyoung lets out a filthy moan once you’re sat on his lap, his entire length buried inside you and pulsing like crazy.
you breathe out a cuss, fingers splaying across his bare chest as you raise yourself deliberately slow, savouring the way his face contorts and his veins drag against your walls — before you drop back down with a loud slap of skin on skin.
“baby, fuck!—” soonyoung grits, cutting himself off with a moan as you set a gruelling pace on top of him.
soonyoung’s head lolls back, his body surrendering as you fuck him. you catch him stammering the start of your name, and your hand flies out to wrap around his neck, the letters blending into strangled whimpers as your fingers press down into his pulse.
distantly, he hears you panting out cusses and perhaps even small moans of your own, the noises sent from heaven.
it’s been a hot minute since a girl’s done all the work for him, and the first time one’s ever choked him — so it’s no surprise that his orgasm sneaks up on him, soonyoung all but shouting as it overwhelms his body. his knuckles turn pale in the sheets as he cums, the rocks of your hips unrelenting as you fuck him through it — his condom filling up as he moans something between “baby” and “god”.
as he lays there, limp and heaving, he doesn’t even register you lingering on top of him until you’re suddenly moving to rise off him — soonyoung jolting from the sensation of your warmth moving up on his length. you clench down on him when you reach the tip, giggling at how his voice cracks with a whimper.
“you’re perfect.” he exhales, head rolling to the side. you don’t answer as you slip the condom off of him and tie it into a knot. “the most perfect girl…”
the bed shifts when you step off, clicking the camera off and tossing the spent condom into the bin. missing you, he cracks an eye open, watching you walk towards him with a packet of wet wipes.
you sit on the edge of the bed as you clean soonyoung up, your fingers on the wipe the only physical contact as you keep your body at a distance. his stomach dips with something he can’t really name.
you finally look at him. he can’t remember if you even directly met his eyes through all of the sex that just happened. he imagines how his must look right now, big brown eyes pleading. he’s almost surprised when you give him a soft smile. the camera’s off now — this one’s just for him.
the curve of your lips falter when your eyes lower down his face, dropping to his neck. your fingers graze up, leaving featherlight touches on his pulse. you definitely felt how his heartbeat was hammering.
“i’m sorry.” you offer. his face twists, confused.
“why?” he asks, genuinely lost.
“we didn’t discuss choking. i shouldn’t of done that without asking.”
“oh, no, hey— that’s fine. i think that’s when i came.” he reaches for you before stopping himself, hands hovering near your wrist. “i didn’t know i liked it.”
“that’s why we should’ve talked about it,” you sigh, pressing a palm to your face.
“okay, well i’m not upset, so you shouldn’t be either.” he replies matter-of-factly. you glance at him, giving a tired smile, before his chest lurches with realisation. “oh fuck, did you even cum?“
“i’m fine, soonie.”
“that’s not fine, here let me—”
“—it’s seriously fine.” you reaffirm sternly. “i’ll take care of myself.”
he backs down, dejected; cursing himself for not paying better attention and not caring about your pleasure and also being a lazy cunt who didn’t even try to—
“you wanna see my other camera?” you ask, cutting through his racing thoughts. it must’ve been evident with the deep frown on his face.
“yeah.” he pipes up, crossing his legs on the bed like a kid ready for show-and-tell. you pull your shirt on before walking off towards your shelf, and soonyoung reaches for his own clothes to put on, zipping up his white sweater.
when you return, you’re holding a polaroid camera — and soonyoung doesn’t have time to think before you’re snapping the shot.
instinctively, he threw up a hand doing horanghae, though actually smiling for the photo had slipped his mind.
once the film slid out, you shook it and waited for the picture to bloom. your brows furrowed, lips twitching between amusement and confusion as you studied it.
“what? did it come out bad?” he asked with genuine concern.
“no, soonie, i’m just wondering what the fuck is that.” you flip the polaroid to him, pointing to how his hand is posed.
“oh that. it’s like an inside joke with my friends.”
“are you imagining groping them?”
“no no, it’s like tiger claws, since they all call me a tiger.”
he does it again, scrunching his nose and pinching his brows to play the part. he’s about to explain how it’s called horanghae when you snort with an amused glint in your eye.
“do they call you a furry too?”
“..that’s a new one.” he sighs. usually they (read: seungkwan) just call him an attention whore.
“so you’re a tiger, huh?” you smirk, playing into it. “i’ll remember it for next time.”
his mood lifts instantly. he might actually just cum on the spot over the thought of you calling him tiger in bed.
you hold the polaroid out to him. “did you want to keep it? it’s a very nice photo.”
“nah, that’s okay.” he brushes it off nonchalantly as if he couldn’t care less about material possessions, when in reality he was barely restraining the urge to snatch the polaroid from between your fingers.
damn, did he look sexy as fuck there. but the thought of you keeping a physical reminder of him, his heart just swelled over the thought. yes this was purely sex but he’s sentimental okay. he can indulge in the fact that his sneaky link slash crush keeps a polaroid of him doing his damn horanghae.
he was so bragging about this to the guys.
“bro, you fucking fumbled.”
“in front of the huzz is crazy.”
“she has a name!” soonyoung barked back at seokmin and seungkwan, who’d been tag-teaming him with insults over the fucking polaroid.
“yeah, are we gonna get to hear it this time?” seungkwan retorts, not the least bit expectant of an answer.
soonyoung had been weirdly cagey about revealing the identity of his mysterious lover. he’d told the guys that you’d been ‘hanging out’, refusing to elaborate further and answer any of their questions because he’d be physically unable to lie that it was more than just sex.
it’s not like they could just look up your name and find sights he’d much rather his best friends stay oblivious to — he just didn’t want to risk them recognising you from that same place.
soonyoung huffs, slinking back in his chair while seokmin gets to pouring them all another round in their glasses. he half wishes he dragged jihoon out of their dorm to come drink with him, it was a losing battle against these two. he wasn’t nearly distracted enough to keep his eyes from drifting your way.
as if on instinct, his eyes once again flit across the room to where you’re sat amongst a chattering group. you’ve returned exactly one of his longing stares — which was just a nod of recognition when you noticed him walk in. it’s been over an hour since then.
every time he told himself don’t look, he’d catch himself greedily stealing another glance at you across the room, laughing at some joke that couldn’t be any funnier than the ones he tells. it didn’t help that god damn jeonghan was at your side again; your fingers mindlessly playing with his gold bracelet, his mouth almost grazing your ear when he’d tell you something.
soonyoung has a near allergic reaction to seeing green. he hates the feeling of jealousy almost as much as he hates seungkwan — the former sizzling in his veins while the latter sang off-key across from him.
it’s pathetic, he knows it. he can’t help it.
he takes the initiative to drag himself towards the bar, ordering a shot to chase away the jealousy if not drown it out. he finds mingyu, friend of a friend, leaning against the counter with flushed cheeks and a glass in hand.
“yah, soonyoung! didn’t know you were here,” mingyu grins, evidently drunker than him.
“yeah,” soonyoung replied, downing his shot as soon as it landed in front of him. “needed it.”
they traded easy small talk: sport, their mutual friends, the bar playlist being garbage — until he finds himself clinking his third shot with mingyu’s glass.
though, with soonyoung, drinking alcohol was just as effective as waterboarding when it came to him spilling secrets.
“there’s this girl i’ve been seeing,” he admitted with a low voice, smirking. “she’s… something else, man. she’s got a thing for recording us while we, y’know. i didn’t realise i’d be into that before her.”
he laughed under his breath, sheepish, but also wired with a giddy kind of relief. he’d been dying to tell someone, and mingyu was safe enough — an acquaintance who’d listen, and also drunk enough to forget.
but mingyu’s grin slipped the second he said it. his eyes flickered past soonyoung for a brief moment, which he recognised as the corner where you’re sat with your friends.
soonyoung frowned, the sudden pulsing in his ears louder than the music. “what?”
he swears the tanned man’s face goes a few shades paler. when soonyoung hears your name repeated back to him, a pit opens up in his stomach.
your identity was such a well kept secret within his close circle of confidants, he’d completely overlooked the fact that your past ventures could be walking side-by-side with him on campus. and here he was having a fucking drink with one of them.
sober him wouldn’t approve of talking about his fuckbuddy he’s kind of falling in love with right now — but unfortunately his face already translated his frantic thoughts into a hard expression, so there’s no backing out of it now.
“yeah.” is all he says.
soonyoung doesn’t know what to expect from mingyu’s next move, but his first guess would’ve been far off from what he actually did — start crying.
as mingyu broke down into drunken tears, soonyoung could only offer him an awkward side hug — shoving the rational part of his brain into timeout when it starts wondering if he might end up as the next mingyu, one day sobbing about his own heartbreak to someone else at the bar.
“she asked to record us too, but i said no.” mingyu manages to admit between sniffles. “i wanted to be exclusive and she ghosted me. i fumbled so fucking bad, man.”
“i’m really sorry to hear that,” soonyoung offers, patting mingyu’s massive back while silently thanking him for messing up so that he can be tapping that ass before swatting the thought away. it’s not like him to be so crude. you must be rubbing off on him… not just physically.
“i deserved it though. her ex is one of my best friends. i shouldn’t have fucked around like that.” mingyu confesses with a trembling voice.
soonyoung’s ears perk up at that. you had an ex? as in, someone you called your boyfriend? the same little miss ‘i don’t do relationships’?
soonyoung shouldn’t pry, because he knows he’ll just compare himself to whoever it is and might even fight him for your honour if he gets desperate enough, but his mouth asks before his conscience can catch up.
when soonyoung asks if he knows who that is, all mingyu offers is: “i can’t tell you.”
whether that meant fate was working against soonyoung or was on his side, he did not know. but he keeps poking a stick at the wasp’s nest anyway.
“why?” soonyoung asks, too invested for mingyu to just brush him off.
mingyu sighed with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “because if he found out i got with her, he’d fucking kill me.”
soonyoung just nods, deciding that was the signal for another round of shots and a much needed change in topic.
he tries not to linger on the thought. can you not promise commitment because.. you’re saving soonyoung's life from your ex in doing so?
he realises he’s making far too many excuses for a relationship that’s meant to be strictly casual. especially since he’s seeing the repercussions of not honouring that deal sitting right next to him — attempting to persuade the bartender to just hand him the entire bottle of tequila instead of pouring it into his shot glass.
after failing in his bargaining and settling on downing a fourth shot (which soonyoung didn’t match this time), mingyu waved over two giggly girls from across the bar to wipe the slate clean.
they sidled into the space between him and soonyoung, voices lilting with chitchat, laughter spilling easy.
mingyu was more than eager to play along: leaning in, tossing lines that made the girls trade glances. soonyoung only spoke when spoken to. smiled enough to be polite, answered them but kept it short.
he could’ve indulged the girls — he knew how, and he might’ve even cheered himself up. but he didn’t even want to. not when all he could think about was still just you.
he wondered if you were watching, if your gaze would cut across the room and catch him like this. if it’d even put a dent in your shits to give. if you’d even care that he could so easily have another girl.
but why would you?
except, you do look. just once. soonyoung thinks his mind’s playing tricks on him when he catches it: your eyes entirely on him, face unreadable as you reach for your drink.
but then nothing. you don’t spare him a second glance for the rest of the night.
eventually, your group stands from their table as people begin to hug and say their goodbyes. he shamelessly watches you walk out the door, and in his drunken state he’s not even certain he’ll hear from you ever again until his phone buzzes in his pocket.
[ you ] i’m ready to go
you didn’t even come together. you didn’t even inform him that you were going out, it was just pure coincidence (luck in his case) that you ran into each other. but soonyoung doesn’t even hesitate when he gets your text.
in the next breath he’s slapping his knees like he just remembered something, ignoring the grumbles of his friends as he says he’s done for the night — when it was actually far from over for him.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧
from when he slid in the uber’s backseat next to you, when you walked to your front door and shoved him on it as you kissed him, when you kept your tongue in his mouth as you both stumbled inside and flopped onto the couch — there hadn’t been any words.
you didn’t offer any, and soonyoung didn’t dare fill the silence if you were choosing the keep it that way. the only noise of the room was your lips smacking with heated kisses, soonyoung’s little muffled whines as you tugged at his hair and rutted in his lap. whatever you were drunk on had you impatient, and rough — the button popping off his pants as you tore his fly open, rolling his boxers down just enough to get his dick out, bobbing and shining with precum.
you part with him for just a moment, turning to the coffee table to rummage through your bag. soonyoung takes the opportunity to finally catch his breath, hoping it might calm his nerves. not like he’d be the one doing the fucking as usual — it just felt like his heart was beating in his throat from how he felt a little scared of you right now. he was probably gonna cum quick because of it.
he takes deliberate breaths to calm himself like just before he heads onto the field for a game, hearing minghao’s voice in his head directing him.
the ding of a phone recording cuts through his futile attempts to meditate. he takes notices of your phone propped up on your bag, and his eyes flick back to you at the sound of ripping plastic — you tearing open a condom packet then rolling it down his length.
without much other warning, your hand fumbles beneath your dress to tug your panties to the side, and then you’re dropping down onto his cock.
soonyoung has a full body jolt when he bottoms out, dick twitching like a warning that he’s not gonna take long.
you start bouncing with an almost frustrated speed — each time slamming back down onto his cock hard enough to have soonyoung seeing the galaxy behind his eyes.
little, helpless noises leave his mouth in a stream; and though he knows the rules, he can’t help himself to reaching for your waist to slow you, to stop you completely, anything to give him a breather before he cums now.
but you don’t let up. you pry soonyoung’s palms off from your waist, closing one hand around both of his wrists before pinning them above his head.
soonyoung shouts out as he topples off the edge, your walls clenching down around him and wringing him dry as he cums into the condom.
he’s sure you must be trying to kill him, because it’s not enough to get you to stop. albeit you’ve stopped dropping down onto him, you’re instead rocking on his cock like you still haven’t found what you were after. he’s trembling all over, incoherently begging between whimpers as you keep moving on top of him, sighing when the head of his cock nudges that soft spot.
your freehand slips under your dress, fingers finding your clit to rub quick circles as you ride him. you moan breathlessly, and soonyoung’s wrists struggle against where you’re keeping them pressed firm above his head. if he had any life left in him he could so easily overpower you. he might cry from how badly he wished to touch you, to feel your skin under his hands. to make you cum himself.
soonyoung’s long past sensitive when you finally cum, letting out a pretty moan at his ear as your pussy grips and flutters around him.
you collapse on top of him, perhaps just as spent as he is. your grip on his wrists is loose enough for him to slip his hands out. he admires the view of you laid down in his lap, face pressed into his shoulder — and before he can convince himself not to, he reaches out to hold your back, rubbing soothing circles over your dress. and maybe it’s because you’re too drunk to swat him away, but you still let him.
after a moment of you gathering yourself in the quiet, you reach for your phone and turn the recording off. soonyoung completely forgot that was there.
when you raise your head to him, your eyes are glossy. soonyoung almost thinks it’s something else before you’re muttering: “i think i’m ‘bout to throw up..”
soonyoung hisses from the sensitivity as you hastily slip him out, then you’re darting down the hall and slamming the bathroom door behind you — water rushing from the tap not long after.
soonyoung takes the liberty to slip the condom off and wipe himself up with tissues from the box on your coffee table. by the time he’s put his clothes back into place and thrown the rubbish out, you’re still in the bathroom. he decides to just wait for you on the couch until you kick him out.
he flops back down on the cushions, head pulsing with a headache and all those shots he did with mingyu.
his mind swirls with thoughts. how different you might act if the camera wasn’t there. if you’d even want him outside of that. how badly he wants you anyways. but he forces it all down, because he wants to keep this up. if he drags feelings into it he’ll never see you again. he made a promise to you to not ruin it.
he yawns, eyelids suddenly weighing heavy. before he drifts off into sleep, soonyoung thinks about you one last time — just how different you acted this time.
and he wondered if maybe, you were… jealous.
the conveniency about hooking up with a camgirl is that you’ve got a special selection of porn at the tap of a finger.
he’s been missing you like hell lately. so far, your arrangement consisted of meeting up once per week to film and get your rocks off. it made for a consistent posting schedule and money flow, so there was really no need to see each other outside of the minimum. you never asked until it was time. soonyoung asked once, yesterday — now to his complete and utter regret.
0.3 seconds after he got the notification for your newest upload, he was getting up to lock his door and loosening the strings on his sweats.
it’s a solo video of you masturbating. soonyoung jerks off to the rhythm of your hand — albeit a little pathetically since you’ve been ghosting him for an entire day after he asked if you’d like to hang out.
not code for getting in your pants. just genuinely spend time together and enjoy each other’s company. no reply.
clearly you hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth. but hey, wishful thinking: maybe you’re just fully committed to an extreme edging sesh right now, cutting yourself off from the world. soonyoung doesn’t judge. it’s actually kinda hot thinking about it.
…he needed to get a fucking grip.
he could almost go soft over the embarrassment, if only he was still hard. he busted barely a minute into the video of you fingering yourself. well.
man, he missed you.
there’s no excuse to see you. there’s no reason he should be asking. but for him, intimacy and sex are inseparable — he can’t just do one with you while starving for the other. he needed an outlet. needed to prove to himself that if he was ever going to get it up on camera again, he had to see you for something other than just sex.
he should’ve never accepted this damn offer. all these muscles are for catching feelings. was it so greedy to want more than just your body? to wonder if he actually got along with you past just physical chemistry? call it suffering from success.
soonyoung opens up your chat, cringing at his offer to hangout still sitting there unread. maybe he had to just accept his fate. at least he already jacked off, now he won’t have to worry about cumming the instant he slides in to you.
[ soonie 🐯 ] wanna fuck you so bad
he literally can’t look at his phone once it turns delivered. he should’ve asked jihoon to tie his hands. actually, nevermind, he might start to think about you and get hor—
all of his regret evaporates the millisecond he hears his phone ding with a reply.
[ you ] ok so come over?
well, he’d have to go and admit himself to a mental hospital if he even considered turning you down.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧
“you’re doing all the work this time,” is how you greeted soonyoung when you opened the door.
you didn’t say much else in between setting up the camera on the tripod and dropping your clothes to the floor under the violet LEDs. he watched you with caution (cock indifferent and hard anyways), like he’s convinced this is too good to be true and he’s waiting for the catch.
once you were in recording mode, you laid down naked and propped up by your elbows — stomach to the bed and ass to the air. after a minute of nothing but stunned silence from soonyoung’s end, you glared at him over your shoulder as if to ask what the fuck he’s doing. you got him to move with a single look, shucking off his entire fit to join you on the sheets.
soonyoung crawled on top of your back, mindful to anchor his weight in his hands to not crush you, cock prodding the meat of your ass and smearing precum across the skin.
he keeps his hands twisted into the sheets as he catches your lips from behind, you craning your neck to meet him halfway as you kiss him. you hum when he licks into your mouth, letting him kiss you hard enough to have your head tilting back. he must’ve caught you in a good mood if you’re letting him act on his own accord, taking what he’s giving you.
his hips find themselves square with yours; and with a mindless rut the length of his cock glides over your folds, tip nudging at your clit. you let out a pretty noise down soonyoung’s throat, and fuck, does he want to find out just how much louder he can get you.
curious, he keeps grinding into you with deliberate rolls of his hips, applying enough pressure to your clit to have your fingers twisting into the sheets next to his. you’re moaning softly into the kisses now, and soonyoung’s sure he could cum like this. but he’s got a better idea. especially if you’re letting him make the moves today.
he starts with a tentative kiss to your neck. you give a pleased hum, egging soonyoung on to leave wet heat across the curve of your shoulder, barely restraining himself from latching on to the skin and leaving his mark.
he stamps kisses down your back, trailing his tongue down your spine, delighting in how your back arches at the heat of his mouth. carefully, he plants a hand on the back of your thigh, inching your legs apart. he’s crawled down to be at face-level with where he’s aching to taste you, and when his heavy breath hits your bare cunt, you’re twisting in his hold.
“what are you—?”
“let me?” he sighs out, careless to how desperate he sounds. he’ll get on his knees at the foot of the bed right now if he has to. “please.”
you’re laying on your side as you regard him, brows furrowed and thighs pressing together almost imperceptibly.
“please.” he repeats, breathless. “please let me take care of you. i really want to.”
your lip twitches, face gradually softening. a good sign.
you give a silent nod, and soonyoung’s sighing out the breath he’d been holding with a smile.
you lay your head back down while soonyoung shifts below you, palm planted on your thigh and thumb stroking the skin softly to keep himself grounded. you’re almost shy with how your knees barely part. soonyoung makes do, wedging his head between the small gap between your legs until his breath’s fanning your pussy — evidently glistening with arousal, even under the heady purple lights.
like the gentleman he was brought up to be, soonyoung leaves a gentle kiss on your clit first, smile stretching at the soft moan from above. he gathers the slick at your hole, swirling his tongue at your heat before licking a hard stripe upwards.
he repeats the motion until you’re writhing above him, his palm tightening on your thigh to keep you in place when he starts to bob his head, tongue flattening as he laps at your clit.
he all but pins your leg to the mattress as your hips twist and jolt under his mouth — your other leg bent at the knee and pressing at his ear, locking his head between your thighs. he’d die a happy man if you suffocated him.
soonyoung switches between quick kitten licks of his tongue and closing his lips to suck on the bundle of nerves, fired up by the string of moans falling from your mouth. he’s determined to make up for all the times you’ve fucked when you just helped yourself to an orgasm. it’s not like he’s been less than eager to please you; he just didn’t want to ick you out by constantly offering when it seemed a no was all he could get out of you.
maybe you’re warming up to him. maybe him asking to hangout hadn’t gone completely ignored. maybe.. he can change your mind.
soonyoung hadn’t even realised he was rutting into your mattress until he feels that familiar tightening in his lower abdomen. your thighs are clenching around his head now, fingers buried into his hair as he eats you out like a man starved. soonyoung’s chin is covered in saliva and slick, face buried in your cunt: his tongue fucking into your hole, nose nudging your clit enough for you to be whining above him.
your hand clenches into a fist at his scalp and he’s sure there’ll be a bald patch, but he’s undeterred — licking up to your clit before, impulsively, snaking his hand to your crotch and slipping a finger into your pussy.
you’re vibrating around him, body buzzing with heat and mouth moaning with a mind of its own. his hips have one too; fucking into your mattress with the same force he would if he was inside you instead. when your immediate reaction isn’t to shove him away, soonyoung’s confident enough to have a second finger join the first. and when he curls them, massaging that soft spot of flesh inside, you’re completely and utterly gone.
soonyoung’s diligent as you cum on his mouth, forcing himself to keep pace to lick and finger you through it. on the tail-end of your orgasm, he can’t hold off on his own any longer — a loud groan rumbling on your clit as he shoots ropes onto your sheets. he has to hold back on saying something as stupid as i love you from just how hard he cums.
afterwards, you both lay there, boneless and heaving; covered in sweat and spit.
“you’re so fucking hot, oh my god.” soonyoung gets out between laboured breaths. “please tell me you’ll let me do that again.”
he continues to ramble as his head lolls onto your thigh, showering you in praise — that you tasted better than he could’ve imagined, that he must’ve saved the world in a past life to deserve a beautiful girl like you, as well as speaking his prior thoughts out loud of how he’d die happily from suffocation between your thighs.
you take it all with a still face that doesn’t reveal much. you sit up, patting soonyoung’s head and reminding him of where his scalp’s been stinging from where you tugged it.
you all but brush his words off. not in a rude way, but just.. impassive.
“don’t say shit you don’t mean, alright.”
he’s genuinely confused. he didn’t think he was lying. soonyoung raises his head and cocks it, glancing up at you. “why wouldn’t i mean it?”
“you talk nonsense after you cum.” you deadpan.
well, you weren’t wrong. there’s been a few times now where he’s rolled over after sex and said things that would have his ancestors shaking their heads, all while the camera’s still rolling. (you graciously cut those parts out before uploading it of course).
but those instances don’t include him praising you like this. he meant what he said. he doesn’t know how else he can convince you.
you’re already up and clicking the camera off, glancing back at soonyoung as he sits up on the bed — then arching a brow at the stain next to him.
“my bad, i’ll.. clean that up.”
“and you can pay for my dry cleaning bill.” you snicker, handing him a box of tissues. “did you really get naked just to eat pussy?”
he sighs, flustered. “well, that’s not what i was planning to do but uh… it felt right. i guess. i’ve been wanting to for a bit.” he also imagined he’d get to fuck you afterwards and not just make a mess of himself.
you smile, and he catches you try to stifle it. it has him smiling too.
you’re in an even better mood now since you let him join you in the shower instead of just sending him home afterwards like he’d grown used to. you even ask what he felt like for lunch, letting him stay over as you waited for the delivery driver.
soonyoung laid next to you on the bed as you scrolled on your phone and he pretended to do the same, stealing glances of you in his peripheral. he could get used to this.
you surprise him when you pull your polaroid camera from your bedside table, raising it before he can think to strike a pose.
this time when you snap a polaroid of him, it’s weighted with something sweet, too tender to just laugh off. something about the way you eye the film as it fades in makes his chest tighten. there’s really no use pretending anymore.
from the moment you met, soonyoung had been lying to you, and to himself. he can’t have sex and keep his heart out of it. matter of fact, it’s wrapped entirely around your finger.
“you look so boyfriend here,” you tell him with a giggle.
his heart starts breakdancing in his chest. are you trying to suggest something..? is this your way of…
“what does that mean?” he asks instead of getting on his knees and thanking god for returning your feelings.
your smile shifts into something different, it’s not lost on him. the hopeful lilt in his voice wasn’t exactly missable. you realise that he’s getting in his head over it.
“i’m just calling you hot.” you say, your former playfulness replaced by something more cautious. “like, it’s a domestic type of hot.”
“oh.”
“yeah.” you purse your lips. he’d sacrifice his left testicle to hear what’s going on in that head of yours right now.
but then the doorbell’s ringing with the arrival of the delivery driver. you don’t bring it up again over lunch, and he doesn’t dare ask. even if it’s all he can think about for the rest of the day until he’s knocked out asleep.
soonyoung starts to wonder if he’s getting through to you. it was you who soft launched calling him your boyfriend the other day. and if he wasn’t literally going insane, he’d know for certain that there’s some unacknowledged feelings there on your end.
and what’s weirder, you actually invited him to join you at the sunday markets this morning. if you ask him, it’s a date. you had called it extended foreplay, because of course, you won’t see him if it’s not sex. you joked that all of this hanging out is just ‘buildup’ to the main event — though soonyoung’s not so convinced this time.
you keep pace with him as you strolled through the stalls. you looked whenever he’d point out a trinket that caught his eye, listened whenever he’d talk your ear off about nothing of importance. turned down all of his offers to buy you anything your eyes lingered on for more than a second.
when passing by a flower stall, you had directed soonyoung’s attention to a pot of orange speckled tiger lilies, giggling when he literally jumped in the air with excitement. the thoughtfulness behind it made him feel all warm and sappy. if you really don’t feel the slightest drop of affection for him, then you must be a world class manipulator.
soonyoung was walking next to you with an air of confidence. you’d never been so affectionate with him outside the confines of a bedroom, let alone just inviting him to share your free time. admittedly, it got to his head, and he got too comfortable being let into your space. mindlessly, he dared to slide his hand at the back of your waist whilst you waited for your order at a food van.
his heart fell to his ass when his fingers grazed the fabric of your dress. he completely forgot he was meant to keep his hands to himself when you weren’t alone.
but to his complete and utter disbelief, instead of turning around and ripping soonyoung a new one — you leaned in to his touch, letting him cradle the small of your back in his palm. he almost fist-pumped the air. crazy how a gentle touch like this was a more difficult feat to accomplish than literally cumming inside of you.
maybe he was melting the walls of ice little miss ‘i don’t do relationships’ had built. you’re a busy woman, he knows you wouldn’t waste time like this if all you wanted was dick. maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as one-sided as he thinks.
“yah, funny seeing you here.”
or maybe he’s just a fucking idiot and it means nothing at all — seeing as you’re moving off from soonyoung’s hand the instant you hear jeonghan’s voice call out to you, greeting him with an excitement that makes soonyoung think violent thoughts.
jeonghan slides into your space without apology, pulling you into a hug that you don’t even have to blink to return. his hand snakes down and smothers the touch soonyoung had left on your waist.
the second before you pull away, jeonghan’s eyes flick open to meet soonyoung’s stare — mouth pulling into a faint smirk. there’s no way he didn’t do that shit on purpose.
“soonyoung, hey.” jeonghan drawls as your bodies part, offering soonyoung his hand. you start towards the food van as your number’s called. once you’re out of earshot, jeonghan mutters, “i’ve heard alot.”
soonyoung only loosely takes his hand, and it barely even shakes since jeonghan doesn’t move either. he snickers — an infuriatingly cocky sound. soonyoung’s hand burns as he lets go of jeonghan’s, the ‘heard alot’ comment playing on loop, bass-boosted in his head. soonyoung hadn’t heard diddly squat about jeonghan past his name and being your best friend.
this was bad.
despite jeonghan being the intruder here, soonyoung had ended up feeling like he was third wheeling. once you returned to the two boys, you wordlessly handed your takeaway coffee to jeonghan, as if preempting him asking for a sip. he watched jeonghan’s lips touch where yours had been, green flash-banging his mind (jealousy and nausea).
you even let him readjust the lopsided strap of your dress, not even flinching as he reached for your shoulder and his fingertips grazed your skin.
had you just not warmed up to soonyoung like this yet? he knows jeonghan’s been in your life for years after all. but what had it taken for you to get to this point of comfort, trust? did you just not like soonyoung the same? what did he lack that you found in—?
“LIKE YOU’VE BEEN SHOT—”
the chorus of bangbangbang blasting from soonyoung’s pocket gives him a full body shock. you and jeonghan throw him amused looks as he fumbles around in his pants to fish out his phone, frantically sliding the alarm off.
it was a reminder to email an assignment due in 30 minutes, which he had completely forgotten about until now. he was supposed to spend his morning editing the fucking thing — before you texted, of course.
his entire day belonged to you the instant he read your invitation to see you for something that wasn’t sex. maybe this was a sign to have a serious think about his priorities.
as soonyoung’s about to explain this to you (still giggling over his alarm being bangbangbang), his luck is just the gift that keeps on giving when there’s a sudden gust of wind — effectively cutting him off.
but then it gets even better. your fucking dress flies up in the wind. and before soonyoung can even think to react (he won’t admit to himself that he froze at the sight of your thighs), jeonghan’s there first, pulling the skirt of your dress down.
you both giggle about it, and oh, does soonyoung feel like he’s walked in on something.
“nothing i havent seen before,” jeonghan smiles, eyes flicking over to soonyoung.
now what. in the fuck. was that supposed to mean.
“LIKE YOU’VE BEEN SHOT—”
soonyoung groans in frustration as he tears his phone from his pocket, making sure he actually shut the alarm off this time instead of accidentally swiping to snooze it again.
when he starts considering how much his current grade would be impacted if he just missed the due date on this assignment by staying here, there’s a brief flicker of a voice that shouts some sense back into him (probably jihoon’s).
“hey, i’ve gotta get going,” he finally gets to tell you.
“i gathered.” you chuckle. jeonghan shoots you a knowing glance that you don’t return. thank god, or else soonyoung would feel have to air the block out from how embarrassed he is right now.
he lingers, trying to find any words that aren’t just cusses directed at jeonghan.
the older of the two must sense something, since he pulls soonyoung into a half-hug, arm coming around his side to pat his back. close. intentional.
his chin dips to soonyoung’s ear. “i had it first, you know.”
when he pulls off, that damn smile could’ve convinced soonyoung himself that he was just hallucinating hearing that. but he knows what he said.
jeonghan was fucking trouble with a bob.
his farewell to you is much less remarkable. just a simple wave and bow of his head when he wishes he could kiss you with tongue right in front of your estrogen male ass best friend.
on the drive home, in which he drove in silence and cut off a poor old lady in his frustration, soonyoung couldn’t stop thinking on it. ended up sending a half-edited draft 7 minutes after it was due anyways because the words on the screen kept blurring together.
jeonghan’s your best friend, so obviously he’s gotta know about your side hustle. especially if it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. like, what the fuck does that even mean? he thought he was just assuming the worst when he saw you two interacting and instantly thought there was sexual tension.
do you have the same no-strings-attached arrangement with him? do you film with him? do you prefer him? is he better than soonyoung?
if that was all just ‘extended foreplay’ like you said, you’ll probably be pent-up and have to release your energy onto the closest guy available which would be jeong—
“you good in there?”
the sound of jihoon’s voice from the door cuts through soonyoung’s racing thoughts.
he finds himself bent over the sink, throat burning with bile and gagging as he fights off the urge to hurl over the thought of what you must be up to with jeonghan.
“‘m fine,” he calls back, not sounding the slightest bit convincing.
“bro, i had my headphones on with the music at max volume and i still couldn't tune you out.”
“uhh..”
the door knob turns as jihoon grabs it on the outside, and the both of them realise that soonyoung forgot to even lock the damn thing.
“i’m coming in.”
soonyoung regards himself in the mirror then. his eyes are watery, face flushed pink with hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. he looked like shit. jihoon tells him as much when he stepped in.
“what’s happened?” jihoon appears behind him in the mirror, meeting soonyoung’s eyes through their reflections. “is this.. that girl?”
just that girl. jihoon doesn’t have a name or face to match to you — doesn’t even know what soonyoung could see in you since your identity’s a mystery. but he knows just how much soonyoung adores you, how much the casual sex means to him for whatever reason. even if it’s got him bent over the sink, nauseous. it’s why jihoon treads lightly as he speaks.
“yeah, uh,” soonyoung runs a shaky hand through his damp hair. he wishes he was vomiting right now so he wouldn’t have to admit this out loud instead. he gulped. “she might be seeing another guy.”
for all he knew, it could’ve been guys, plural. he gags over the sink again, catching jihoon’s face twist in the mirror.
“aish, man.” he shook his head and walked up to his best friend, planting a hand on his shoulder. soonyoung resists the urge to just spin around and kidnap jihoon in a hug. but he’d hit him for it, and he’s in enough pain on the inside. so he settles for just nuzzling his head onto where jihoon’s fingers sit atop his shoulder.
“you can’t.. see another girl too?”
jihoon was just as much as a devout romantic as him — maybe even worse off since soonyoung at least didn’t write songs about his ex. jihoon should understand him more than anyone. but really, he’s not coming from the wrong place.
it’s not like soonyoung signed a contract for his dick to get hard for you and only you from this point forward. or for his heart to start beating like it’s about to give out when you smile at him or laugh at his unfunny jokes or look at him likes he’s the only one you want too.
he wishes it would just abruptly stop pumping when he remembers that just as you never laid out rules for him to not see anyone else, he hadn’t done the same. not like he had any right to, but it was too late now. he’s fallen so hopelessly for a girl he could’ve been sharing this entire time for all he knows.
“i can’t get over her,” soonyoung croaks out, both to jihoon and to himself. “she drives me crazy but she’s all i want and i can’t do anything about it. just let her have me whenever she asks.”
jihoon sighs. “that’s grim.”
“i’ve read way worse in the songs you wrote about—”
jihoon swats the back of his head, and a laugh bubbles from soonyoung’s chest.
“alright. i should probably have a shower,” soonyoung starts, already moving to peel his shirt over his head.
jihoon groans. “just don’t use all the fucking hot water like the last time you cried in there.”
“my bad.”
the door shuts with a click, soonyoung checking his phone as he moves to turn the lock.
[ you ] hey u free now?
thank god jihoon’s on the other side of this door so he can’t stare soonyoung down with disappointment as he types a reply.
[ soonie 🐯 ] be over soon
like a dog to a bone.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧
it’s almost pathetic how soon he’s there after receiving your text. you don’t offer any words as you tug him inside by his collar, already burying your hands under his shirt as you greet him with a kiss.
the camera’s already set up and recording by the time you get him onto your bed. you don’t waste any time in getting straight to the main event. not that he’s complaining, but he can’t help but think. he’s been doing that alot these days in between seeing you.
he wonders if maybe you asked someone else first and soonyoung only got a text because that person was busy. or maybe you just asked soonyoung because he doesn’t even question it, because he doesn’t make you wait when you ask.
soonyoung finds himself reaching for your hand as he fucks you, and you might not even notice his fingers curling around your palm as you moan underneath him, eyes screwed shut.
he wonders if maybe you’re picturing someone else behind those eyes.
despite the thoughts swirling relentlessly in his head, soonyoung doesn’t allow himself to cum until you get there first. he’s so out of it that it’s your real name he moans as the fills up the condom inside you.
you lay there, stiff and quiet, while soonyoung’s still shuddering from the aftershocks of his orgasm and something else you don’t immediately realise. his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and when he wets your shoulder, that’s when you’re turning your head towards him.
“soonyoung, are you crying?”
“no.” he sniffles.
you slide him off your body, leaving him laying on the bed as you reach for the camera to click the recording off. it was no good to post anyways since he called you by your name.
you huff, frustrated. “you could’ve told me if now was a bad time—”
“it’s not that.” he sits up. you almost flinch, seeing his red-rimmed eyes and trembling bottom lip. “of course i wanted this. god, i want you all the damn time—”
he shakes his head at himself. you just stand there, taken aback.
“where is this coming from?”
“where hasn’t it come from??” he raises his voice momentarily before cooling over. when he speaks again, his voice is barely there. “do you even want me?”
“soonie, i literally just came on your dick—”
“but do you like me? is it because it’s me or because i say yes when your other boys don’t? you know i’d never turn you down. and i feel stupid.”
“what the fuck do you mean ‘my other boys’??” you all but shout, incredulous.
“well i gathered that i’m not the only one, right? you might post me but that’s not stopping you from seeing who you want outside of it.”
you just shake your head with a scoff, eyes burning with something between offence and disbelief. “like who, huh?”
you’re daring him to take the bait. he should’ve choked himself out before he did exactly what you were hoping he wouldn’t.
“jeonghan.” he replies.
your lip curls, and you smile, though there’s nothing but anger in it.
“why? you think i’d just let anyone fuck me, is that it?”
“that’s not what i—”
“—get out.” you spit.
for a moment, soonyoung just sits there, eyes losing focus as the room becomes a whirring blur around him.
“alright. but i’m not doing this anymore.”
you watch him in a stunned silence as he moves to gather his clothes from around the floor.
“what?” you finally reply.
“i can’t keep doing this.” he keeps his eyes trained on his clothes as he rushes to tug them on his body. if he looks up at you, he knows he’ll have second thoughts. “it’s killing me.”
he keeps his head bowed as he walks past you to retrieve his keys and phone from the dresser.
“we had a deal—”
“fuck the deal!” he snaps, finally turning to you. he has to keep his gaze ahead, to stare through you. your body’s still bare, and your face is etched with something that’d make his chest ache to see.
he goes on, “i can’t keep seeing you just once per week and tolerate you ignoring me outside of that when i’ve had a massive fucking crush on you since we met. and yeah, i can’t believe i’m saying this out loud either. but all i wanna do is be around you and talk to you and make you laugh and i know you don’t want the same. so we should just stop wasting each other’s time.”
he gulps, trying not to think about how your frown grew even deeper with his words. “i’m sorry for disrespecting your rules. i wasn’t honest with you, and i’m sorry.”
that’s all he leaves you with as he turns to leave, seeing himself out. you don’t call after him either.
jihoon finds out the following day when he comes home from the gym and unwillingly showers in ice cold water despite the hot knob being turned to full blast.
he knocked once on soonyoung’s door, waited for a beat of silence, then opened it anyway. the room’s pitch-dark except for the faint glow of his phone.
soonyoung’s wrapped in a blanket cocoon, earbuds in. jihoon can just make out eyes, nose, lips bleeding from where he must be playing it in his ears at full blast.
jihoon quietly closes the door again. this was above his pay grade. it was time to call for backup.
a few minutes later, the cavalry arrives — seungkwan and seokmin storm in, flicking the lights on and yelling his name loud enough to guarantee a noise complaint.
they smother him immediately: hugs, head pats, a few hits to the arm.
when they all finally settle down, soonyoung’s on his computer chair facing the three of them lined up on his bed like an intervention panel.
he cracks without much coercion. it all comes spilling out: the truth about you, how you met, what you do, the filming, the fight, all of it. by the time he’s done, his ears are burning.
seungkwan snaps his fingers. “i knew i’d heard of her before!”
soonyoung cringes, burying his face in his hands. “please don’t tell me you’ve seen...”
“what— yah, what are you saying?” seungkwan’s face twists in disgust. “i meant i’d heard she was a camgirl. from someone else.”
“oh.” he’s too shellshocked to express the sheer amount of relief he feels.
“i was gonna tell you that night at the party before she came over to the table,” seungkwan continues, shrugging. “but then you started seeing each other, so i figured she told you. didn’t think you were game to being posted though.”
“me neither,” soonyoung admits with a coy laugh.
seungkwan rolls his eyes. “seriously. ‘don’t tell me you’ve seen’, who do you think i am?”
“yeah, who do you think he is?” seokmin pipes up. “you know he doesn’t watch porn with women.”
“can you both not—”
“what was her name?” jihoon cuts in, voice low and serious.
the question stills the room. soonyoung tells him without much else thought. but the second he does, jihoon’s expression falls — and soonyoung’s stomach with it.
for a split second, he worries jihoon might know you from some past hookup — or god forbid, your side hustle. but the truth turns out to be so much worse than anything his panicked brain could’ve imagined.
“that’s seungcheol’s ex.” jihoon sighs.
oh.
oh, of course. of fucking course.
his brain scrambles through the connections — seungcheol, his team captain, built like a small mountain and fueled by pure anger issues. if he finds out soonyoung’s been sleeping with his ex, he’ll probably turn him into a cautionary tale.
he remembers it all clearly now. seungcheol’s endless rants about his high school sweetheart who broke his heart, about you. the jealous sulking, the bitterness over you moving on ‘too fast’, convinced you were cheating on him with your best friend — jeonghan, he realises.
it all clicks into place. no wonder you don’t do relationships. no wonder you got so defensive when soonyoung accused you of sleeping around. he’d hit a bruise seungcheol left before it could fade.
soonyoung sighs, dragging a hand down his face. he owed you an apology written in the fucking stars. except, he might actually just be the next face on a milk carton. and hey, the pussy is to die for, but he’d much prefer if he could live to tell you he’s sorry for drawing conclusions.
“hey,” jihoon’s voice pulls him back. “cheol hasn’t talked about her in ages. trust me, i’d know — mingyu complained whenever he would. but i haven’t heard a thing in months. i’d say he’s over it. the worst that could happen is you get benched for a few weeks.”
“yeah, and if she’s been seeing anyone else, we’d have heard cheol sulking about it by now.” seokmin adds.
soonyoung chews his lip, hesitating. “well, i know she at least slept with mingyu.”
the silence that follows is short-lived.
“wait— what?!” seungkwan practically shrieks, covering his mouth. “you’re kidding. mingyu? oh my god, that’s who he wouldn’t talk about?”
seokmin chuckles and pats soonyoung’s back hard, earning an oof from him. “then what are you stressing about? cheol’s got bigger fish to fry.”
“okay, yeah. that’s worse.” jihoon clears his throat. “anyway, forget him. he’s old news. what matters is you and her — and it sounds like you both weren’t totally honest with your feelings.”
soonyoung slumps in his chair. “are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“i’m saying she did more than just sleep with you when that was against her own rules. if there were really no strings on her end, she’d have let you go without an argument.”
and jihoon’s right. you might’ve kept things casual on the surface — one night a week, no labels — but there were cracks in the lines you drew. the polaroids, stealing him from the bar after a girl flirted with him, showering together and ordering takeout. calling him so boyfriend with a genuine smile, the weekend market date before he blew it all up.
it wasn’t nothing. maybe you liked him more than you were prepared for. things probably could’ve naturally progressed into a relationship with time if soonyoung had just kept his trap shut.
seokmin hums, shaking him by the shoulder. “go see her. you’re outnumbered here. and if she turns you down, you can blame all of us.”
soonyoung huffs a laugh, the weight on his chest easing a little. “yeah. okay.”
“right.” seungkwan slaps his knees, rising. “who else needs a drink?”
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧
you open the door to find soonyoung standing there: hair a mess, eyes big and pleading. in his hands is a box of polaroid film and the bouquet you’d been eyeing off at the markets last weekend — the one you kept circling back to yet refused to let him buy for you.
“i’m an idiot,” he blurts before you can even say anything. “and i jumped to conclusions and i didn’t follow your rules and i’m really, really sorry.” the words tumble out fast, like he’s racing against the door you could still slam in his face.
you lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms. the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “did you practise that?”
“no. just panicked the whole way here.”
a beat passes. you sigh, stepping aside. soonyoung exhales a breath of relief and follows you in.
you each sit on opposite ends of the couch, neither sure how to start. he sets the flowers and the film on your coffee table, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
“i shouldn’t of assumed,” he says finally. “you told me what this would be, and i had no right to expect anything from you outside of it.”
you look at him. “you thought i was fucking others.”
he flinches. “i didn’t— okay, yeah, i did. but it was a stupid thought and i didn’t want to. it’s just, jeonghan said—”
you let out a dry laugh. “oh, of course he did.”
he looks confused, and that almost makes it worse — because he doesn’t know what that name stirs in you. you press your palms against your knees, steadying yourself. “seungcheol used to accuse me of the same thing. about jeonghan. about anyone who looked at me for longer than two seconds, actually. he never trusted me.”
“seungcheol—”
“don’t.” your voice is sharp. then softer: “that’s why it pissed me off so much when you said it. you don’t know how much it reminded me of him.”
he nods slowly, eyes on his hands. “i get it now. i’m really sorry.”
you study him for a long moment. his shoulders are hunched, his voice small — it’s strange, seeing him like this after everything.
“i’m… selective,” you say finally. “with who i sleep with. i don’t just, do it. i liked you. that’s why i was so sure of it the night we met. i hadn’t done that in, i don’t know. a long while.”
you grimace to yourself, and soonyoung recognises that you must be referring to your lapse with mingyu.
silence again. not the cold kind — just heavy, charged.
“i haven’t slept with anyone else since i met you,” you admit. “i couldn’t. it scared me, how much i cared. you made it feel different.”
“me neither.” he looks up at you then, something splitting open in his chest. “you did too. i don’t think i ever believed i could handle casual. i just wanted to be close to you, however i could.”
you let out a breath, a small smile tugging at your mouth. soonyoung dares to inch closer to you on the couch, scooting over until his knee’s nudging yours. you watch his hand creeping over to yours, letting him hook a finger around your pointer.
“so where do we go from here?” soonyoung asks, voice soft.
“baby steps.” you reply. “we’ll just do what feels right.”
neither of you speak it out loud, but you both agree — there’s the outline of something exclusive now. not like it wasn’t basically already, and you still had yet to give this a name, but there’s no room for debate now. you belonged to one another.
“...well,” soonyoung starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “you can keep posting. makes me feel kinda good, actually — that i’m the one who gets to have you when everyone else’s just watching.” he pauses, lip twitching. “also because i’m a little scared of you.”
you laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing. “good answer.”
soonyoung’s own laugh thins out when a particular name bubbles to the surface. “and jeonghan…”
you raise a brow. “what about him?”
“i’m not implying anything. i just want to know what his deal with me is. at the markets, it seemed like he kept trying to make me jealous.”
“you know he’s gay, right?”
“oh.” soonyoung blinks. a beat. “god, i’m so stupid.”
you chuckle, rubbing his arm. “he was curious how much you liked me. he would’ve been testing you to see if you got bothered by him.” well, he passed that with flying colours. “but it’s okay. he’ll back off now, promise.”
soonyoung nods. your fingers slide over his cheek, and he doesn’t even blink before leaning in to press his mouth to yours. when you smile in to the kiss, he does too.
you go down on the couch together, his body pressed firm on top of yours. soonyoung squeezed at your cheek, your waist, your thigh. he sighed from relief into the kiss when your tongue brushed past his lips.
“god, i missed you,” he breathed out. “felt like i was gonna die in my room.”
you hum as his lips close around your neck, hot mouth latching to the skin. “mm, you’ll have to show me how bad.”
as if on command, he parts from you and moves to get off laying on you. you halt him with a hand closed around his bicep.
“don’t you want to get the camera set up first?” he asks.
you look at him for a moment, brows furrowed. your hold on his arm loosens, and then tightens again, tugging him back down to press against your body.
“no.” you smile.
if he wasn’t about to get laid he’d cry tears of joy.
this time when you had sex, it feels as if nothing’s changed, yet it’s somehow entirely new. you’re still in tune with his body, as much as he is with yours. you let him kiss you and hold you and there was no doubt in his mind as he moved. you’ve been his just as much as he’s been yours. now it didn’t exist solely in a shadowed corner of the internet.
afterwards, you both lay on the couch, limp and breathless from three rounds of fucking each other’s brains out. making up for lost time, soonyoung had joked somewhere during the second.
once life returned to his body, soonyoung padded over to your bedroom and returned with your polaroid camera.
you don’t even flinch as he held the camera to your bare chest, letting him snap a photo of your tits.
“pervert.” you snort.
when the film slides out, he shakes it vehemently until colour blots in, making a show of woofing and growling at the polaroid.
you covered your face in your hands, giggling. soonyoung flops back down to lay his head on your chest, peppering your skin in kisses.
“can i get one of us kissing? or are you too icked out now?”
labels were nice. soonyoung had only been calling you his girlfriend for a day, and that alone felt like something worth celebrating — which is how you both ended up inviting your friends out for drinks.
funny how everything about your relationship seemed to happen backwards. you started with sex the night you met, and now, months later, he was just getting used to holding your hand in public — to actually calling you his girlfriend.
business was booming too. your followers couldn’t get enough of soonyoung, and he was pleasantly surprised to hear that engagement had skyrocketed once you confirmed you were really dating. everything just… worked out. for once, it felt simple. loving you was easy. it was nice.
you’d left to grab drinks, leaving soonyoung’s side with a coo in his ear; your hand slipping from his thigh with a playful brush that lingered in his mind.
across the booth, seungkwan and jeonghan were bickering like they’d known each other for years — a friendship that had apparently sparked the moment you introduced them. jeonghan had brought another friend of yours, joshua, who seokmin had been fawning over without an ounce of shame. even jihoon had made it out (after you practically dragged him), sitting quietly with a faint smile and cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol.
soonyoung’s still laughing at an insult jeonghan had tossed seungkwan when his eyes flick over to the bar, searching for his beautiful girlfriend — then catching you leaning in to say something to a tipsy-looking seungcheol.
the smile drops from his face before he even realises it. the noise of the bar dulls to static, his chest tightening like the room’s closing in on him. but then you’re straightening up, offering seungcheol the same polite smile you’d give a stranger, and walking away without another glance.
when you return, you set a drink in his hand, then settle yourself right into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. soonyoung looks at you, then at your drink, then back at you again.
“what was that about?” he asks, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
you take a sip before answering, eyes glinting. “he said he wanted to catch up. i said i was just here to get a drink for my boyfriend.”
if you weren’t sitting on him, he’d have probably jumped up and punched the air. his grin splits wide across his face.
“your boyfriend, ey? that means i’m a dead man. you know cheol’s my team captain.”
you shrug, leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. “guess i’ll have to kill him before he can try.”
soonyoung laughs, the sound bubbling out of him like it can’t be helped. others around the table notice, jeonghan in particular shooting you a soft smile. he’d been soonyoung’s biggest cheerleader since you started dating — even if he had questionable methods for playing wingman.
“you’re so romantic, baby.” soonyoung drawls.
you kiss him, soft at first — and then less so when he leans into it, hands gripping your waist before he remembers where you are. it’s almost enough to make him forget the crowd around you, at least until a familiar bass rumbles through the speakers.
he groans under his breath. “of course.”
it’s bae bae. he shakes his head, recalling your first meeting. seungkwan and seokmin crack up into laughter from across the table, the trio all thinking the same thing — how he got hard on the dance floor.
soonyoung flushes, jabbing a finger at dumb and dumber. “yah, did one of you assholes ask them to play this?”
you pull back with a smirk, quoting yourself from that night: “you know this one?”
he turns to you, gulping. “yeah. just… give me a minute.”
he shifts beneath you, and you laugh when you feel his current predicament prodding into your ass. you steal another kiss from his lips, light enough to have him chasing after you, just like the first time.
“you’re such a loser.” you giggle.
“yeah,” he says, grinning up at you. “but i’m your loser.”
WELCOME TO THE 2025 AJU LEAGUE! This season, every hitter is swinging for the fences. Grab your popcorn, your hot dog, and take a seat as each of our general managers takes you on a tour of their clubhouse and grand slam moments! Games will be played all of October.
LEAGUE COMMISSIONERS: @100vern and @sailorsoons
PUBLIC ADDRESS ANNOUNCEMENT: Some Club Houses are 18+ tours only. Minors are prohibited from entering any Adult-Only Club Houses!
title: Ace
pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader
summary: After a season ending injury, Seungcheol learns there is more to life than baseball thanks to his next door neighbor.
genre: romance, smut, angst
general warnings: discussions of poor mental health, discussions of injury (non-graphic), NSFW content (smut warnings tbd), drinking
General Manager: @highvern | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: analyze that
pairing: sports psych!jeonghan x f. trainer!reader
summary: you're a little skeptical at first, when the team adds a new full time position to the staff for a mental wellness director. but, jeonghan's office quickly becomes your safe space when you're at your wit's end over dealing with the players. and you might just get a little more than you bargained for in that office.
genre: fluff, smut, attempt at humor
general warnings: jeonghan is a menace, mentions of baseball injuries, brief discussions of mental health, NSFW content
General Manager: @starlightkyeom | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: hit and run
pairing: joshua x f.reader
summary: new job, new city, new you! in dire need of a reset, you make a career change and move to the same town where your recently wed bff lives with her triple-A baseball-playing husband. things are looking up until life throws you a curveball in the form of one of his teammates, joshua hong - the wedding night home run who ghosted you the morning after. what happens when the feelings you thought you’d left behind come running back? will joshua steal your heart again, like stealing bases in a hit and run?
genre: smut, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, baseball!au
general warnings: smut, one night stand returns, misunderstandings, unresolved feelings
General Manager: @minisugakoobies | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: For the Love (of the Game)
pairing: jun x fem.oc
summary: you've accepted your place in the world of baseball; you know what you're good at. outside of the dugout and locker room, certain university classes are NOT what you're good at. asking for help feels weak, especially from the perpetually smiley cheerleader who you're sure is just as dumb as he is pretty.
genre: uni au, coming of age, one-sided enemies to lovers
general warnings: crass language (not from jun), cynicism, a terrible situationship (in the past and not w/jun), misogyny and derogatory remarks for defying accepted culture norms, misunderstandings, minors do not read/interact
General Manager: @yoongihan | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: Warning Track pairing: Baseball player!Soonyoung x Reader
summary: When you let your friends take you to your first baseball game, you didn’t expect to enjoy it. You especially didn’t expect the right field to go over the fence and into your lap.
genre: Romcom, Smut, Romance
general warnings: Soonyoung is a bit cocky/known for being a bit of trouble off the field, general adult content, smut.
General Manager: @sailorsoons | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: Take Me Out (NOT To The Ball Game)
pairing: wonwoo x f!reader
summary: In which Wonwoo realises his internet happenings can sometimes have real life repercussions, manifesting at his doorstep in a SVT jersey and steam blowing out your ears. Wonwoo learns a few lessons, but most of all, how the fans seem to have the one thing the team lacks; consistency.
general warnings: wonwoo is an asshole on the internet for fun, reader is emotional about her fav team, doxxing themes, implied smut
General Manager: @gyuswhore | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: Change Up pairing: Baseball player!Jihoon x Reader
summary: When Jihoon gets traded to one of the worst teams in the league, he thinks his career is over. For you, having him is a chance to turn things around for your franchise.
genre: Smut, Angst, Romance
general warnings: Jihoon is pissed that he’s going to a shitty team, sorry but there is Rockies and Red Sox slander in here, angst and bickering, smut
General Manager: @sailorsoons | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: home ↔ run
pairing: seokmin x f. reader
summary: after an off-season bidding war that sent the league into a frenzy, lee seokmin is the new starting pitcher for the los angeles dodgers. problem is, he's on a superstar trajectory nearly 10,000 kilometers away from everything he's ever known. now, he has a year to decide: return to what's familiar, or fall in love and risk everything the two of you have worked so hard for.
genre: strangers to friends to lovers, coworkers, baseball au; fluff, smut, slight angst
general warnings: adult content, power dynamics (reader works for the team)
General Manager: @100vern | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: the diamond life.
pairing: minghao x f. reader summary: reuniting with an rare two-night stand on the mound was not something you ever thought would happen — but it’s not like he remembered who you were, anyway…right?
genre: not-so-strangers to lovers, baseball au; angst, smut, fluff.
general warnings: they fuck a few times, they also cry a lot. very tumultuous relationship. mentions of alcohol, food, smoking and general relationship dynamics.
General Manager: @haologram | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: Impossible
pairing: baseball player!Mingyu x f!reader
summary: Mingyu, the city's star pitcher, is everywhere. His face is on the city buses. His interviews play on the televisions in the waiting room at the doctor’s office. His stupid social media videos are constantly in your face. As a non-sport girlie, this would be annoying. As his ex, it's downright painful.
You can't escape your past with Mingyu. Not in this city. It'd be nothing short of impossible.
genre: exes to lovers, angst with happy ending
general warnings: language, drinking, injury, legal use of prescription pain medications, hurt feelings, not miscom-miscom but poor communication or lack of it in the past, kissing
General Manager: @daechwitatamic | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: pitch a date
pairing: baseball coach!seungkwan x f!reader
summary: Days are always spent the same for you: serving smoothies to sweaty teens after their practice, getting your ears used to the constant murmur, and watching the baseball coach from afar. You thought you were doing a good job at hiding your little workplace crush, until two girls that get benched for the season begin scheming to set you two up. But there's no way overly flirty Seungkwan could actually be interested.
genre: coworkers to lovers, fluff, comedy, smut
warnings: overwhelming environment, mention of career ending injury, mention of other injuries, explicit smut.
General Manager: @hannieoftheyear | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: soft launch pairing: vernon x f.reader
summary: An intervention from your well-meaning but frankly cruel friends leaves you without access to your credit cards, which you suppose is a blessing in disguise, but the debt is still looming over your head. It’s just as well the offer from your ex boyfriend turned Yankees pitcher comes at the perfect time. For a couple of celebrity infested parties, a little hand holding in public, and a few vague posts on instagram— something to distract eyes from his situationship with his teammates soon-to-be-ex wife— Vernon will pay off your debts in full. Hell, he’ll even throw in tickets to a game or two.
genre: fluff, comedy, smut, fake dating, exes to friends to lovers
warnings: not cheating but not exactly cool either, messy feelings & messy characters (intentional), debt as a plot device, adult content, shopping addiction
General Manager: @imnotshua | Preseason Notes | Box Score
title: slow motion
pairing: dino x f!reader
summary: when chan’s nascent baseball career takes him across an ocean and catapults him straight into the majors, he doesn’t just leave behind his hometown—he leaves you, too. but the pressure has him crumbling, and he realizes that all of his success means nothing without you.
genre: exes to lovers; angst, fluff
general warnings: adult content (minors DNI), breakups, verbal arguments, alcohol/drunkenness, mental health issues
General Manager: @kkaetnipjeon | Preseason Notes | Box Score
video game character!soonyoung x reader. (part one. your favorite video game character appears in your living room, blissfully unaware of who he is and what story has been written for him. masterlist.)
Too little, too late
Games are all about winning. Save the world, get the girl, score all the goals, become the champion. As players, we're conditioned to expect success. And we get it most of the time. See, there are rare moments when defeat is snatched from the jaws of victory; when we're denied the happily-ever-after. It can often be quite shocking because it flies in the face of expectations.
This is a different beast. These are the times that—no matter how hard you fight, no matter how quick or skilled you are—you simply can't save your friend. Or your lover. Or that guy/girl you don't really like that much, but they're still integral to the plot anyway. Needless to say spoilers, lie ahead. Spoilers with massive, pointy teeth.
[...]
5. HOSHI (Life is Strange)
For an indie game that was marketed as a 'slice of life dating sim', you wouldn't think Life is Strange would have the balls to kill off one of its love interests. It's easy to lose track of all the potential romanceables in the game (seriously, thirteen?!), but HOSHI was the bachelor that you just couldn't miss. Love him or hate him, he was larger than life—until he didn't have much life left in him at all. (Too soon?) There isn't a single playthrough where anybody has been able to 'save' HOSHI. The game's publisher has also stayed mum as to whether it's an option at all, giving a sliver of hope that HOSHI might still be in the running in the game's upcoming sequel, Life is Strange: Shohikigen. Personally, I've always been a THE8 guy myself—but I, too, think that HOSHI deserves to be somebody's happy ending.
Fans of the critically acclaimed indie title Life is Strange will have to wait longer than expected for its sequel. Today, publisher STUDIO EISA announced that the release of Life is Strange: Shohikigen has been delayed indefinitely due to the "health concerns" of its sole developer and artist, the reclusive creator known only as XINGANHAO.
The announcement came as a shock to the gaming community, as Life is Strange’s 2015 release was one of the most celebrated indie successes of the decade. Known for its narrative-driven gameplay, emotional depth, and unique art style, Life is Strange garnered a dedicated fanbase, earning accolades for its bold exploration of time travel, trauma, and personal choice. The anticipation surrounding Shohikigen, the follow-up to the original, had already reached fever pitch following an enigmatic teaser released last year.
However, in a brief statement issued today, STUDIO EISA revealed the delay, adding an air of mystery to the situation that only seems to deepen the intrigue around the project.
"Due to ongoing health concerns of XINGANHAO, the development of Life is Strange: Shohikigen will be postponed indefinitely. We understand this is disappointing for fans, but we must prioritize the well-being of the artist and creator behind this beloved series. XINGANHAO’s health and recovery are of utmost importance. We ask for your understanding and support during this difficult time," the publisher's statement reads.
STUDIO EISA also promised to keep the community updated with any new developments but did not provide further details on XINGANHAO’s condition. Given the secrecy that has surrounded the game’s production, this statement adds another layer to the already elusive nature of its development.
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