4jjk

bunny bunny bunny bunny jungkookie 🎀

[simpjaes]

HYPER-SEXUAL (s,jy)

If there’s anything in life that Jake wants, it’s to fuck. All day, every day, it’s on his mind. He fantasizes constantly, watches porn every free chance he gets, and ultimately has grown bored of his own hand to satiate his need. or the one where jake is inexperienced, incredibly perverted, and borderline addicted to sex but cannot, for the life of him, land a girl.

leave feedback and reblog to give jake another boner. 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 13.8k

PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader

CONTENT― smut, inexperienced but pervy and dominant jake, he kind of has an addiction to jerking off, im not joking like he has a boner every twenty minutes it’s probably a medical issue but, reader is really sex positive and lets jake go absolutely insane on her

NOTE― not proof read in the way it needed to be.  disclaimer: this is straight up just porn. it had a plot at one point but i deleted all of it and wrote this instead. also this is posted on my other blog [@ncteez] for mark lee. yes, i wrote it for both of them bc they both fit the shoe ok? ok.

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― jake isn’t submissive– just a loser, loads of masturbation, also loads of loads lmfao, jake’s dick is 8 inches in this one, public humiliation, dirty talk, teasing, pussy eating / face sitting, mentions of free use, unprotected sex, wayyyy way too much cum, raw grinding, attempts at deep throat, accidental face fucking, finger fucking, suffocation, riding, squirting, implications to the fact that orgasms are not the end of the fic bc they just keep going, some say they’re still fucking to this day. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Feels so good! Harder! Fuck m-” 

Jake slams his laptop shut in an exasperated sigh. Frustrated, annoyed, fucking horny. 

Always horny. To the point that nothing excites him anymore. Not his hard-on being palmed at by his own hand, not the make-shift pocket pussy he’s made out of household objects, not the porn on page one or on page seventy-three. 

Honestly, even as hard as he is now, it’s arguable that he could just start punching his cock and he’d still remain in this state until something changes. And you know what sucks more than not being able to get off? Being hard so constantly that it’s just a state of living at this point. 

It’s sad. He could be washing caked ketchup off of a plate and his cock would still lend a little jump. A reminder that his hand is no longer enough. A fucking threat that if he doesn’t sink into a pretty hole soon, he might as well just kill himself. 

The idea doesn’t seem too bad anymore, as he lays flat on his back with his cock in hand on his messy sheets. He stares up at the ceiling with another long-winded groan, wondering why he has to have such an insatiable libido and probably twice as much stamina. If he could just get off he’d have at least a little bit of time in his day to feel normal before it takes hold of his brain again. 

It’s the fact that he’s grown entirely numb to his own hand and feels like he’s going crazy because he hasn’t been able to hook-up with anyone in nearly a year. Porn is boring, he swears he’s seen just about all of the good, bad, and bizarre. Post nut clarity barely exists because there is no clarity by the time he finally gets that hard-to-reach nut. Bad luck, maybe. Awful fucking miserable luck? That’s more fitting. 

For the sake of the girls in this city, perhaps it’s good that he can’t manage to land a hook-up. Surely they’d be unable to walk by the time he gets his fill, that is if he manages to get a fill at all. And it’s gotten to the point that Jake has almost entirely given up on finding a girl at all. One that’s willing to put up with his near-constant need to get his dick wet, anyway. 

Almost given up.

A thought crosses his mind as he lazily palms himself with a bored sigh, knowing he’ll end up locked up in an asylum somewhere if this doesn’t stop. The voice of Jay in his head doing little to make his cock soften, which is…not something Jake is proud to admit.

“Dude, you gotta put a stop to this shit. This is your third laptop this year!” Jay had said to him. “It’s only June!”

Maybe Jay was right, and maybe Jake should have downloaded the new app that was mentioned shortly after the scolding rather than immediately going to another, even more, shady porn site. “Heard this one was really good.” Jay had advertised. “Even got Jungwon laid.” 

Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try another app despite the immense amount of failure Jake has already faced regarding previous attempts with other platforms. After all, if it got Jungwon laid, surely it could get him laid too. 

Maybe this one really is better.

And at the end of the day, Jake does download the app. After all, creating a profile is easy, finding a girl though? 

We’ll see.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Ah. Okay. Nice.

Jake stays glued to his phone all night. He really had no hope that this app would offer him anything more than what the others did. But, oh. 

The app allows specific features, most of which are not aimed towards users looking for a relationship. Dick and body sizes are out in the open, there’s sections you can fill out regarding what you’re looking for in a sexual partner, how often you’re willing to see said partner, and if you’re looking for a regular fuck or a one time fuck. 

Safe to say, Jake’s profile went a little something like this: 

you can call me jake, im 24. just looking for a girl either for regular visits or a one night stand that’s willing to deal with a guy who literally suffers from chronic-boner syndrome.

LOOKING FOR: Female PREFERENCE: One Time Only, Occasional Meetups, On-call, Regular meetups, Permanent Friends-With-Benefits, Secret Meet, Virtual Meet, Audio Meet, Rebound C…[Click to see more] PARTNER REQUIREMENTS: N/A SIZE REFERENCE: 8 ½” hard, 4” soft, 5.6” circumference SEXUAL INTERESTS: Vanilla, Free Use, BDSM, Begging, Breeding, Dom/Sub, Dominatrix, CBT, Role Play, Public Humiliation, Edging, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Virtual Sex, Group Sex, Humiliation, Cock Play, Cum Dump, Religion, Raw, Multiple Orgasms, Androgyny, Genital Piercings, Older Women, Body Art, Wax, Anal, Financial Domina...[Click to see more]

NOT INTERESTED IN: Cuckolding, Voyeurism OTHER: im not very experienced in most of these, i just watch a lot of porn

Embarrassing? Yeah, probably. 

Looks like a lot of women are into that though if his inbox is anything to go by, anyway. With him checking the app every few minutes to find ten new messages? Yeah, they’re feeling him. 

He can only imagine what the fuck Jungwon had on his profile to actually land a hook-up. Couldn’t have been any worse than his own, after all, Jake is desperate and so was Jungwon at one point. 

Apparently girls like desperate guys. 

Message after message, degrading comments and praise, all from either women clad in leather or sweet looking church girls who must have the app hidden deep within their phones. There’s barely anyone in between those two categories, actually. 

“Hi baby boy, you looking for a sugar mama?” 

“ur dick really that big? lol, what do you even mean by ‘chronic boner syndrome’?” 

“you’re so desperate to get laid, might as well just doxx yourself at this point…please.”

Arguably, these women are very forward and he has a great time sifting through the ones he’s interested in. Scrolling through all of these messages….does not help his case regarding his insatiable need to fuck something either so, naturally, he’s also 100% jerking off the entire time he’s doing this.

Still, never quite able to reach the orgasm he needs by this point.

Up until there’s a message that catches his attention. No degrading, no insults, no borderline-too-kinky insinuations. Which, given, Jake probably shouldn’t have selected the majority of the kinks just to pull more girls, but he did. 

And upon reading the message, he almost doesn’t know if this girl is real. 

“High libido, no girls around to help you out, I take it? Rough.”

One look at her profile spikes even more interest. Her sexual interests include a list of things he wishes he didn’t fit. But he does, though he’d never admit it. Inexperienced men, losers, virgins, micro-penis, big penis, praise (receiving), body worship–

Oh.

Fuck yeah.

He responds quickly, already feeling the orgasm within him bubble up as he tries to pretend he doesn’t go on a war path of responding to everyone after you, but still. Your message box with him remains in his mind as he awaits the response to his message of “you looking to help me out?” 

Every ping on his phone afterwards makes his cock twitch more, makes it dribble out little beads of pre-cum with each pass of his palm, only for him to sigh out of frustration that it’s just another person that wants to devour him whole. Which, he’ll take what he can get if his first choice never responds but still. He wants to get off to you.

He finds himself on your profile more often than anyone else’s too, looking at the same three photos you’ve posted, noting how you don’t seem super active on the app, but active enough to find him by some beautiful grace of God. 

You’re kind of perfect, honestly. Fairly mundane compared to most of the women in his inbox, but cool nonetheless. He can tell you have an eye for fashion but it seems to be more geared towards your real life self rather than the secret fetish/kink app you’ve got downloaded.

And that’s the thing. Most of these women, beautiful or not, are dressed in their best sexual attire just to message a possible fuck, while during their daily lives they probably wear conservative dresses and pant suits. Which….arguably that’s kind of hot. Then again, what isn’t hot to him these days?

You though. You have normal pictures posted just like he does. Your tits aren’t out, your legs aren’t open, you don’t have a pile of sex toys behind or beside you and yet still your pictures turn him on more than those who do. Insane how his cock twitches at just these three photos, fucking insane how he grows a near instant obsessed thinking about how you…uh, deal with the losers you seem to be looking for.  

Then again, maybe it’s the mystery of what’s under your clothes, or what’s in your stash of sex toys. Oh, whatever you’re hiding has got be so fucking hot. Naturally, he groans at the amount of sexuality you barely give. Thinking far, far too hard about it all, given the circumstances. 

Don’t get him wrong, he can get down with the hoes. In fact, he very much wants to get down with a hoe. But man, the way you stand out because you’re somehow….boring compared to everyone else?

Please.

Fucking pretty please, let him in between those thighs. 

And just as he scrolls again through your photos, that long-awaited orgasm hits him like a brick.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A mere two days later you find yourself in the inbox with the self-proclaimed boner-god. He’s since proven his size with photos involving different objects beside said penis, and even a video or two of his frantic hands jerking off to you. 

Ah, he’s kind of perfect if you think about it. At first you thought that it was just roleplay for him or something. Where he plays a guy who can’t get enough, though he clearly probably does. It wasn’t until you were woken up at four in the morning with him spamming your inbox that you suddenly realized this dude is actually as desperate as he seems. 

Normally, being spammed awake by your phone pinging consistently would bother you. But goddamn was he needing it. Just three hours before now it was mostly casual conversation with him, albeit about hooking-up, but still. The two of you agreed to determine on the following day if you were compatible enough for a meet up. He said goodnight to you, and you said it back. 

Then you woke up to three dick pics, one voice note with a borderline pathetic apology (only because you could still hear him going at it), and then like fourteen messages of him trying to wake you up intentionally. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: You awake?

Dick pic #1. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: You’re so pretty, sorry lol

Dick pic #2 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Wake uppppppppppp! 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Please? :(

Dick pic #3, precum smeared across his fingers as he grips it. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Do you already have me silenced?

JAKE_02 sent you a message: I’d let you silence me hahaha….

JAKE_02 sent you a voice memo: “Sorry about all this, I really meant it when I said I have a problem. You should probably just block me because I’m going to end up begging to see you otherwise”

Oh, he has an accent. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: your profile says you like inexperience…..well i’ve only slept with like 3 girls, is that inexperienced enough?

JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like to tease guys like that? like edge them and stuff? 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: oh damn, that’d be so hot 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like it when guys beg btw? 

Etcetera. 

And, well, apparently he just has a lot to say. It’s cute how embarrassed he must feel basically getting himself off with a one-sided sext session with you as you were sleeping. At least, you hope he’s embarrassed. 

You let his messages simmer for a while, waiting to see if he sends anything else. And when he doesn’t, you respond. 

YOURUSERNAME: that was cute. 

It’s the way he’s instantly trying to respond that really gets you going. You chuckle first, knowing already that you’d probably help him out based on this situation alone. 

YOURUSERNAME: trying to wake me up because you can’t stop touching yourself? :( poor baby. 

JAKE_02: oh god please don’t say that

JAKE_02: im gonna end up awake all night trying to get it to go down again

YOURUSERNAME: that’s good to hear. so you can go for a long time then? 

Yes, you’re teasing him. 

JAKE_02: if you’d let me

YOURUSERNAME: you already got off tonight tho, didn’t you?

JAKE_02: i don’t think you understand just how bad it is. i’m already getting my dick out again

You lend yourself a sly chuckle after a deep yawn, knowing for a fact that you’re about to make him prove to you that he’s either still hard or really did get off only to get hard again by a mere few messages from you. 

YOURUSERNAME: show me?

And he does. Similar to the other three photos, only this time he sends a short video with his shorts pushed down his thighs and his cock raging hard and pathetic against his stomach. Again, he’s big, that much is true, but the fact that such a dick is always ready to fuck? To the point he’s desperate? To the point he’s embarrassing about it?

YOURUSERNAME: how bad do you wanna bury that in me?

Oh, shit. Jake could fucking die right now. You seem so willing, which is truly what he needs at this point in his sexual sickness.  

JAKE_02: i’ll come over right now. 

JAKE_02: let me come over and show you

YOURUSERNAME: let’s wait a bit for that, gotta meet officially before I let you fuck me

And you do intend to make him wait, knowing for a fact that you’re not meeting this guy tonight. There’s too much danger in that. Given how desperate he actually is, you can argue that if you changed your mind upon meeting, he very well may not care. Which, that’s something you need to worry about with any person you meet on such an app, but still.

Public meeting first. 

Always.

JAKE_02: right, right, that makes sense. 

JAKE_02: so can i see your pussy then

You stifle a laugh as if the man can hear you, he’d probably like that though. But yeah, no. As much as you know he’d enjoy that, it’s best to let him experience it for the first time in real life if all of this goes well. So, you settle with tits. 

Meaning, he has to settle with them too. 

And the photo is all but enough for Jake. The ping of his phone was far too exciting with the flash of the image sinking into his eyes. Sure, he wanted to see your hole open for him, he wanted to see your pretty hands spreading your lips for the picture, he wanted to see what he might get to fuck into someday– but…

This is good enough for him, honestly. Seeing your tits alone is hot enough, but it’s the fact that you only barely let him see. The plush skin of your lower breasts are peeking from under the shirt you're wearing, one nipple barely out, the other completely hidden. 

He moans out at it, holding his cock tight and painfully as he glares into the screen of his phone. God, he can almost taste it. 

JAKE_02: thats so hot…but….

JAKE_02: pussy….

JAKE_02: please show me your pussy

Another chuckle at how desperate he really is. You lower your phone just a bit, not at all intending to show him all of it but you do lend a panty shot with your legs spread. He’ll live with it, he doesn’t have a choice. 

And he does live with it because he cums almost instantly upon seeing just your thighs open. He wouldn’t have been able to hit climax so quickly had you already had this photo posted for all to see. It’s the fact that you sent it to him in the dms. It’s the fact that you presumably just took it for him. It’s the fact that he can almost see the outline of your folds, and the lines of your pussy that deserves to fucked open. 

When he doesn’t respond immediately, you know it was enough for him. Already you’re preparing to roll back over and get some more sleep, but your phone dings again. 

JAKE_02: tht was hot lol….um

JAKE_02: can u come to the mall tomorrow? i work at [redacted store name], u can come see that im actually very normal if u want

You stop for a second through another yawn, thinking long and hard about it. You shrug to yourself because tomorrow is a saturday and there’s plenty of public spaces to meet him in. And despite how fun it could be to tease him for weeks on end before officially meeting him, you, yourself, have been in a dry-spell lately. 

And he fits your interests perfectly. In other words, yeah, you could fuck.

YOURUSERNAME: you sure you’re not gonna take me in the back and fuck me on the spot? 

JAKE_02: ….would u want me to? 

YOURUSERNAME: no, i wanna bring you home if i think you could make me feel good

JAKE_02: hahah damn

JAKE_02: so you’ll come see me?

YOURUSERNAME: yeah, i’ll come see you

JAKE_02: ok cool :)

And then it’s silent for a long while. In fact, you’re nearly asleep again when your phone pings one last time. All you need to see is the notification to know that meeting Jake is gonna be fun. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: for the record…i definitely will fuck you good

Sounds promising. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You knew he was cute but holy shit, he’s like, cute cute.

Fucking handsome and charmingly cute. 

Perhaps even, hot. 

You stand from around a shelf to check him out. That same accent you’ve heard previously rings loud and clear in your head, and his hair is definitely a stylistic mess, the type of hair you can imagine grabbing and tugging to guide a tongue between your legs. His eyes are pretty and piercing yet equally as filled with some sort of wonder. His hands, his body.

 Oh wow. 

On any other day, you’d think he’s just some poser emo-guy working a shitty retail job so he can buy his first guitar and play it totally out of tune. But on this day, you’re aware that this is a man with a need that you very much wouldn’t mind satisfying. 

 Seeing him go about his work tasks behind the counter is another thing. Checking customers out both through the register and with his eyes when they walk away. You know he isn’t aware that you’ve actually shown up, and it feels nice to watch him in his element before he attempts to play himself up as a totally normal, cool dude. Especially now that you can see him secretly be a pervert on the clock. 

Customer after customer, he smiles at them when he hands them their items, he offers small talk and little chuckles that ring in your ears, and every single time one of the pretty ones walks away, his head turns to watch them leave for a few seconds too long.

Anyone can tell he needs it if they watch him for long enough. 

You’re not sure why this guy is getting to you the way he is, but there’s just something about the way that he carries himself in public that turns you on. You already know for a fact that he’s a horny motherfucker. You know that behind those charming smiles and laughs, he’s got a neglected cock needing to be used. 

No one else in this store is aware of it. You’re the only person here who knows he was spamming a stranger last night with dick pics and begging to see her pussy. 

It’s hot. 

And when you approach, Jake nearly doesn’t even know it’s you at first. 

“Hi, did you find everything you–” Jake stops mid sentence. “Oh, fuck. You’re here.”  He adds, trying to primp his hair into a spot that may look a little better than it did already.

You watch as he studies you for the first time, nervously darting his tongue out and against his bottom lip just for a split second before shifting his eyes behind you, and then turning to look around to see if anyone is within ear shot. 

No one is paying attention to either of you, and no one is going to hear what you’re about to say to him. Good.

“Do you wanna see my pussy?” 

It’s a joke, mostly. Kinda. 

You chuckle at his stunned reaction. His hands move to the counter as he clutches it and continuously looks around to make sure no one just heard those lewd ass words from a girl so goddamn hot. Like, oh god, it’s you. You really showed up to see him and already he’s not acting normal. 

No, no. You’re the one acting out of pocket, not him.

“I’m–” He tries to start, but his voice cracks in a very, very, embarrassing way. You hear him clear his throat before continuing. “I’m supposed to be showing you that I’m normal.” 

You tilt your head at him playfully, leaning against the counter and pushing your tits together with your arms. You wore this shirt here for a reason, and boy are you glad you did. You watch his eyes go straight to your chest and stay there. 

“Public Humiliation.” You echo one of his sexual interests to him from his app profile. “Dirty talk.”

Jake swallows around his words in stunned silence, feeling his cock wake up immediately. Fuck, this is the only place he finds peace of mind from…that. Yet here you are, with that soft and pretty voice reminding him of everything he wants but hasn’t been able to have. Standing there like you know he can’t bend you over right now and make you stop talking.

“Eight and a half inches hard.” You continue, leaning in even closer and moving your hand to the collar of your shirt. Tugging down just a little bit. “Five point six inch circumference.” 

Jake squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back with a sigh, pressing his hips against the counter for some sort of relief. To think the “boring” girl on the app wouldn’t be like this? God, he knew there had to be a catch considering you were on that app to find him in the first place. 

“Please–” He groans as his ears redden, lazily opening his eyes to look at your tits again. “Please don’t do this to me.” 

“I can imagine you’d fit it in me just right, wouldn’t you Jake?” You continue briefly, noting the bulge he blatantly presses against the counter. “Can you say ‘please’ again? It’s kinda hot.” 

“Please–” Jake blatantly groans now, his voice sounding hoarse and low. As much as he wants you to keep going, he’s at fucking work. He can’t be doing this. 

“Okay!” You gleefully agree as you switch up like you didn’t just fuck him up, lending him a bright and innocent smile as you lean back and away from him. “So you don’t want to see my pussy then?”

His relieved face falls right back into that of pained frustration as he narrows his eyes at you. 

“Right now?” He asks curiously, nodding his head without realizing it. Sure, he’s at work but like….your pussy is also at his work place right now.

“Yeah! Can you show me to the fitting room, actually?” You ask, louder this time in case anyone has moved around within ear-shot by now. Can’t make him lose his job, or whatever.

Jake swallows thickly with a nod, his eyes still narrowed at you but his mind racing a mile a minute at the fact that you’re really here right now, and this is what you’re doing to him? Enjoying his pain? Enjoying his suffering? Making it worse? 

Five minutes ago he was perfectly fine. You’re using his need against him and god, he loves it. Yeah, maybe he will take you to the back and try to fuck you at this point. Even if you said that you wouldn’t let him…what the fuck is this then? 

Really, he expected you to show up with an awkward hello and irritating small talk. He wanted to show you that he’s not always thinking about sex. Except he is, and it seems you want him to. You want him to think about fucking you. 

You really just walked into this establishment and asked him if he wants to see your pussy.

Of course he wants to see it. You already fucking know that. He wants to fuck it too, like, right now. 

And as he walks you to the fitting room, he has to try his damndest to adjust his growing cock. He nods to each customer as he walks by them, hands repeatedly going back to his lap to hide what he’s packing.

“Here it is.” Jake says in an unfocused voice, nearly staring a hole through you. “Now show me.” 

You dip your head in a smile, heading for the room and opening the curtain. Cheap ass store, really, most places have actual doors, but whatever. 

It’s easy to step inside and leave the curtain skewed a bit, knowing that Jake is hovering around the room, knowing that it’s probably protocol that an employee assist this space when it’s in use to prevent stealing and to prevent others from walking in on naked customers. 

You like the way you see him take peeks, trying to be discreet. You like the way he keeps his hands in front of his lap, hiding that you’ve definitely made him a mess of him already. You love the way he whispers a curse to himself when you sit against the bench in this small room and spread your legs wide open. 

You bet he loves the skirt you’re wearing for him today too. Though this wasn’t exactly planned or anything, you didn’t expect to be this turned on upon seeing him act as desperate as he sounds. You wore this shirt so he can look, and the skirt too…but looking this much wasn’t in your mind originally. 

He’s hot though. The way he needs it is hot. 

“Hurry up.” He groans, trying to make it seem like he’s frustrated but you know it’s just because he’s anxiously horny. 

And, well, you’re not actually gonna show him your pussy, but at this point you feel bad because he seems really stiff right now, almost robotic in the way he likely feels uncomfortably aroused in his least favorite place.  

“Jake,” You whisper-chuckle. “If you wanna see it, you’re gonna have to come in here and take my panties off of me.”

You hear him sigh, and see his eyes flick back to you through the small open space in the curtain. 

“You’re insane. I can’t come in there, I’ll lose my job.” He argues with a hushed tone, eyes fixated on the very panties he wishes he could remove. 

Even against his protests though, he reaches an arm in as he looks away. As if on extreme watch of other customers and employees roaming around. Probably pretending to grab a garment that doesn’t work for you, probably just doing normal, good-employee things. 

And, well, it’s pathetic really, the way he hopes for more. The way you offer more knowing he can’t get exactly what he wants. You actually feel a bit bad for doing this, especially because it wasn’t entirely in the plan. 

You really were just coming to meet him. It’s not your fault that watching him work turned you on solely because you know what he needs. So, you stand and walk towards the curtain, grabbing his arm and holding it in place. 

“Well–” You start, pressing yourself against the backside of his fingers, feeling him move his hand slightly against your clit. “Touch it then.”

He goes entirely silent but you feel the way he fumbles his hand, immediately grabbing your panties and moving them to the side just to really feel. And you let him, finding it somehow cuter in the way he doesn’t even ask. He does it like he needs to, like it’s instinctual to touch it. He feels for a second or two, probably closer to about five seconds before you step back. Really, it’s enough for him to know you’re wet, enough for him to suffer, enough for him to want more. 

Jake’s brain is on fire at it. Touching it before getting to see it? Goddamn, you’re so fucking mean.

And it’s silent for a few more moments after that as Jake keeps his hand in place, seemingly searching for a pussy just out of reach when you slide the fabric down your legs and place them directly into his hand. 

“When do you get off work?” You ask slyly now, ripping the curtain open and moving his hand for him, forcing him to shove your panties in his pocket. 

“Uh–” He stutters, swallowing again around his words before clearing his throat of the moan he really needs to let out right now. “Seven– I get off at seven.”

You nod with a smile, leaning in real close before patting his pocket. 

“I’ll text you my address.” 

And you leave without sparing him another glance, knowing that by the time his shift is over, he’ll probably pounce the second you open your door for him. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake suffers through the rest of his shift aggressively trying not to suck on his fingers. Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad, but to go as low as sucking the remnants for several hours just to hold him over? Truly, he’s at his wits end. 

Mostly because he absolutely does suck his fingers any chance he gets. Tapping his lips with them as he sees a customer off, licking against them discreetly, trying to make it look normal for him to have his fingers in his mouth so consistently. 

It’s not doing anything to hold him over though. 

He keeps glancing at the clock, and then at the message that reads your address. Just one more hour and he can leave. Just one more hour and he can bury his cock so deep into you that you’d never think twice about letting him do it again, and again, and again.

Oh god, really, he feels like he’s going insane as he checks out customer after customer. Every word they say somehow reminds him that he’s about to finally get laid again. 

“Can you wrap this up for me?” One customer said to him, nodding to a set of candles. 

Jake wishes you’d wrap him up in that pussy. 

“Do you have this in a bigger size?” Another customer had said to him as they held up a plush sweater. 

Jake doesn’t think you’d ever need a dick bigger than his. He’ll fill you up just right. 

“69.99?!” One customer argues. “The sign said it was 30% off!” 

Jake would sixty nine you all night long if you asked. He bets you taste sweet, you probably get really wet too. 

And by the end of the night, rain pounding on the roof, his last customer unfortunately has to hear a low groan leave his throat at their comments. He’s very quick to cover it with a cough. 

“Sorry for coming in right before you close, the rain is bad tonight and I forgot my umbrella, thank god you guys sell them! I didn’t mean to drip all over the floor like this, I hope you don’t have to stay late cleaning up my mess!” 

“I didn’t mean to drip all over your floor like this” Replays in his head, over and over again. God, he’d make you drip. He hopes you drip all over the floor for him. He’d get on his knees and lick it right up, god.

He needs to leave. Right now.

“S’all good,” Jake shakes his head after the initial moan and cough cover, trying to remain casual. “It’s my job to clean it up, after all.” He smiles, his brain stuck on the feeling of how wet you were when he touched you. Shiiiit. “Have a good night, stay dry!” 

And finally, Jake can close out his register and lock the doors. That, he does. Performing his end-of-night tasks at lightning speed with a cock throbbing so bad that he worries he might have to get off in his car before making it to your apartment. He genuinely needs to get off, especially knowing these pretty panties are in his pocket ready to be soaked in his cum. 

He doesn’t though, no. He holds off, thrusting his hips up and against the inseam of his pants with every passing second as he drives. He’s practically writhing by the time he gets to your place. Honestly, he moans with each movement because he’s sensitive. It’s so, so fucking sensitive. Everything feels good, he could genuinely cum the second you open your door if he’s not careful. 

Careful isn’t something Jake can be at this moment though, not when he lands a single knock at your door and you’re immediately opening it, looking at him with that same fucking evil smile you gave to him while he was at work. 

He looks at you and instantly lets out a frustrated moan before stepping in without another word. You feel his hands grab you much harsher than you originally thought he would, but you let him as you laugh out in a nervous chuckle. 

“Hello to you too.” You pat him on the back as his arms wrap around your middle. You hear him kick back against your door, slamming it shut before his lips hit your neck. 

He isn’t talking but goddamn you can hear what he needs to say through the way he presses his lips against you. He’s rough with it, kissing all across your exposed skin before slipping his hand right between your legs from the back as if he doesn’t have to chase anymore. 

You were going to jerk your hips back to make him chase, but his grip is too tight and he’s nearly lifting you off the floor entirely to get a feel. You were going to force him to look at you and the outfit you changed into for him, but again, he’s not having it, it seems.  He moans when he moves his lips up and against yours, hot breath desperate and needy as he finally speaks.

“Did it turn you on to torture me like that?” He nearly growls against your lips. “Got me so fucking hard.” 

You’re genuinely surprised with how he’s acting and talking. Then again, he’s desperate, that much is obvious if that monster bulge rubbing against your leg is anything to go by. Perhaps he may be desperate, but you guess that doesn’t always mean someone will end up submissive as a side effect. 

“It did.” You smile against his lips, pushing yourself forward to try and plant your feet back on the ground, chasing the ability to gain control over him. “Did you like that?”

Jake nods before shaking his head, allowing you to push forward, loving the way your hands reach for him and run through his hair before tugging. He did like what you did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it was fucking torture to stand there at work like he wasn’t losing his mind. 

“I’d like it more if we skip all the bullshit,” He starts, hand still attempting to reach the spot between your legs and lips landing at the corner of your mouth. “Could go all night.”

You nod to him, gripping his shirt and pulling him back to your living room couch and spinning him around, only to shove him back. 

“Is that a promise?” You ask, looking at the lazy way he spreads his own legs and rests his head against your couch cushions, eyes staring straight at you and cock twitching in his pants. “You gonna fuck me all night?”

“Yeah–” He breathes as if he’s in disbelief, hand reaching between his legs just to grab himself and squeeze as his eyes trail your body. “You have no idea how bad I need this.”

“Show me then,” You nod your head to his length that’s hidden under his pants. “Let me watch you first.”

Jake groans, rolling his eyes back both out of frustration and arousal, but he does as you say. His palm feels better with you watching, at least. He doesn’t feel so numb to the pleasure with you promising your body to him, at least. He doesn’t mind proving his size to you by shoving his pants down to his thighs and presenting said neglected cock to you either. 

It’s heavy, dark in color due to the blood that’s likely rushing throughout every inch of it. He feels sensitive to even the air in your living room as he twitches and aches to hear you talk again, to see you in front of him watching how he pleasures himself, wishing his hand is yours. 

“You wanna watch?” He says in a low-rumbled voice, tracing his fingers along the head of his cock and seething out a breath through his now, bitten bottom lip. “Wanna know how tight I want you to feel?” He asks now, bold and in the heat of the moment. You watch him when he squeezes the base of his cock tightly, you can almost feel yourself choke at that alone. 

“How wet you need to be to take it?” He continues, dragging his hand back and licking his palm before spitting into it. 

The wetness against his hand is horrifyingly pornographic. So wet when he reaches back down to his length, allowing you to hear it squelch and slip with ease. His breath is hitched while he does it too, which nearly has you seeing him in tunnel vision.

“Yeah…” You tune into him entirely, swallowing around the lump in your throat and feeling yourself drip already. “I can’t imagine how good–” You cut yourself short to moan at the way his other hand holds his pants down while he jerks his hand up faster and faster. “Oh god, you’re–”

“Wanna see how fast I can cum just looking at you?” He continues, hand only moving faster and faster as his grip tightens more, shamelessly grunting proudly over how he could probably cum now if he wanted to. “I told you, I can go all night.”

You pause, because goddamn. You thought he would be embarrassing, pathetic, needy. You thought he would beg, plead, and cry. But…you feel like you’re the one who needs to do that. God, you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck yet be so powerful about it. As if he’s in your face whispering, “You’re gonna let me fuck you, right? You’re gonna love it too, right? You’re gonna let me use you to take care of this little problem of mine, right? It’s what you want, right?”

If he were to say those things to you right now, you’d nod without a doubt. But…he doesn’t. He simply looks at you now, heaving out broken moans that sound too sexy to be considered pathetic. His hips chase each movement of his hand and goddamn does he fuck his fist hard.

Your mind is spinning watching him, knowing that he’s probably going to fuck you twice as hard as he fucks himself. And it’s not surprising to you at least that you can feel your own clit swell and throb for touch too. You easily move your hand between your legs, standing right there in front of him, toying with yourself as if you don’t have the power to ask him to do it for you. 

“Ah, fuck–” Jake groans, thrusting his hips up into his hand one last time before strings of his cum make a mess on his shirt. And it seems to go on forever too, spurt after spurt of it pumping out of him alongside his pretty moans and open-mouthed expression. You can feel your body react to him more than it ever has for anyone else, especially in the way….

“God–” You moan yourself now, watching him spread his legs and slouch more against your couch with a relieved sigh from his messy orgasm. But…his cock doesn’t soften. No, it stays stiff and heavy against his stomach, twitching and dribbling more and more of his cum out in little beads. 

The proof of his issue is right here, he really can and probably will go all night. And you say nothing else to him after that. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to answer you if you did say something simply because you find yourself stepping up onto your own couch, resting your knees against the back of it, and gripping his hair. 

Jake lets out a half-moan-half-hum, as expected, when he feels your hand drag his face under your skirt. You didn’t have to do that, but goddamn does he fucking love it. He loves how he can feel your knees buckle and force you to balance on the couch, loves how your cunt is just as needy as he feels, fucking adores the way you drip all over his tongue when he pushes your panties to the side and starts licking you up. 

It’s the fact that he didn’t even have to ask you to put it in his face. The slight taste against his fingers all night at work is nothing compared to the way you drown him now. He needs to do this for you. Hell, he needs to do this for himself.

“Jesus,” You breathe, rolling your hips on his mouth. He’s truly eating you like his life depends on it. You can hear his muffled hums at the taste, you can feel his shoulder shake as he starts jerking off again, you can feel the way his tongue goes deeper and deeper, licking each clench of your walls, only to pull back and suck the wet from your panties in a deep breath. 

He coos at it too, as if he’s in love with the moment, as if he truly can’t believe he’s finally got a pussy to lick. And he swallows each mouth full of your slick before muttering curses and promises against your swollen little bud. 

“Please,” He moans, nipping and licking against you. “Been so long since I’ve eaten pussy, rub it on me- fuck-” he continues to babble, heat-of-the-moment-talk coming out as far more arousing than cringe if you listen hard through your ringing ears. “Come on,” He continues, now neglecting his own cock and gripping your ass with both hands, shoving you back and forth on his face in painfully slow and harsh grinds. “Come on, harder.”

As if you can function at all right now with how rough he is about trying to pleasure you? Fucking hell, the words ignite something in you as you pull back and away from him. For a split second, you see his blown out pupils and fucked up hair as he licks his lips and presents that shining lower-half of his face to you. 

You don’t look for long though, no. Because you’re too busy pushing him to the side and forcing him to lay back on the couch instead. You resume your position afterwards, straddling the couch on either side of his head with your knees and planting your pulsing cunt right on his eager tongue. 

“You’re too hot,” You moan, feeling his hands go straight back to your ass to force more of those harsh grinds against him. “If you could see yourself right now–” Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you feel his moaned out chuckle hit you right in the clit. It’s like he knows he makes you feel good, but does he really? 

Does he truly understand how fucking good at this he is?

 “God, if you could feel how good your tongue is–” You continue, now losing yourself in the heat of the moment, feeling his fingers nearly bruise your ass with the death-grip he has on you. 

He nods his head in what little space he has as he spirals into heaven behind his eyes. The smell of you suffocates him, the taste of you drowns him, the weight of you is nothing short of sexy as hell. This is all he could ever want. A pretty girl using and abusing his face, much like he wants to do to you. But oh, there’s so, so much he wants to do after so long of having no one but himself. 

Eat you out, finger fuck you, slide his cock down that pretty little moaning throat of yours, grip that hair and kiss those tits. God, he wants to do everything right now but he can’t bear to push this perfect clit off of his lips. He cannot fathom losing the taste of you and the way you clench around the tip of his tongue. 

Oh fuck.

“Ahh- '' Jake moans open-mouthed against your clit as his brain hits a wall, his cock standing stiff from behind you as he spills out against himself again. Untouched completely, he cums without any effort where as previously it took him hours just to get off because he’d grown so fucking bored of everything. 

You’ve ignited him. His drive is higher than it’s ever been after being neglected for so long. God, he wants to fuck you so full that you can’t bear to leave him. 

“Fuck–” He continues, trying to lend licks between his jerking body to keep your arousal peaked. “See how bad I need it?” 

He finally manages to pull back, feeling you lift from his face just for a moment after noting the way his entire body is shaking. He’s not having it though, as he cranes his neck in chase of your dripping hole once more.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He adds now, enveloping his lips around your clit again and using both hands to force you right back down on his face. 

There, you feel the way he almost passionately makes out with your pussy. As if he’s thanking you for a second orgasm within the past ten minutes. As if he truly can’t stop wanting to fuck something, someone, anything at all.

Goddamn, what a fucking deal. All hail the hook-up app that brought this insatiable sex beast to your apartment.

“Jake–” You start, grinding down for him and feeling his hands now move to rub up and down your back. “Keep your tongue in me.” You choke out, gripping his hair to hold his face in place as you sit his tongue inside of you, short and jerky thrusts forward to bump your clit against his nose. 

He’s gotten off twice now, it’s your turn. 

And you watch as he drops his arms from you and grips your outer legs through it, letting you use his face until he can’t breathe. Both of you are seeing stars through it, your orgasm bubbling up so quickly that you can barely warn him when your hips halt in a stiffened clench and he’s finishing the job for you. 

Your legs squeeze around his head, your fingers pull his hair, and still he manages to find the space to tilt his chin up just to tongue-fuck you deeper, just to rub his nose harshly against your clit, up until he feels your quivering pussy spill all over his chin, down his throat, stealing any breath or moan he could possibly give right now. 

You’re out of breath by the time you finally slide off of his face, your hands immediately shooting to both of his cheeks as your sensitive clit drags down his stomach for the easy position change. You wince when you lick against his lips at the sensitivity, being sure to seat yourself right against his cock. 

“Hah–” Jake lends a breathy laugh against the way you lick his lips, his hands going right back to your ass and landing a sharp slap to it. “Couldn’t even get our clothes off first.”

You take a second to pull back and look at him, noting the redness against his cheeks and nose, likely from your panties consistently getting in his way and then you chuckle back at him. You’re thankful for the short break the two of you seem to be taking at the moment. Still, you lift up from him just to remove your shirt, exposing your tits in an instant solely because you didn’t wear a bra for this exact purpose. 

He’s still hard, despite two orgasms. You feel him rubbing it against you every few seconds, right up against your saliva and cum-soaked panties which, mind you, are insanely uncomfortable right now. It feels as if they’re slicing through your thigh with the force of how Jake managed to keep them shoved out of his way. 

“Just lay back,” You smile at him, allowing him a longer rest for now as you take it upon yourself to remove the barriers. “Let me take care of you now.”

Jake has hearts in his eyes as he watches you. Normally, a girl would already be falling asleep after all that, leaving him with not enough orgasms and no actual fucking. It’s not his fault he could do foreplay for upwards of three to four hours before going for the finale. Which, arguably, can and will last several hours longer. 

Still, you appear to not be finished either, with your breathless smile and gentle hands. He bites his bottom lip through a smirk as he watches you, tits on full display to keep him satiated for now as you move around on the couch to get his pants off of him. He helps a bit with a little kick, his cock still so sensitive and pathetically weeping for more. He feels lucky to have found you, almost baffled that he may have met his match. 

You lend several glances at his cock, not quite realizing the way he’s blinking at you right now. To be fair, it’s only natural to have your attention on that thing right now. You swallow around your nervousness regarding the size but equally want him to fuck you senseless with it. You already feel entirely fucked out, but…that. Oh, that could change your life, probably. You can imagine he won’t be as gentle as you expected before all of this too. Would probably shove it in all in one go and lose his mind at the feeling. 

He’s probably going to split you open and make it feel good for you too. Somehow. 

Anyway, enough of that. You’ve still got to get his shirt off, your uncomfortable skirt and panties too. 

You make quick work of it, as you stand to your feet and expose yourself entirely to him. Jake just watches, humming and moaning at each new expanse of skin you show to him. He keeps his hands to himself though, likely so used to feeling of them that they’d bring no pleasure at this moment if he were to jerk off to you doing this. And you just…look right back at him.

“Come on,” You smile at him again, lending your hand out for him to grab. “Bedroom will be more comfortable.”

Right. Bedrooms exist.

Jake follows, cock heavy and sensitive against his thigh with each step as he tries to get up close behind you. His eyes stay on your ass as you walk in front of him, and it’s not hard for him to keep his hands on it. In fact, he’s touching you as often as he can, trying to remind himself that he’s with someone right now who actually wants him. 

You seem to be willing to let him do what he needs tonight, and hopefully it won’t be the only time. 

You feel him on you, clinging so closely, hands constantly groping, lips always trying to reach the back of your neck and shoulders, to the point it’s actually difficult to get to your bedroom because you want nothing more than to turn around and shove him against the wall, all to try and take him into your mouth just to see if you can.

He doesn’t really let you think about that for too long though, because the second you get to your bedroom, he’s grabbing you from behind and lifting you in his strong arms. You writhe in his grasp with playful giggles, feeling the strong hold he has on you, keeping you in place against him as he stumbles forward with a deep inhale into your neck.

He’s quick to make his way to your bed, dropping you onto it, flipping you over onto your back, and immediately slotting himself between your legs. He hovers over you for a minute, looking directly into your eyes as his hair falls forward. 

Somehow, you’re more focused on his face than you are of his cock that he’s sliding up and down your core right now. You reach up to his hair, brushing it out of his face and feeling the sticky sweat at his scalp. 

“Could eat you out again.” Jake mentions, hips thrusting against you but eyes calm and level with yours. “Could lock me up in here and just use me all day if you want.” He continues, partially being serious about it, but treating it as if it’s some kinky joke instead. 

Because let’s be honest. If there’s any job Jake could do better than anyone else, it’s be a woman’s fuck toy. Always ready to go, always stiff and horny, always willing to please. 

“Could slide in right now and let you feel how hard I am.” His voice gets breathier as he talks, and you can tell he’s just imagining everything he wants to do. He probably worries he’ll have to go home at some point tonight only to resume his search for potential fucks to keep his need satiated. 

He probably thinks he’s going to exhaust you. 

“Could let you do all of that and more.” You respond, lifting your hips just slightly to press his cock between your bodies, throwing your legs around his waist simultaneously with the way you wrap your arms around his neck. “You want me to lock you up in here?” 

Jake nods with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can imagine it. 

“Do you work tomorrow?” 

He shakes his head with another sigh, focusing on the way you keep humping up against his length, sliding yourself in whatever way you can against him. 

“Maybe I’ll just have to do that then.”

Oh, damn. 

The heart eyes are back. The very thought of being in this room all night and all day tomorrow drives his cock to pulse and twitch. Foreplay can come whenever, fucking can come whenever, he can cum whenever. There’s no need for a to-do list. No need for a specific structure of rules on how this needs to happen. Foreplay, sex, sleep. Not with Jake. 

Sex. foreplay. sex. foreplay. for hours. He’ll keep you up all night if he can, fucking and sucking every part of you, into the morning hours straight into tomorrow night. 

Free use with you from now until you’re tired of him. You can do anything you want to him but for now…

“Yeah?” Jake breathes out in excitement, arching his back slightly to let his cock land against your hole, and then he pushes forward slowly. The bulbous head spreads your lips and stretches out your slick pussy with ease as he continues to speak. “Feel that?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, fingernails already digging into his shoulders at the anticipation as your legs loosen around him. He continues to push forward, inch by inch, painfully slow as if he wants you to feel the burn and stretch even while being as wet as you are. 

“Ah–” He confirms for himself as he watches your face, wincing, mouth falling open. “Yeah, you feel it.”

God, yeah. You do. You feel the weight of his size inside of you, stretching you open so good he probably wouldn’t even have to move for it to hurt. But he does move, he does continue to slide in, savoring every second of your walls quivering and suffocating his cock. 

“Goddamn,” He groans, lifting up on both arms and bracing himself as he looks down, only to find he’s only slid half of his dick into you, and already you’re about as breathless as he is. “Didn’t realize how tight you’d actually be–” 

He chokes when he says it, sliding out little by little before fucking back in, pushing just a bit more into you.

“S’okay.” You try to reassure him, but it’s more for you than it is for him. You really didn’t think a cock could feel so big that it actually hurts, yet, here you are. “I’m adjusting.”

Jake moans at your broken voice, no longer holding himself back to look at your pussy grip him when he pulls out slightly. He looks at your face instead, witnessing how you take all of it in one solid movement from him. All of it, until he can feel his pelvis rest against your clit and your entire body stiffens in a tight hug around his body. 

“Mhm,” He leans back down now, humming against your cheek as he tries to control the urge to fuck. “Taking all of it, aren’t you?”

With those words, he slides out slightly before pushing back in again, trying to force your pussy to relax so that he can stop holding his breath. One hand finds its way to your leg to hold onto, the other holding himself up beside your head, and he just…watches. 

Little by little, he thrusts. Plunging into you in short-tight snaps of his hips just to watch your tits jiggle with the movements, up until he really, really can’t hold back anymore. 

You feel his cock leave you almost entirely, only to slam right back in and cause your vision to go white with a pang of pleasure. Your loud yelp pairs well with his relieved sigh of a grunt, and it appears that this is what breaks him entirely. 

That single, full thrust, lets him fall forward and nuzzle his nose against your neck and his body just goes. Instinctually chasing the deepest parts inside of you, hitting your cervix with each thrust only to drag back and make your toes go numb at the way your g-spot feels entirely too sensitive with this alone.

And god, Jake loves the way you cling through it. The way you moan each time he bottoms out, the way your nails cut into his back and the way your legs continuously fail to stay wrapped around him. He…

Oh no.

“I can go all night–” He breathes out through his relentless thrusts, almost as if he’s pleading with you. “I swear, I’m not done–” He continues to cut off his own words with choked moans as he pulls back and leans up, frantically forgetting to apologize over the fact that he’s already about to cum again.

And you feel him try to slide out, that face he made twice before already alerting you that he really must have so much to pump out of himself at this point. You don’t mind if he’s about to hit a third orgasm, in fact, you’re glad.

Your legs hold him in place as he fights to pull out, his eyes snapping to you in realization after the second time he tries. 

“No fucking way, you– you want it?” His eyebrows fall into that of a relieved release as he, too, falls right back down against your chest and lets his hips fuck freely. 

He’s not controlling it at this point. You feel him stretch you open more through his orgasm, rolling his hips but not pulling out even in the slightest now. Moving back and forth, as if trying to stuff you impossibly full while he releases those thick ropes of cum. It…feels so good even with the way the base of his cock continues to swirl and loosen you up in a painful stretch that almost feels like he’s ripping you open. Still, the pain is gone as he shakes on top of you, in fact, you feel your clit throb at the feeling of how big he is, of how hard he manages to stay. 

He didn’t even fuck you that roughly before this, but it feels like you’re already ruined. Ruined enough to want more. Enough to need more. 

“Bet that feels good,” You chuckle against his hair, feeling each pulse of him and loving the way he pants against your ear. “Not having to pull out, knowing you can fuck me for as long as you want.”

That only pushes his orgasm to hit harder. He thought he was nearing the end of it, but instead, his body goes into overdrive as more pulses of cum shoot out of him at your words. There’s so…so much of it he can give you. And if this is what you want, he’s the perfect man to do it for you. 

“Don’t say that, oh god–” Jake mumbles through the end of his orgasm, keeping himself tucked nice and deep into you as he releases his body weight and makes you feel slightly suffocated under him. “Please.”

Well, he minds his manners well enough, you shrug under him, clenching around his length unintentionally and reminding him that you genuinely can go all night, just like him.

Reminding him that maybe you really will just lock him up in this room all tonight, all tomorrow. He seems into the idea anyway, right? Both of you just free-use sex dolls for the time being…Hell yeah.

And as Jake catches his breath, he finally lifts up, pulling you with him, and sits you directly on his lap now.

“Keep going then, don’t let it get soft.” He nearly whimpers, solely due to the sensitivity his cock is now offering and the fact that after that third orgasm, he truly is gaining the ability to go flaccid between orgasms. 

And you follow his direction, though not entirely how he wanted you to. Instead of rolling your hips, you slip him right out of you and sink your face down between his legs, loving the way his cum spills out of you all the while. You don’t even say anything, not that you’d need to. He watches you, a smirk forming on his lips as he raises an arm and throws it over his eyes. 

“Shit, You’re so my type.” He groans out of the sexual frustration that still bubbles within him. You look so good down there with his cock just inches from your mouth. God, no woman has been able to go down on him for too long despite really fucking wishing they would. 

His hips always lose control, they don’t like face fucking, he’s too big to fit, they’re gagging too much, their jaw is hurting. What the fuck ever. Look at you, blinking up at him like you want nothing more in the world than to take it all down your throat. Ah, fuck, if you did that…

His hips buck up on instinct, forcing you to hold him down with your arms as you lick your lips. 

“You really live up to your promise, you know that?” You smile with warmed cheeks as you speak, blowing air gently against the head of his cock. It’s softened up a little, but it’s no longer going flaccid. You’re sure that the second you work it into your mouth, he’s going to be blocking your airways. 

Good. 

“You say that like I’m not overwhelming you with all of this,”  He chuckles as he moves his arm from his face and down to yours. “Most girls would have already sent me home.”

You circle your lips around the bulbous head, tasting the remnants of both you and him as you gently suckle before popping off and licking your lips. 

“Well, Jake–” You look back down and lend his cock a little kiss. “I’m not most girls. Besides, most guys get their nut and leave me hanging. You’ve gotten, what? Three orgasms by now? And you’re still in my bed? Wanting me to lock you up tomorrow too? What a fucking win.”

Jake rolls his eyes because you don’t even know the fucking half of it. If he were a normal guy, he probably would have done the same thing. Maybe not to you, but to others? Yeah. The thing is, he’s not like most guys. And you’re right in saying you’re not like most girls either, considering…your sex drive appears to be just as insatiable as his.

“Fuck, let me eat you out again–” Jake groans now, needing to pleasure you again, aroused by the fact that he’s basically met a female version of himself. Even if he’s just exaggerating and making himself believe such a woman could exist close enough to him. “Let me– Ahh…”

You cut off his words, dragging a loud and sensual moan from him as you sink down. Mostly to shut him up, mostly so you can return the favor for him from earlier before letting him have another lick of you. After all, you truly do appreciate him for all of this. 

“Mmf–” You mumble unintentionally, feeling each inch of his length that you swallow up pressing your tongue further and further down in your mouth. Up until you’re entirely open mouthed on him, gagging yourself when he hits your throat only to angle yourself up on your knees to point it straight down your throat instead.

It hurts, but you close your eyes in concentration, breathing through each gag, ignoring the dribble of saliva that runs from the corners of your mouth and– you swallow.

Mostly because you can’t suck. Again and again, you swallow around him just to stimulate his length, the girth stretching your lips out to the point you feel your jaw could break, but it doesn’t and it won’t. 

Within an instant of taking his whole length down your throat, you feel his hands in your hair. Your ears are ringing, otherwise you would also be listening to him choke on his words at how you’re doing this to him. All of it. You’re taking him in full, not leaving an inch out, seemingly proving that your mouth can be fucked just as good as your cunt.

He’s in heaven, head spinning as you stimulate him through each gag and sputtered out chokes of a moan. He can’t help it when he grabs your hair, he really doesn’t mean it when he pushes your head down while pressing his hips up. Essentially choking you and suffocating you in full with a paused hold. 

You brace yourself on his hips when he does this, squeezing your eyes shut and continuously gagging from the way he abuses your mouth with just that small movement, and then– he pulls back.

“Ahh,” He groans, snapping his hips back and holding you by the hair to keep you from chasing. “You like that?” He continues, letting you breathe but not answer at all before he’s pushing your head right back down, holding you there again and fucking his hips up repeatedly into your throat this time. 

The sounds are pornographic at best, concerning at worst. You, searching for air somewhere between his thrusts, the sounds of wet sputters, drooling, whimpered groans from him, and desperate gasps and gags from you. Truly, Jake is in heaven right now. With you, specifically, you’ve brought him to heaven.

For you, it feels like he does this forever. You’re losing the ability to comprehend what breathing ever was in the first place, thankfully though, Jake can see the tears pouring from your eyes and feel the way you fall slightly limp, letting him do as he pleases before he realizes– he may actually be overwhelming you now.

He snaps his hips back quickly, pulling you up and off of the last remaining inches of his weeping cock before taking a good, long look at your gasped breath and abused lips. Tongue licking out and eyes stained. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I–”

Instantly you press yourself down on him once again, resuming your original position of sliding him in until you can’t stand the feeling in your throat, gagging and swallowing around him time and time again. You feel proud of it, proud of the pain, proud of the suffocation. 

Fucking proud to not be finished with him compared to every other person, apparently. 

“Jesus–” He groans now, his entire body slouching against your bed as he slams his head back and starts petting your cheeks. “It’s like you were born for this. For me.”

You hum around the gags, growing accustomed to swallowing him up and feeling your jaw strain. And just a few moments later, you pull up with a deep breath, a smile, and you start rubbing your jaw. 

“Maybe I was,” You try to talk dirty, wanting to drive him insane. “You taste so good.” You add, dipping down again to lick a long stripe up the underside of his balls up to his tip. “Any girl should be proud to say you’d fuck her mouth like that.”

A twitch, he rolls his eyes back and clenches his jaw. 

“How are you so…” He breathes out, reaching his hands blindly for you, only to feel you shift on the bed and essentially sit your tits into both of his hands. “perfect?”

You shrug when he opens his eyes, you’re now hovering over him, both hands covering his on your tits as you force him to squeeze and grope. 

“Maybe it’s best to not ask questions.” You tilt your head playfully. “Besides, if I’m lucky maybe you’ll stop trying to find other girls to fuck. They can’t take care of you like I will, anyway.”

Oh, you damn fucking right they won’t. 

“You can have it any time you want.” Jake smiles, relishing in your tits warming under his palms, watching the way you hover over him tall and proud on your knees. “Could play with you every day and never get bored.” 

You feel him move his hand from under yours, going straight between your legs and sliding not two, but three fingers into you with ease.

“Still so wet too,” He hums, eyes narrowing at you with that same pretty grin. “You always this horny?”

You shake your head. 

“Not usually, you just turn me on.” 

Jake feels proud of that. He doesn’t feel like the odd ball with a dick that can’t be satiated no matter how many pussies he plows through in a night. Which, again, for the past year has been a total of zero pussy. You getting turned on by that makes him feel…capable. Makes him feel like maybe he can be put to use by a pretty girl. 

Makes him feel like his need is wanted and well taken care of. 

“So, I can keep calling you?” He asks now, fucking his fingers up, loving the warmth and slide, anticipating for when he gets to bury his cock in you again. 

“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes to enjoy the pleasure of how deep even his fingers reach. Kind of ready for him to stop talking and just focus on what he’s doing to you.

“Even if it’s every single day?” He continues to ask, now using his thumb against your clit. “Even if I need you in the middle of the night?”

Anything he wants if he can keep hitting your g-spot like this. 

“Yes, Jake,” You sigh out of aroused frustration, now wiggling your hips to chase that stimulation inside of you. “I’ll give you the fucking key to my apartment if you want. Just let you walk right in and start fucking me.”

His fingers move faster at the image, the implication of not just free-use, but true free use. Real free-use. 

“Yeah? Wake you up with my cock sliding into you?” He urges you to keep talking, now removing his other hand from your chest and circling it around his cock. “Just walk right in and get my mouth on you while all your friends are here?”

You lend a surprised chuckle, but pay no mind to his words past the arousal it brings to you. You’d tell him about how you have a total of like two friends, and half of the time they’re too busy to show up anyway. Still, the image is hot at the moment. All of it is hot. 

“You’d let me?” He continues pressing every button both physically and mentally, unaware of how easy it is for him to talk as if it’s a normal conversation solely because it’s kind of his general state of living at this point. You, on the other hand, are not used to having a full conversation while your g-spot gets abused. “Even if you’re not home? Let you come home and find me fucking myself for you?”

Oh.

“Fuck–” You groan out at the image, feeling his fingers reach so perfectly, thinking of how it would feel to walk into your apartment just to see this pretty man chasing that tight ring of fingers his fist creates. Probably so turned on and frustrated that you’re not home…so frustrated that all he could do is drop to the floor and start fucking. “God, yeah.”

So that’s what you’re into. You love that he’s that pathetic to fuck. And lucky for you, he’s more than willing to continue to be that fucking pathetic. 

“Does that feel good?” He hums now, watching how you fuck yourself against his fingers, lifting slightly to lick against your nipple. “Can I use my cock again?” He babbles almost, brain on constant loop of you actually giving him free reign of your apartment someday so he can come and–”Please, do this on my cock.”

This is the second time he’s asked you to ride it, and you think that may be one time too many. You almost feel guilty for taking him down your throat first, but then again, you don’t. Your body vibrates knowing you’re about to split yourself open on him again, only this time having full control. 

“You want me to sit on it, Jake?” You smile, thrusting your hips down and sinking his fingers into you so deep that you physically can see his brain malfunction. 

The frantic nod he gives is somehow less powerful than how he lifts his hips, forcing you higher on your knees as his fingers slip out of you and immediately land in his mouth. 

Man, this guy must love the taste of pussy. The image of him doing that alone is insanely arousing to you as you lend him a short nod and slide back, your pussy sucking in the head of his cock instantly as if the two of you move together so well, that it was only natural to not need a guiding hand for it. 

He sinks his head deep into the mattress with the way you try to sink down on him. He holds his breath with those same fingers in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut at how tight you still are, how wet you still are. 

And he’s shocked, almost, at the way you just keep sliding down. Not letting yourself re-adjust to his size, holding your own breath and bracing yourself on his abdomen just to keep balance and you wince through the stretch. 

“That’s it.” Jake soothes your hips as you sit, clenching around each one of his twitches inside of you. “Doing so good.” He breathes out this time, trying to hold back his moan just for a moment as he awaits your moan first.

And it comes quickly when you lean back rather than against him, arms by his knees as you practically present his cock to him buried entirely into you with this position. He lifts his head and stares at it before reaching his thumb to your clit, immediately pressing hard circles against it. 

“Ride it,” He pleads now. “God, please ride it.” He loses his mind at the image, really, as you do start moving. 

Pained whimpers falling from your lips as you circle your hips, fucking just an inch of him in and out of yourself, forcing the deepest part of your pussy to take the abuse more than anything else. And you know he loves it with the way his thumb stops rubbing your clit, with the way he can’t decide on if he should look or throw his head back and fall into the sensation. 

It’s really cute to witness, and you’d lean forward to kiss him if you had the strength to do it, but you don’t. In fact, all the strength you have is currently bubbling up inside of you with a sharp, almost burning sensation. 

You know exactly what this is. You’ve practiced it time and time again alone in this bed. 

“Oh, oh shit, Jake–” You groan as you frantically start moving your hips through the full and splitting feeling of him inside of you. Your voice sounds so panicked, it almost scares him. And honestly? Had he not have finger fucked you against your g-spot previously perhaps you could last longer on him, but no. 

“What– What’s wrong?!” Jake’s voice is broken when he quickly leans up, hugging around you as you continue to ride against him, faster now, chasing, chasing, chasing. 

Pushing, pushing, pushing.

“No, no!” You moan out, shoving him back against the bed and now lifting entirely from his length before slapping your own clit, fast, rough circled motions before each slap. “Oh, shit!” You nearly yell, witnessing it squirt from your body straight against his abdomen and chest. 

Jake just watches, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

“Oh–” He stares. “Oh yeah?” 

And you’re not even done when he seemingly takes full control. Allowing all that squirt to fall out of you, ignoring your shaking legs, tipping you straight back and plunging his cock right back into that release of pressure inside of you.

“You just weren’t gonna tell me you could do that?” He grunts against your ear, fucking into you so hard and so fast that your orgasm just keeps coming. It feels too good to speak, too good to breathe. 

Even as it subsides and you’re trying to catch your breath, he doesn’t let you. He just keeps going, grunting incoherently against your ear, snapping his hips harder than you think he’s probably ever done before. 

Honestly, with each yelp you let out, your sensitivity goes from being unbearably painful to–

“Do it again–” He urges you. “Give me another one.” Babbling, cooing, fucking moaning all over your neck until his lips hit yours. 

Somehow, that gives him exactly what he wants as he feels your legs tense up and fall open around him. Your pelvis slamming into his so hard that it’s, quite literally, splashing out of you in loud and painful sounds. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He nods and whispers against your tongue, sucking it into his mouth before licking into yours, nearly rabid with the way he’s both kissing and fucking you, he can’t help it. He forgot words the second he felt the gush rush past his length, trying to force it out of you only for him to go harder. Like hell he’s not going to feel you literally squirt on his cock. “So fucking messy.”

At one point, you think you might have actually died. You’re not sure but you swear you saw him fucking you in third person for two solid seconds before being slammed right back into your body. The pleasure genuinely is so overwhelming that…well, suddenly you understand why girls probably think he’s too much.

But goddamn he’s…so good. Like, you remember him mentioning his body count through his one-sided sext session with you and you can argue his inexperience probably made this that much better. He’s a fucking natural. 

And as he continues fucking into you, all you can do is lend him a distant smile. You’re definitely not experiencing real life at this moment, and you know he sees it with the way he lifts and keeps his eyes on your zoned out expression. 

“Look at you.” He echoes against your walls. “So, so pretty.” 

And he just keeps doing that, whispering praises, working you through his presumed last orgasm of the night because he genuinely can’t not fill you up with his cum one last time before letting you rest. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The rest didn’t last long, but to be fair you didn’t need it to. All night, and all day. That promise was kept and Jake remained insatiable throughout all the time he spent with you.

To the point you very nearly felt strange about him leaving. Like you’d grown so accustomed to having someone literally attached to you at the dick that you knew the loneliness and silence would hit you a little too hard once he leaves. 

And, well, he does leave in a sense, but not completely. 

Though you never truly meant that offer in the midst of sex-talk, Jake seemed to have clinged to the idea of it. Lock him up, but still give him the key. 

Never in your life would have imagined giving a person the key to your apartment, and yet…there he goes. Backing out of a guest parking spot in front of your building with your spare fucking apartment key in his pocket right next to those fucking panties. 

[maidenless-soul]

chefs kiss😩 truly i cannot explain what this did to me🫪

[dollhoonki]

ʚĭɞ ── I'M YOUR GIRL, RIGHT? ⋆ JAKEWONKI ❪teaser❫。

⋮ ⌗ ┆概要 ⨾ a life lived on whims, the stories you tell are endless. they earn you eager eyes and ears, souls desperate to intertwine in the whirlwind that is your life. but something in you settles, a longer whim than others when you've found the one. your loving boyfriend jake, who could do no wrong. except let you fuck other people.

沈载伦 𝔁 梁祯元 𝔁 西村力 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 2.3k ❪ est. 18k)    explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、cheating undertones (jake and the reader are in an open relationship)、dom!jakewonki、sub!reader、foursome (fmmm)、heavy degradation/humiliation、oral (f. & m.)、handjobs、vaginal fingering、squirting、voyeurism、protected and unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampies、mutliple orgasms、pet play、breeding kink、noona kink、tongue & spit play、tit play、cowgirl & doggy position、more tba⌇ℳ.list

⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ hiiii, long time no seeeee! 🤓 i've missed writing and posting so much that i couldn't help sharing this teaser :3 still have a bit more to write for this mess, but hopefully the entire fic will be yours soon! ^_^ my taglist is currently open, so feel free to comment or send in an ask to be added 🫂 (please make sure your age is visible on your profile!)

At the root of anyone's envy of you, is the easy-going nature you possess. 

Nothing in life seems to deter you. No tears wept over spilt milk, no conversation or adventure too outlandish for the flow you coast on. It's the kind of blasé attitude that makes hardship foreign to you, because even if inconveniences arises, is it not a happy detour to your final destination? A moment for pause, to think, remember the smell of roses despite the figurative collapse of life coming down around you ─ and like everything in life, you don't go through it ─ everything bends to your will, sea parting because that's what life's like when water runs off your back. Life's better that way ─ less complicated, more fun, somehow always finding yourself in situations that earn all the gasps and laughter at the flock of people surrounding you, starved for the stories you tell and whatever way they can possibly weave themselves into new ones.

It's a phenomenon ─ never through your own admission ─ that entices men, suitors hard pressed to be interesting enough to warrant the stray of your life. Sometimes, you indulge, because the mundane is inevitable, but like the rest of your stories, they're in the past, your heart fully present and drenched in the colours of raw emotion, but built with the capacity to move on. It's how you've found yourself at your latest chapter, navigating what should be a serious third-year at university, only for it to be some off-hand detail in the grand scheme of things. Dancing on bar tables, dressing triple your age during pub golf, travelling oceans away on a course trip, celebrating victory wins hoisted up by teammates and ultimately kissed on the pitch, by your adoring and doting boyfriend, Jake.

He has every bit of your heart, swooping in with his charming smile and sun-kissed skin from the vacation you'd met on. All you assume it to be is a summer romance, a whirlwind week where you ride on the back of his moped bike, arms circled around his waist with the coastal winds wisping through your hair. His feather-light giggles float past your ears, manoeuvring through the streets of the obscure European beach town you'd travelled to on a whim. Summer's clutches would not leave you, nagging, and as the due date for the academic year draws nearer, you decide to write another chapter. One more paragraph to close out the summer and it's your best chapter yet. Catching shellfish, cooking them over a fire made on a one-man island, immersing with locals who quickly adopt you as their own, free-floating in the ocean with the little time you spend on land spent exploring. Enriching yourself in the beauty life had to offer beyond the drone of normalcy, and Jake's there for it all. Captivated by you, as you are him and when your last night together comes, some part of you really can't let it go. Wondering if this heartbreak may crack the rose-tinted lens you see the world in, echoing over the plane's roaring engine as you clutch the necklace he'd wielded for you, a singular J etched into a heart that's fully his.

And to your surprise (as if life taught you the concept), the heartache doesn't last long. Not when Jake shows up on your university campus, parting the grump grey clouds plagued by your uni town, but being the sunshine beaming down on you two as you embrace, held in his arms as he twirls you around, giggles free-falling from your fallen lips.

Not a thought is spared, sticking together like glue because that's the thing about whims, you're constantly on one. Doing this, doing that. With someone, then another. Your friends enjoy it for what it's worth, enjoying the fresh flowers he adorns your uni house in and the handiwork he does your maintenance man can't be bothered with, but they know. Know like everything else, this won't last. But Jake sticks, weathers the autumn he comes in and nestles into the winter you creep into, your fingers interlaced as you marvel at the city carnival, somehow finding his way around rigged games and winning the biggest plushie your eyes dazzle from.

It's straight out-of-a-movie, perfect in every way. You're not together like how vacation-you were, building towards ambition as you live your own lives, and it's…freeing. The thing about men before him is that even the securest of them had a knack for insecurity. Feeling small in the grandness of your existence. They couldn't handle anything being more fulfilling than them, they had to be the most interesting thing about you and that, you couldn't stand, serving as a canvas for their own painting. You are your own person with Jake, painting the strokes to your own story while he does nothing but admire yours, a kiss to your cheek before he gets to his own, choosing his own set of colours instead of borrowing your own. You work together, in ways that are conventional and some that…aren't.

Perhaps you're too-free of two souls, no limit to the flight of your wings that situations where someone else would recoil, actually open up earnest dialogue between you two. You're not sure who breaches the topic first ─ you or Jake, but you're in the situation you are in now because of it. So stupidly in love with each other, but still able to fuck other people.

It's a civil agreement. It happens, but isn't discussed at length with each other. There are so many things to try, so many people to meet, why be bound by the ties of monogamy? Sex is something you're nearly matched in, no shortage of kinks explored, but when something new creeps in, when the other is too tired for another rendezvous, isn't it convenient to have an outlet? No sad jerk-off or groan at your battery-drained toy, but another human. Another person you have your moment of relief with, vanishing in the morning where Jake wakes you up with bed in breakfast, looking at you with the same overflowing love in his eyes like he did last.

Initially, you're surprised by your newfound liberty, looking over your shoulder as you scroll through dating apps you'd sworn off, Jake folding over your back and swiping as if he'd be meeting the men. To no surprise, no one draws your attention and even on night outs, those who approach you don't get anywhere beyond a gentle rejection squeeze on the shoulder. It doesn't necessarily worry you, more so opens up an avenue for unconventionality, meeting someone in the waking hours of your crawling campus. 

Jungwon is one of them. 

He's one of the students below you in the tutoring program you'd randomly got roped into. How could you pass up the opportunity to extend a helping hand? Especially when your professor begged with clasped hands, looking at you like you're his sole saviour. It jam-packs your schedule, but you prefer it that way. Less time to ponder, to lose yourself in rumination because you aren't immune to it either. Point is, you take on his request and offer sparse sessions to the two students you're delegated with. One another second year girl whose transition into uni is wobbly at best, but bettered by your assurance. And the other, Jungwon.

In the library is where you first see him, your head lifting at the call of your name. When you're due to confirm it, the answer dies on your tongue. He is strikingly beautiful, an intricate mix of features contrasting between cute and handsome. It hits you like a ton of bricks, nothing but the flutter of your lashes echoing on the talking library floor, background nothing but that in his presence. He smiles like he's caught you, but there's no cockiness to it. If your eyes aren't deceiving you, there's a flicker of reciprocity in it, but it's quickly shut down. No matter how lawless you may seem, your purpose is to tutor him, not to flirt.

So, that's what you do. Flash him a friendly smile, known to charm, and extend your hand, eclipsed in his larger one. You pretend you don't feel the jolt of electricity at the mere touch and immediately crack open your previous notes, the first bit of your session utilized to gauge the basis of his knowledge and build from there. You leave the session rushing off to football practice, promising him the better grade he's searching for and leave feeling accomplished, willing the back of your mind not to draw forwards. You tell Jake about it, the tutoring session that is, over the burger bowl he's invited you to try out. You don't really tell him other things related to Jungwon ─ how your hands sparked to the touch, that from time to time, your attention would stray to the obscene stretch of his shoulders or the sneaky spread of his smile. No, you just mention offhandedly that he's handsome and Jake nods, all good-natured, but ends up laughing into his lettuce, knowing better.

Knowing you.

To be loved is to be seen, and while you'd always thought of the sentiment as reassuring, it now feels like unnecessary exposure. Like you'd been caught with your hand in a cookie jar and while the shame shouldn't come with it, it does. Because like Jake, Jungwon charges you with something similar. Current beneath your fingertips, the extra thump to your heart that bruises your chest and keeps your eyes pried when you really should be sleeping. Not because you're capable of falling in love with him too, but because even the slight question of its possibility poses an issue. Ruins the mirage of what life's been like with Jake because even if you're able to fuck people, there's perimeters for it. Suggestions, Jake had corrected you. While repeat lovers aren't frowned upon, they need to be discussed. Put under a lens for inspection because if they're someone you keep running back to, the foundation of your relationship has no choice but to be called into question.

Why are we together? Where do we not click? Do we need to make it work or are they the one for you? To what extent are they the one for you?

So many question posed, messing with the harmony you love. The constant you've come to crave, so you firm it. Push any possibilities to the furthest points of your expansive mind and run on auto-pilot, teaching Jungwon until he knows better, keeping things friendly until things run their course, his steady good grades no longer requiring your services.

Unfortunately, like you've known him to be, he's lovely about your last meet-up, gifting you the biggest pack of your favourite chocolate ─ the one you'd been snacking on during your sessions ─ and a bouquet of flowers, modest but meaningful because they'd been the same you'd picked up on your walk to the library one time.

"It's the least I could do. Your time has nothing on these," he says, admiring the clutch you do to your chest of all the goodies. Then his eyes find yours, like they always do, sparkling in their earnest way. Except there's a hint of darkness behind them, a doom you know you'll be subjected to.

He steps closer, the grey of his sweatshirt stretched across his chest, glasses balancing on his nose. His hair is a bit shorter, and you loved his long hair, but now you might love his shorter hair more, a bit dishevelled in a stupidly handsome way. And he's there, a hair-length away from you, his fresh linen scent consuming you with the flutter-shut of your eyes, only pried open when you feel him move.

Jungwon ducks, lowering his head to meet you at eye-level, tone like gravel as he's close enough for your lips to graze if you'll allow it, your lashes weaved together.

"And if you need any of my services," he smirks, the sound etched into your memory. "You know where to find me."

This all happens in a library. A public one, full of said to be concentrating students who mindlessly yap the hours away, laying witness to your knee buckle, willed by a mechanical smile and the close proximity of a nearby table.

He leaves and when he's out of sight, you're not even graceful enough to collapse into a pulled-out chair, a pool of melted limbs on the carpeted floor you can only pray has been cleaned.

Jungwon knows you're with Jake. You haven't shared that part of your relationship, but he knows enough by your Instagram posts where everyone portrays themselves to be happier than they really are. It should make you think different of him, less, because sex is on the table for him despite you being very committed to your partner. You don't know if that makes him sick or somehow captivating, as if he hasn't reduced you to the mess you are, face buried in a bunch of flowers you'll dry so they'll last longer.

You're weak. So fucking weak because whatever high and mighty standards you may have held yourself to now come crashing down on you, leaving you no choice but to yield.

To listen to the voice at the back of your head, even though you know better.

A time is set, one you do share with Jake almost like an admission of guilt.

He won't have it.

"Hey," he calls sweetly, finger nudging your chin upwards. In your vision, he lays himself at its centre, kind eyes offered to you. He's never nothing but understanding, seen in the words he speaks. "This is meant to be a good thing. Your tutoring sessions are over with, so there's nothing holding you back,"

"Frowning doesn't suit you," he jokes, smiling in the face of your own. "Don't think about it too much. Have your cake and eat it too."

thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated.ᐟ ᰔ

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[lac4ygal]

ᝰ.ᐟNUMBER ONE RULE

Freshman center Yang Jungwon arrives at Blackwood University with one goal: play hockey at the highest level he can. Then he breaks the one rule his captain ever gave him — don’t touch my sister — and falls completely in love anyway. When the secret hookups turn into something real, and the team becomes accomplices, it’s only a matter of time before Jay finds out. And when he finally does, it blows up the team, the house, and the bond twins have shared their entire lives. On top of this it’s right before the biggest game of their season. Jay and Jungwon have to fight their way back to each other — on and off the ice — before the championship, and before it costs Jungwon the brother he never expected to gain.

pairings: brothersfriend!jungwon x sister!reader

word count… 36.6k (I’m so sorry)

CONTENT WARNINGS! explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, praise kink, multiple orgasms, LOTS of sexual tension, secret relationship, betrayal of trust, family conflict (brief), emotional distance, alcohol use, arguing, brief physical altercation (not with reader), emotional angst, angst with happy ending ┃ PLAYLIST… Delicate by Taylor Swift , Fade Into You by Mazzy Star , Somebody Else by The 1975 , u + me = <3 by Olivia Rodrigo , Beaches by beabadoobee , Back in Love by Suki Waterhouse , Love Hangover by Jennie , Take Me Home by Cailin Russo

⋆。˚ lacey speaks!! so… this somehow went from the planned 25k to 36.6k words 😭 i genuinely have no idea how that happened but i got a little too attached to these idiots. thank you so much to everyone who reads, comments, leaves little reactions, or even just opens the fic. genuinely, it means more than you know. i read every comment and they always make my day. as always, please let me know your favourite scenes, your favourite lines because i LOVE hearing them. anyway… enjoy 36.6k words of hockey, mutual pining, denial, and two people making increasingly questionable life choices. happy reading <3

“IF I THROW UP ON THE ICE, YOU HAVE TO TELL PEOPLE I HAD FOOD POISONING.”

“You’re not going to throw up.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know my body, Jungwon. You don’t know what it’s capable of.” Jungwon didn’t look up from his skate laces. He’d learned in the four days since they’d moved into the Den that Riki narrated his anxiety the way other people breathed — constantly, without much say in the matter — and that the correct response was usually no response at all. “Tie your laces.”

“I am tying my laces. I’m tying them and panicking. Multitasking.” Riki yanked the lace tight enough that the eyelets groaned, then immediately loosened it again, frowning down at his own skate like it had personally wronged him. The locker room around them was already half full — upperclassmen moving with the unhurried, proprietary ease of guys who’d done this a hundred times, freshmen moving like they were trying not to be noticed taking up space. Jungwon recognized the difference in himself too. He was sitting very still. Still felt safer than fidgeting.

“You made first line at your old club team,” Jungwon said. “Twice.”

“That’s youth hockey. This is — “ Riki gestured vaguely at the room, at the Blackwood crest stenciled above the doorway, at the rows of stalls with nameplates that weren’t theirs yet. “This is the actual NCAA. This is Park Jongseong’s team. You know what happens to freshmen who embarrass themselves in front of Park Jongseong?”

“What happens?”

“I don’t know, that’s the scary part. Nobody’s ever told me. It’s implied.”

Jungwon almost smiled. He didn’t, because smiling felt like it would let some of the pressure out of his chest that he was using, very deliberately, to keep himself focused. He’d wanted this — wanted it the specific, single-minded way he wanted most things, which was to say completely, with no real plan for what to do with himself if it didn’t happen. Three years of juniors hockey, two recruiting visits, one decision that had felt less like a choice and more like the only door that had ever made sense to walk through. And now here he was, lacing up in a locker room three thousand miles from anywhere that had ever felt like home, next to a guy who’d been his roommate for four days and already felt like the only stable thing in the building. “You’re quiet,” Riki said, which was rich, coming from him.

“I’m always quiet.”

“You’re quiet like you’re thinking too hard about something. There’s a difference.” Riki finally got both skates tied to his satisfaction and straightened up, rolling his shoulders. He’d filled out over the summer — they both had, the strength program had made sure of that — but he still moved like someone who hadn’t quite caught up to his own height yet, all elbows and momentum. “What are you thinking about?”

“Not throwing up.”

“Liar. You’ve never thrown up in your life. You’re, like, constitutionally incapable of it. It’s annoying, actually, now that I say it out loud.”

The door to the locker room swung open before Jungwon could answer, and the easy noise of the room dropped by half — not silence, just a recalibration, the particular hush that happens when the person who matters most walks in. Jungwon knew who it was before he turned his head. He’d watched enough Blackwood game tape over the summer to recognize the walk alone.

Park Jongseong didn’t look like he was trying to be intimidating. That was, Jungwon would come to understand, exactly what made him intimidating. He had a stick bag over one shoulder and a coffee in his other hand and he said “morning” to about six people on his way to his stall, easy, unbothered, like a guy who already knew exactly how good he was and had stopped needing to perform it. “That’s him,” Riki whispered, entirely unnecessarily.

“I know who it is.”

“I’m just saying. That’s him.”

Jay — Jungwon had heard it a dozen times already, never once heard anyone call him Jongseong outside of a coach’s clipboard — dropped his bag at the stall with his name already on it, the one with three years of tape residue on the nameplate, and finally let his eyes drift over the room. Cataloguing. Jungwon recognized the look because it was one he used himself, the assessment of who was solid and who was nervous and who might be a problem. His eyes landed on Jungwon and Riki for a second longer than anyone else. “You two. Yang and Nishimura?”

“Yes, captain,” Riki said, too fast.

Something flickered at the corner of Jay’s mouth — not quite a smile, the suggestion of one filed away for later use. “Heard a lot about you both this summer. Coach won’t stop talking about the center from the Japan program.” A nod at Jungwon. “We’ll see if it’s true on the ice.”

“It’s true,” Riki said, before Jungwon could decide whether to say anything at all. “He’s annoying about it. He’s, like, suspiciously good.”

“Suspiciously good freshmen are my favorite kind.” Jay’s gaze held on Jungwon another beat — not unkind, just thorough, the way you’d look at a piece of equipment you were deciding whether to trust. “Don’t let me down out there.”

“I won’t,” Jungwon said, and meant it more than he’d meant almost anything in his life. Jay moved on, already greeting someone else by name across the room, and Riki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for the entire exchange. “Okay. Okay, that was — he seems normal. Chill, even. I was told there’d be a speech.”

“There will be,” said a voice from the next row of stalls, and a guy Jungwon recognized from the roster as Jake leaned around the partition, grinning. Sunghoon, beside him, didn’t look up from where he was meticulously taping his stick, but he was clearly listening. “The speech isn’t till tonight. Initiation.”

“What speech?”

“You’ll see.” Jake’s grin widened in a way that should have been more reassuring than it was. “It’s a Blackwood tradition. Captain gives the rookies the rules. Most of it’s normal stuff — don’t skip lifts, don’t talk to the football team unless you’re trying to start something, don’t be the reason we lose the Founders Cup.” He paused, and Jungwon had the distinct sense that the pause was load-bearing. “And then there’s the other rule.”

“What other rule?”

Sunghoon spoke without looking up. “You’ll see.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s funnier this way,” Jake said, and went back to his own laces, whistling something tuneless, leaving Riki staring after him with the look of a man who’d just been told there was a trapdoor somewhere in the room and no further information.

Tryouts were, in the most literal sense, just hockey. Jungwon had played enough of it in enough rinks across enough countries that the ice itself never scared him — the cold air in his lungs, the particular silence of a puck gliding before the slap of someone’s stick broke it, the geometry of a give-and-go executed clean. That part of him was calm. Had always been calm. It was the only part of him that ever fully was. What he hadn’t expected was how fast Coach Anders moved them through drills clearly designed to see who flinched. Full-ice give-and-gos at speed, odd-man rushes with no warning who was getting the puck, a three-on-two read where half the freshmen visibly hesitated at the blue line and got benched for the rest of the rep without a word of explanation.

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He’d decided somewhere over the summer — quietly, the way he decided most things — that hesitation was the one thing he could not afford to bring to this ice, because everyone here had a reason to think a freshman center didn’t belong on the top unit, and the only argument he had against that was the one he could make with his stick.

By the third hour, he’d noticed Jay watching him specifically. Not constantly. Just at the moments that mattered — the give-and-go where Jungwon held the puck a half-second longer than the drill called for, reading the lane instead of dumping it the way the play sheet suggested, and put it through a gap that hadn’t technically been there until he made it be there. Jay didn’t say anything. He just watched, and then skated to center ice for the next rep, and Jungwon understood that the watching was its own kind of conversation.

Riki, for his part, was finding his footing the louder way — a highlight-reel one-timer in the third drill that got a few sticks tapping the ice in approval, then immediately undercut by tripping over the blue line in the very next rep and going down hard enough that the whole rink heard it. “I’m fine,” he announced to no one, from the ice, before anyone asked.

“Nobody asked,” Jake called from the bench.

“I could feel the concern radiating off this rink and I wanted to address it.”

By the time Coach blew the final whistle, Jungwon’s legs were a kind of tired that felt less like exhaustion and more like proof of something. He skated to the bench beside Riki, who collapsed onto it like his skeleton had personally given up on him, and only then let himself look toward center ice, where Jay was talking to Coach with the easy, low-voiced confidence of someone who’d be reporting the freshman roster’s worth in about four sentences. “You. Center.” Coach’s voice cut across the rink, and Jungwon’s head came up before he’d even registered being addressed. “Yang. Get over here.”

Riki nudged him so hard he nearly went face-first into the boards. “Go, go, go—” Jungwon skated over, suddenly aware of his own pulse in a way he hadn’t been for three hours of actual hockey. Coach Anders had a clipboard he wasn’t looking at and an expression Jungwon couldn’t read, and Jay stood beside him with his arms crossed, unreadable in a different, more deliberate way.

“First line,” Coach said. “Center. You’ll be playing with Jongseong on your wing.” For a second the words didn’t fully land — not because Jungwon didn’t understand them, but because some part of him had been so braced for a different sentence that this one needed a moment to be believed. First line. As a freshman. He knew, distantly, the way you know a fact rather than feel it, that this didn’t happen. Not at a program like this. Not in week one. “Thank you, Coach,” he managed.

“Don’t thank me. Earn it every single day or I’ll pull you so fast you won’t see it coming.” Anders said it without heat, like a fact of weather, and walked off toward the next conversation he had to have. Which left Jungwon standing on the ice across from Jay, alone, in the particular quiet of a rink emptying out around them. Jay studied him for a second. “You know what this means.”

“That I don’t get to be bad at this.”

“That you don’t get to be bad at this,” Jay agreed, something almost like approval moving across his face. “I don’t care that you’re a freshman. I care that you’re good, and I think you’re about to be the best center this program’s had in four years, and I need to know if I can build a line around you that doesn’t fall apart in November.” He held out a glove. “Can I?” Jungwon looked at it for half a second longer than the gesture probably warranted, and then knocked his own glove against it. “Yeah. You can.”

“Good.” Jay’s mouth did the almost-smile thing again, fuller this time. “Welcome to the Wolves, Yang. Don’t make me regret this.” He skated off toward the tunnel, and Jungwon stood there a moment longer than he needed to, letting it settle — the ice under his skates, the weight of the line Jay had just put on him, the particular feeling of being trusted by someone whose trust clearly didn’t come cheap. He thought, with the small, private satisfaction of a goal he’d set for himself and quietly hit: I want him to keep thinking that about me.

The Den (the ice hockey frat) at seven that evening was unrecognizable from the version Jungwon had toured during his recruiting visit — that one had been clean, staged, every surface wiped down for parents. This one had thirty hockey players packed into a living room that smelled like body spray and old pizza, somebody’s portable speaker playing something with too much bass, and a framed photo on the wall by the staircase that Jungwon’s eyes kept catching on without quite knowing why. Two kids, maybe ten years old, matching gap-toothed grins, one of them holding a hockey stick taller than he was and the other holding nothing, hands on her hips like she was supervising. He recognized Jay immediately even at that age — something about the set of the jaw hadn’t changed at all. He didn’t know who the girl was. Didn’t think about it past a beat of mild curiosity before Riki elbowed him in the ribs and the room’s energy shifted, everyone finding a seat or a wall to lean against, because Jay had walked to the front of the room with the specific posture of a man about to give a speech he’d given many times before.

“Alright. Rookies, eyes up. Everyone else, you’ve heard this, shut up and let me say it anyway.” A ripple of laughter from the upperclassmen, like the joke was older than Jungwon’s time at Blackwood. Jay waited it out, unbothered, then continued. “Rule one. You do not skip lifts. I don’t care what your high school strength coach told you, you skip lifts here and you will feel it in February when you’re getting run over by a sophomore from BC who didn’t.”

“Rule two.” A few guys mouthed it along with him, clearly by memory. “You do not embarrass this program. Not at parties, not on campus, not on Twitter, God help you if it’s Twitter. What you do reflects on all of us, whether you like that or not.”

“Rule three. You do not start anything with the football team. I don’t care who started it actually, I don’t care who’s right, you walk away, because Coach has had that exact conversation with their coach four times already and I am tired of being there for it.”

The room had loosened by now, a low murmur of guys who’d heard this annually finishing his sentences under their breath, Jake outright mouthing along with theatrical solemnity like he was reciting a pledge. Jay let it happen for a second, something almost fond in it, before his expression shifted — not harder, exactly, but more deliberate. He turned, and Jungwon watched him look at the framed photo on the wall, then back at the room. “And the last one.” His voice didn’t get louder. If anything it got quieter, which made the whole room quiet down to match it. “You do not touch my sister.”

A groan went up from at least eight different directions, good-natured, well-worn. “Bro, we know,” Jake called out, not unkindly. “You say this every single year.”

“And I’ll keep saying it every single year,” Jay said, “until one of you proves me wrong by not needing to hear it.”

“It’s literally tattooed into our brains at this point,” Heeseung put in from somewhere near the back. “We could say it for you.”

“Then say it with me.” A few scattered, half-joking voices did, off-rhythm, and Jay let himself almost-smile at the chaos of it before his gaze swept the room one more time and landed, with what felt to Jungwon like unmistakable precision, on the freshmen. On him. On Riki.

“I mean it,” Jay said, and there was no joke left in his voice at all. “I don’t care how funny you think it is. I don’t care if you think it’s a bit. She’s not a joke, and she’s not available, and any of you who think you’re the exception are going to find out real fast that I am not.” Nobody laughed at that part.

Jungwon nodded along with the rest of the rookies, the universal gesture of understood, no problem, why would this ever be an issue — and meant it. He filed it next to the lifts and the football team and the Twitter rule. A reasonable ask from a captain who’d clearly built his entire program on trust, and Jungwon had just shaken that man’s hand on the ice four hours ago and told him he could be trusted with it.

—

The thing nobody told Jungwon about Blackwood — not the recruiters, not the campus tour, not the glossy athletics brochure with its drone shots of the rink at sunset — was how much of actual freshman life happened in the gaps between hockey. He’d pictured it, vaguely, as practice and class and sleep, in that order, on a loop. Nobody mentioned the part where the Den ran on its own gravity, where Tuesday afternoons meant six guys sprawled across two couches watching game tape with the volume too low to actually hear, where Heeseung had apparently appointed himself the unofficial keeper of a coffee machine he guarded like a dragon, and where Jake’s primary personality trait, three days in, appeared to be finding new and increasingly elaborate ways to make Riki regret saying anything out loud, ever. “I’m just saying,” Jake said, sprawled upside down across the arm of the couch in a way that looked actively bad for his spine, “if Coach moves you to second line because you keep tripping over blue lines, that’s not bullying. That’s documentation.”

“It happened once.”

“It’s happened twice. I have a list.”

“You don’t have a list.”

“I have a mental list. Mentally, it’s very organized.” Jungwon sat at the kitchen table with his economics textbook open to a page he’d read four times without absorbing a single word of, partly because the syllabus had assigned something genuinely dense for week one, and partly because he was distracted by the particular ease of the room around him — the way nobody here had to perform anything. He’d grown up around hockey locker rooms his whole life and they were rarely this loose this early. The Den had three years of inside jokes baked into its walls already and he and Riki were still learning the language, but nobody seemed to mind teaching it to them. “You’re doing the econ reading,” Heeseung observed, dropping into the chair across from him with his own mug. “On a Wednesday. Before it’s due.”

“Is that not normal?”

“It’s very not normal. Sunghoon hasn’t opened a textbook since orientation and he has a 3.7.”

“That’s a lie I haven’t fact-checked because it’s funnier to let it stand,” came Sunghoon’s voice from the doorway, where he’d appeared with the specific quiet menace of someone who could apparently materialize without anyone noticing the approach — Jungwon was starting to learn that about him, three days in. He had a bag of equipment over one shoulder, clearly back from a gear fitting, and he dropped it by the door without much ceremony. “Captain back yet?” Heeseung asked him.

“Nope. Said he’d be back for dinner. Something about—” The front door opened before Sunghoon finished the sentence, and for a second Jungwon assumed it was Jay, the way the whole kitchen’s attention shifted toward the sound the way it had in the locker room three days ago — that same recalibration. But the voice that came through wasn’t Jay’s.

“Whoever ate my leftovers from the fridge, I want you to know I saw the container in the recycling and I am not currently choosing violence, but I reserve the right to change my mind.” Jake, upside-down on the couch arm, didn’t even look over. “That was Heeseung.”

“It was not me—”

“It was absolutely you, you had pad thai breath for an hour.” You walked into the kitchen mid-argument with the easy, unbothered air of someone who’d clearly been doing this — walking into rooms full of hockey players bickering — for years, long enough that it had stopped registering as anything except background noise. You had a tote bag over one shoulder that looked like it weighed more than it should, your hair pulled back in a way that suggested you’d come straight from somewhere academic rather than anywhere that required effort, and you dropped the bag onto the counter with the same casual proprietary ease Jay had dropped his stick bag in the locker room three days before. Like this kitchen belonged to you too. Jungwon would learn, eventually, that it basically did.

Jake was off the couch before you’d even finished setting the bag down, crossing the kitchen in three long strides to throw an arm around your shoulders and steer you half a step sideways like you were a piece of furniture he was rearranging. “There she is. The menace. The legend.”

“Get off me, you’re sweaty.”

“I showered.”

“You did not shower, I can smell the rink on you from here.” You ducked out from under his arm without much real effort, swatting at his side, but there was no real heat behind it — just the specific, well-worn ease of two people who’d clearly done this exact bit more times than either of them could count. Jungwon filed the whole exchange away without quite meaning to: the easy physical familiarity, the way Jake could throw an arm around you without either of you thinking twice about it, the way you were so plainly, completely unbothered by him. The kid-sister treatment. He understood it the second he saw it, and understood, with slightly less clarity but no less certainty, that he did not want to be filed under the same category as Jake. “Rude. I carry that smell with pride. It’s eau de championship.”

“It’s eau de you skipped the showers because Sunghoon was hogging the good one.”

“That is also true.” Jake didn’t even pretend to be offended, dropping back onto the couch with the satisfied air of a man who’d gotten exactly the interaction he wanted. “Anyway. Heeseung ate your leftovers.”

“I did not—”

“You’re new,” you said, cutting clean through Heeseung’s protest, not turning around yet, like you’d clocked Jungwon in your peripheral vision the second you walked in and simply hadn’t gotten to him yet on your list of priorities. You opened the fridge, presumably to assess the damage to whatever container had survived the day. “I — yeah.” Smooth, Jungwon thought, distantly, unimpressed with himself. “Jungwon. Yang Jungwon.”

“The freshman center Coach won’t stop talking about.” You shut the fridge, finally turning fully, and Jungwon had approximately one second to decide what to do with his face before you were looking directly at him, and the decision he landed on was: nothing. Stay still. Don’t give anything away that you haven’t earned the right to see yet. “Jongseong mentioned you.”

“He did?”

“Mentioned might be generous. He said, and I’m quoting, ‘there’s a freshman who might actually be good,’ which from him is basically a sonnet.” You said it with the specific dry affection of someone who clearly adored your brother and found him slightly ridiculous in equal measure, and something about the way you talked about him — easy, unguarded, like there was no universe where loyalty to him was even a question — made Jungwon’s read on the whole Den click a little further into place. This wasn’t just the captain’s sister stopping by. This was someone who’d grown up in these rooms the way the rest of them had grown up on the ice. He noted, too, distantly, that you’d called him Jongseong. Nobody else in this house had used that name once in three days. To everyone here he was Jay, or Captain, or — on a bad day — Jongseong said with theatrical dread before someone got benched. You said it like it was just his name. Maybe, Jungwon thought, to you, it just was.

“I’ll try to live up to the sonnet.” That got something out of you — not quite a laugh, but the version of one that exists right before it, a flicker at the corner of your mouth that you seemed to decide not to fully commit to. “You’re better off not trying. He’ll find a new thing to be insufferable about within a week.” You looked past him, toward Riki, who’d gone very quiet on the couch in a way that suggested he was taking detailed mental notes for later interrogation. “You’re the other one. Nishimura.”

“Riki. You can call me Riki. Everyone does. It’s — yeah, Riki’s fine.” Riki, Jungwon noted with some private amusement, had apparently lost several IQ points in real time.

“Riki,” you repeated, like you were filing it. “Heads up — if Jongseong catches you eating my leftovers too, he’ll actually do something about it. I’ve made peace with these guys being lost causes.” A gesture at Jake and Heeseung, who both made identical offended noises. “Freshmen still have a chance at redemption.”

“Noted,” Riki managed. You grabbed something from the cabinet — crackers, Jungwon registered without really meaning to register it, the kind in the blue box, which felt like a stupidly specific detail to be cataloguing about someone he’d known for ninety seconds — and headed for the doorway, pausing there the way people do when they’re about to leave a room but haven’t quite committed to it yet. “Anyway. Welcome to the circus.” You said it to the room generally, but your eyes caught Jungwon’s for one more half-second on the way out, not lingering, not anything, just a normal goodbye glance that any of these guys would have gotten in your place. “Try not to let them ruin you too fast.”

And then you were gone, down the hall, the sound of a door somewhere upstairs — Jay’s room, Jungwon would learn — clicking shut behind you, and the kitchen exhaled back into its normal noise like nothing had happened at all. Nothing had happened. Jungwon was aware of that with total clarity. A girl had walked into a kitchen, made a joke about leftovers, learned his name, and left. This was, by any reasonable measure, the least significant interaction he’d had all week, several orders of magnitude less significant than making first line. He looked back down at his econ textbook. Read the same paragraph a fifth time. Still didn’t absorb a word of it. “Well,” Riki said, from the couch, in a voice pitched for exactly one listener. “That’s unfortunate.”

“What is.”

“Don’t.” Riki sat up properly for the first time in twenty minutes, fixing Jungwon with the specific look of someone who had just watched something happen and intended to make sure Jungwon knew he’d watched it. “I watched your whole face do a thing just now.”

“My face didn’t do anything.”

“Your face did several things. I counted at least three things.” Riki lowered his voice further, glancing toward the doorway like the danger might still be listening. “Jungwon. Buddy. My friend. My roommate, who I have grown to care about in four short days. That’s Jongseong’s sister.”

“I know whose sister she is.”

“You know whose sister she is and your face still did the thing.”

“There was no thing.”

“Heeseung,” Riki called out, not breaking eye contact with Jungwon, “did his face do a thing just now?”

“Absolutely it did,” Heeseung said, without looking up from his coffee, with the weary tone of a man who’d apparently already seen this exact movie play out at the Den before and knew exactly how it ended. “I give it two weeks before he’s carrying her bags.”

“I’m not carrying anyone’s bags.”

“Three days,” Jake corrected, from the couch, finally rolling himself upright. “I give it three days.” Jungwon closed his textbook with more force than the moment strictly required, ignoring all three of them with the particular dignity of a man who knew, somewhere underneath the irritation, that they weren’t wrong about anything, and that the worst part — the part he had absolutely no intention of admitting to a room that would never let him hear the end of it — was that some quiet, certain part of him had already decided three days wasn’t going to be nearly long enough to talk himself out of it.

He’d shaken Jay’s hand on the ice. Told him he could be trusted. He thought about the blue crackers. The flicker at the corner of your mouth. The door clicking shut down the hall. That’s unfortunate, he thought again, and didn’t disagree with himself even once.

—

“—and then he just left. Didn’t say bye, didn’t say see you later, nothing. Just picked up his gear bag like a man fleeing a crime scene and walked out of the gym.”

“Sunoo.”

“I’m not done.”

“You’ve been not-done for four blocks.”

“Because it’s a four-block story, Y/N, I don’t control the geography.” Sunoo hopped over a crack in the sidewalk without breaking stride, somehow managing to keep his energy at a near-constant boil despite the fact that they’d left your dorm twenty minutes ago and he hadn’t paused for breath since. The two of you had shared a floor since orientation week freshman year — adjacent rooms, actually, close enough that you’d learned to recognize each other’s footsteps in the hallway — and in that time you’d discovered that Sunoo processed his entire emotional life out loud, in real time, usually at a volume better suited to indoor voices. “So I’m in the gym. Minding my business. Doing my little cooldown stretches because I’m a responsible adult who stretches—”

“You stretch for ninety seconds and call it a cooldown.”

“It’s quality over quantity. And Sunghoon’s there finishing his lift, and he’s got his shirt half off because he’s toweling down, and I make eye contact with him for one — one — completely normal, completely platonic second, and the man turns the color of a fire alarm and leaves the building.”

“Maybe he had somewhere to be.”

“Y/N. He works out at the same gym at the same time every single day. He had nowhere to be. He had somewhere to flee.”

You laughed — you couldn’t help it, you’d been laughing on and off for four blocks — and adjusted the strap of your bag, the night air doing that early-fall thing where it hadn’t decided yet whether it wanted to be warm or cold, which meant you’d both left your jackets at the dorm and were now regretting it in real time, walking faster than necessary partly to get there and partly to generate body heat. The Den was eight minutes from campus if you cut through the quad, less if you didn’t care about getting grass stains on your shoes, which tonight, you decided, you didn’t. “Maybe,” you said, “and I’m just spitballing here, he likes you, and that’s why he ran away.”

“That tracks with literally zero of his behavior.”

“It tracks with all of his behavior. You just don’t want to hear it because then you’d have to do something about it instead of getting to complain to me for four blocks.” Sunoo opened his mouth to argue, visibly reconsidered, and closed it again, which from him was basically a confession. “Okay, fine, hypothetically, if that were true, what would I even — no. Don’t answer that. I don’t want strategy tonight. Tonight I want to dance and forget Sunghoon exists for at least ninety minutes, and you’re going to help me do that.”

“Deal.”

“What’s your goal for tonight?”

“My goal,” you said, with the specific, deliberate casualness of someone who had absolutely thought about this on the walk over, “is to get laid. That’s it. That’s the whole goal. Low bar, very achievable, I’m not trying to overcomplicate my life.”

“A woman with priorities. I respect it.” Sunoo glanced sideways at you, taking in — properly, for what felt like the first time since you’d left your room — what you were actually wearing, like the conversation had only just given him a reason to look. “Okay, and might I say, dressed for the occasion.” You’d put actual thought into it, more than you’d admit to him directly: a dress that hit exactly the right amount of effortless while having taken twenty-five minutes of very much not effortless decision-making in front of your mirror, dark and fitted in the way that did the most work with the least amount of obvious trying, paired with the kind of confidence that came from knowing you looked good and choosing not to make a big deal out of it. You weren’t dressing for anyone specific. You were dressing for the version of tonight where something interesting happened, which felt like a reasonable thing to dress for on a Friday. “I clean up alright.”

“You clean up like a public health hazard, is what I’m saying, someone’s going to need medical attention.” Sunoo bumped his shoulder against yours, grinning. “Jongseong’s gonna take one look at that dress and have an aneurysm.”

“Jongseong is not going to see this dress, because Jongseong is going to be busy being captain and yelling at freshmen about beer pong etiquette, and if he does see it, I will simply lie and say I’ve been wearing a cardigan all night.”

“Bold strategy.”

“It’s worked for four years.”

You could hear the party before you could see it — bass thudding low and steady through the walls of the Den a full block out, the specific texture of a hundred-plus people’s noise blending into one continuous hum, punctuated occasionally by something sharper, a shout, a laugh, the unmistakable crash of something glass that nobody seemed to care about. The porch light was on. Somebody had strung up actual string lights along the railing at some point this week, which felt like a Heeseung touch, the kind of small unnecessary effort he’d deny making if you asked him directly.

The front door was propped open with somebody’s shoe — a genuinely upsetting choice of doorstop that you chose not to think too hard about — and you and Sunoo stepped into the wall of heat and noise that was the Den at full party capacity, the living room packed wall to wall, the kitchen counter doing actual structural duty as a makeshift bar, someone’s questionable music choices blaring from the speaker Jake had clearly hooked his phone up to because nobody else picked songs this aggressively. “Y/N! Sunoo!” Jake’s voice cut through the noise before you’d even gotten three steps in, and he appeared out of the crowd with a red cup in each hand, already holding one out toward you like he’d been anticipating your arrival. “You look — okay, wow, you look like you’re trying to put me in an early grave, what is this.”

“It’s a dress, Jake.”

“It’s a weapon, is what it is. Does Jongseong know you own this?”

“Jongseong does not get a vote on my wardrobe.”

“Jongseong would absolutely like a vote on your wardrobe, that’s the whole — “ Jake gestured vaguely, encompassing, you assumed, the entire premise of his existence as Jay’s friend and teammate. “You know what, never mind, not my fight. Drink.” He pressed the cup into your hand without further ceremony, the same easy, brotherly overfamiliarity you’d gotten from him since you were eighteen, no different than if you were one of his actual sisters. “Sunoo, you too, don’t make this weird by refusing.”

“I wasn’t going to refuse, I was going to say thank you, but go off.”

“Where is he then?” you asked, scanning the crowd out of habit more than real interest — you didn’t actually need to find Jongseong, you knew he’d find you eventually, the way he always did at these things, materializing at your elbow within the first twenty minutes like a smoke detector going off. “Tell me he’s not doing the thing where he stands by the door checking IDs like he personally runs a liquor board.”

“He was doing that an hour ago, yes,” Jake confirmed, entirely too pleased about it. “Sunghoon talked him down. Mostly. He’s somewhere being captain at people. You’ll find him or he’ll find you, you know how it goes.”

“Tragically, I do.” You took a sip of whatever was in the cup — something fruity and far too strong, exactly the kind of drink this house specialized in and refused to ever improve upon — and let Sunoo tug you further into the crowd, already scanning for Sunghoon with the specific, badly-disguised intensity of someone who’d claimed thirty seconds ago that he didn’t want to think about him at all tonight.

That was when you felt it. The look. You’d grown up around enough hockey players to have a very specific radar for being looked at — the difference between the guys who’d known you since you were twelve and treated you like furniture and literally anyone else — and this one didn’t register as either. It wasn’t loud about it. It wasn’t a guy elbowing his friend to point you out. It was just — there, steady, from somewhere across the room, and when you turned your head to actually find it, you already half-knew, with the strange certainty of a feeling you hadn’t quite earned the right to yet, exactly whose eyes you were going to find.

Jungwon was leaning against the wall near the kitchen doorway with a cup he didn’t seem especially interested in drinking, half a conversation happening beside him that he clearly wasn’t fully present for, and when your eyes landed on his, he didn’t look away first. Didn’t do the thing most guys did — caught looking, quick recovery, pretend it never happened. He just held it, calm, unhurried, like he’d already decided there was no version of tonight where pretending made sense. You looked away first. You weren’t entirely sure why. “Okay,” Sunoo said, very close to your ear, having apparently clocked the entire exchange in the two seconds it took, “that’s new.”

“What’s new.”

“You know exactly what’s new. Freshman center, eleven o’clock, doing the eye thing.”

“There’s no eye thing.”

“There is extensive eye thing, I watched it happen, I have a front row seat to eye things, it’s basically my major.” Sunoo’s grin was doing something genuinely unholy now. “Go talk to him.”

“I came here to find a hookup, not start a whole — situation.”

“Maybe the hookup is the situation. Have you considered that the universe is just handing you a gift and you’re standing here arguing with the delivery guy.” You didn’t answer that, mostly because you didn’t have a good one ready, and let yourself get pulled deeper into the party instead — toward the dancing, toward whatever Heeseung and a sophomore defenseman were arguing about near the speaker, toward the specific chaos of a Friday at the Den that you’d witnessed probably two hundred times across four years and never once gotten tired of. You were aware, the entire time, of exactly where in the room he was standing.

“Absolutely not.” Jungwon said.

“Jungwon. Buddy. Best friend. Light of my life.” Riki had a hand wrapped around his wrist and was hauling him bodily toward the makeshift beer pong table set up at the end of the kitchen counter, where a sophomore defenseman Jungwon vaguely recognized from tape was loudly defending his table’s undefeated record to anyone who’d listen. “You cannot stand against this wall for the entire night doing your broody freshman thing. People will start asking questions.”

“I’m not doing a broody freshman thing.”

“You are doing the broodiest possible version of a freshman thing, you’ve had the same face on for forty minutes.” Riki deposited him at the end of the table with the satisfaction of a man completing a difficult task. “Play. Socialize. Be a person.” He played. He was, infuriatingly, good at beer pong too — some part of his brain that processed angles and trajectories for a living refused to turn off just because the stakes had dropped to a plastic cup — which meant by the fourth round he’d had more to drink than he’d planned on, that loose, warm, slightly-too-honest feeling starting to settle in behind his eyes, the kind where his usual careful filter on his own face got a little less reliable.

Which was, in retrospect, bad timing for the exact moment he looked up and found you across the room, talking to some guy he didn’t recognize — not a hockey player, built wrong for it, probably someone’s friend from another house — who’d planted himself directly in your space with the specific posture of a guy who thought he was being charming. You had your arms crossed, half-smiling in a way Jungwon was already learning to read as entertained, not interested, but the guy didn’t seem to be picking up on the distinction, leaning in another inch, saying something that made you roll your eyes.

Something hot and entirely unreasonable moved through Jungwon’s chest. He had no claim to that reaction. He knew that, even loose and warm and three cups in, some clear-eyed part of him filing the feeling under not yours to have even as it refused to go away. “Oh, this is good,” Riki said, following his line of sight, delighted. “Your face is doing the thing again. The thing’s back.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not even mad, I just want to document it for later—”

“Sink it or pass the ball, Nishimura.”

Across the room, Jay had clocked the same conversation about four seconds before Jungwon had, and unlike Jungwon, Jay had absolutely zero hesitation about what to do with that information. He crossed the room with the unbothered, unhurried walk of a man who knew exactly how much weight his presence carried in this house, and inserted himself into the conversation with a hand clapped flat on the guy’s shoulder. “Hey, man. You go to Whitfield?” Jay’s voice was friendly. Jungwon, even from a distance, did not trust it for a single second.

“Uh — yeah, I’m here with—”

“Cool, cool. Hey, quick question, completely unrelated.” Jay’s hand was still on the guy’s shoulder, steering him a polite half-step back from you, the whole motion smooth enough to look almost accidental. “You know whose house this is?”

“…Yours?”

“Mine. And that’s my sister. So I’m gonna need you to go find your friends now, and I’m gonna need you to do it real fast, and we’re gonna both pretend this was a totally normal interaction. Sound good?” The guy looked between Jay and you for one confused second, visibly recalibrated his entire night, and excused himself with considerably less charm than he’d arrived with. “Jongseong.” You said it with the specific, long-suffering exhaustion of someone who’d watched this exact scene play out roughly forty times. “I was handling it.”

“You were handling it. I helped it get handled faster.”

“I didn’t need help.”

“Noted, for the record, and ignored, also for the record.” Jay dropped a kiss on the top of your head, entirely brotherly, entirely unbothered by your glare, and was gone again within seconds, already absorbed back into some conversation near the door, leaving you standing there with your arms still crossed, visibly debating whether being annoyed was worth the energy.

Jungwon watched the whole thing happen from the beer pong table with what he hoped looked like idle interest and definitely was not. He set his cup down. Told himself, with the particular conviction of a guy three drinks deep, that he was simply going to go say hello. Nothing more than that. A normal, low-stakes hello, the kind any teammate’s family member deserved. He was lying to himself and he knew it the entire walk across the room. “Your brother’s very committed to his bit,” he said, by way of greeting, and you turned, and something in your face shifted — not surprise exactly, more like you’d half-expected this, had maybe been tracking the same distance between you that he had.

“He’s been doing that since I was sixteen. I used to think it’d get old. It has not gotten old.” You studied him for a second, something assessing in it. “You’re not as drunk as Riki, but you’re not sober either.”

“Accurate.”

“Confident, though. Most freshmen don’t walk over here unprompted.” A small, deliberate pause. “Most freshmen don’t walk over here at all, actually. Jongseong’s speech tends to be memorable.”

“I remember the speech.” He held her gaze, steady, the warmth in his chest from earlier rearranging itself into something calmer and more certain now that he was actually standing in front of you. “I’m not doing anything the speech covers. We’re talking.”

“Just talking.”

“Just talking,” he agreed, and let the silence after that sit a beat longer than strictly comfortable, watching you decide what to do with it. You didn’t walk away. That, more than anything he’d noticed all night, told him something.

The conversation that followed wasn’t long — a few minutes, maybe, threaded between the noise of the party, you asking where he was from, him asking how long you’d lived in this exact chaos, the easy rhythm of two people figuring out they liked talking to each other more than either had planned on. But something underneath it had already shifted register, the air between you gone thick and obvious in the way that doesn’t need words to confirm it, and when you finally tipped your head toward the back hallway — toward the stairs, toward somewhere quieter — he didn’t hesitate even half a second before following.

The door to his room had barely clicked shut behind you before his hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to his, and he kissed you like he’d been thinking about it considerably longer than the twenty minutes you’d actually been talking — slow at first, testing, and then deeper when you made a small sound against his mouth that undid something careful in him. His tongue traced yours, unhurried despite the want clearly humming under his skin, like he had every intention of taking his time even though some other part of him was screaming to do anything but. “You sure about this?” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw, down the line of your throat.

“Jungwon.” Half a laugh, breathless already. “I dragged you up the stairs.”

“I know. Wanted to hear you say it anyway.”

He walked you back toward the bed with a hand splayed warm against the small of your back, and when the back of your knees hit the mattress he followed you down, settling his weight over you with a kind of deliberate control that made it very clear nothing about tonight was going to be rushed unless you wanted it to be. He kissed down the column of your throat, lingering at the spot where your pulse jumped under his mouth, and you felt the low sound that pulled out of you before you’d consciously decided to make it. “Pretty,” he said, against your skin, low, certain. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

Clothes came off between kisses, unhurried despite the heat building under both your skins — his shirt first, then yours, his mouth finding your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, lower, until his lips closed around one nipple and you arched up into him with a gasp that made him hum, pleased, against your chest. “There you go,” he murmured, glancing up at you through dark lashes, taking in the way your breath had gone shallow. “That’s it.” Your hands come up to him without thinking, sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, and that’s all it takes for the control he’s holding onto to slip just slightly. His mouth moves again, up your neck, along your jaw, back to your lips, kissing you deeper this time, less careful, more intent.His hands come up to your tits without hesitation, cupping them fully, thumbs dragging over your nipples, slow at first, like he’s testing, like he’s figuring out what you’ll do. You arch into him immediately. That’s all he needs. “There you go,” he says, softer now, watching your face. His mouth follows his hands, closing around one nipple, his tongue circling before he sucks, harder than you expect, and you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. He hums against you pleased. “That’s it,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes darker now, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah— keep doing that—”

His hand slid down the length of your body, slow, deliberate, mapping you like he intended to remember every inch of it, until his fingers found your folds, already slick, and the broken little sound you made at the first slow drag of his fingers through your heat seemed to do something to him — his own breath catching, jaw tight. “Fuck,” he breathed, almost reverent, watching your face. “You’re so wet already.”

He worked you open slow, one finger and then a second, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls drawing soft, breathy moans out of you that he seemed determined to collect one by one, his thumb finding your clit and circling it in slow, deliberate pressure that had your hips rolling up against his hand before you could stop them. “Good girl,” he murmured, watching you fall apart under his hand with open, undisguised satisfaction. “Just like that. Let me hear you.” His fingers moving inside, not fast or rough — just steady, curling slightly inside you, hitting deeper and deeper, his thumb keeping that same pressure on your clit that makes your whole body tighten.

When he finally settled between your thighs, cock thick and aching, he paused at your entrance just long enough to catch your eyes, checking, certain even now. You nodded, breathless, and he sank into you slow, inch by inch, a low groan tearing out of his throat at the way your walls stretched tight and slick around him as he bottoms out. “Christ — “ His forehead dropped to your shoulder for a second, composure visibly fraying. “You feel — fuck, you feel so good.” His hand tightens on your hip. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “Keep going—” He started slow, deep, grinding his hips into yours with a kind of controlled, deliberate rhythm that had you gasping his name within minutes, his lips finding your neck again, sucking a mark into the skin there like he wanted proof of tonight to last past morning. His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together against the sheets, and the gesture was somehow more intimate than anything else he’d done so far. “Look at me,” he said, voice rough, and when you did, his rhythm picked up, the tip of him dragging against that spot inside you that made your back arch off the mattress, his name falling out of you again, broken this time.

“That’s it,” he breathed, watching your face with a hunger that had nothing detached about it. “You’re doing so good. So good for me.” The praise undid you faster than anything else he’d done, your moans coming quicker, breathier, his own breathing gone ragged above you as he chased the same building heat, until you tipped over the edge with a cry muffled against his shoulder, your walls clenching tight around him. He groans against your neck when he feels it, his rhythm breaking, then turning rougher for a second, chasing it, hips stuttering as he spills into you, slow and shaking through the last of it.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you moved — his weight braced over you, both your chests heaving, his thumb tracing absent, unhurried circles against your hip like he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching you yet. “Okay,” you managed, eventually, into the quiet. “That was — “

“Yeah,” he said, and even breathless, even wrecked, there was something steady in his voice that you didn’t examine too closely. “Yeah. That was.”

You woke up in your own bed the next morning, which felt important somehow — you’d made a point of it, pulling your dress back on at some indecent hour and walking the eight minutes back to your dorm rather than staying the night, because staying the night implied something you weren’t ready to imply, even to yourself, even in the privacy of your own head. Sunoo had texted you four times between 1 AM and 8 AM, the last one just reading wake up I need details with three eyes emojis, and you lay there for a solid ten minutes staring at your ceiling before you worked up the nerve to open the thread.

sunoo: WAKE UP

sunoo: I saw you disappear with him

sunoo: Y/N I need details or I will actually die

You typed nothing happened and deleted it, because Sunoo had literally watched you walk up the stairs together and would know immediately you were lying, which somehow felt worse than just telling him the truth. you: ok don’t be weird about this

sunoo: I’m always weird about things. specify.

you: jungwon and I hooked up

sunoo: I KNEW IT I CALLED IT LAST NIGHT

you: it was a one time thing

sunoo: sure…

you: I’m serious. it doesn’t mean anything. he’s jongseong’s freshman, it literally cannot happen again

sunoo: ok but did he?? was he??

you: I’m not doing this with you over text

sunoo: COFFEE. TEN MINUTES. I NEED TO LOOK AT YOUR FACE WHEN YOU TELL ME

You did, eventually, tell him — over coffee, in the dining hall, with Sunoo leaning so far across the table that he nearly knocked over both your cups twice — and true to form, he listened to the entire thing with his chin in his hands and his eyes getting progressively wider, and at the end of it, instead of the appropriately scandalized reaction you’d been braced for, he just said, “okay, but you’re going to see him again.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally going to see him constantly, Y/N, he lives in the house you’re at four times a week. This isn’t a guy you can ghost. This is a guy who’s going to be physically present in your life on a near-daily basis.” You hadn’t fully thought that part through, if you were being honest. “It can just be normal. It happened, it was — fine, it was good, it was really good, actually, but it happened, and now we move on like adults.”

“Sure,” Sunoo said, in the tone of someone who did not believe a single word of that sentence but had decided it would be more fun to watch it fail than to argue with it now.

It took exactly four days for the first text to arrive, and you spent an embarrassing amount of those four days checking your phone more than you’d ever admit out loud, which you told yourself was just curiosity and nothing else.

jungwon: hope the exam went okay

You stared at the message for a solid thirty seconds before you fully placed what he meant — you’d mentioned, in passing, during some entirely unrelated moment that night at the party, something about a stats midterm you’d been stressed about, a single throwaway sentence buried in twenty minutes of conversation that had ended in considerably less conversation. You hadn’t expected him to remember it. You definitely hadn’t expected him to remember the date of it well enough to text four days later asking how it went.

you: it was fine. how did you remember that?

jungwon: you mentioned it

you: I mentioned it once. for like a second.

jungwon: I have a good memory

You looked at that for longer than it deserved, turning it over, trying to decide what it actually meant, before landing — deliberately, with the specific effort of someone building a case — on the explanation that required the least amount of feeling anything. He’s probably like this with everyone. Some guys are just attentive. It doesn’t mean anything specific about you. You’d seen guys remember small details about people they were trying to sleep with before; it was, in your admittedly limited experience, a fairly standard move. You typed back something easy, noncommittal, and didn’t think about it again. You thought about it again almost immediately.

The second time you saw him wasn’t planned, exactly, though you’d go on to realize much later that very little involving Jungwon ever was as unplanned as it looked in the moment. You’d come by the Den on a Tuesday to drop off a textbook Heeseung had borrowed weeks ago and conveniently never returned, and you found Jungwon at the kitchen table again, same spot as your first meeting, a laptop open in front of him and the specific glazed look of someone three hours into a problem set he hated. “Stats?” you asked, dropping into the chair across from him out of habit before you’d consciously decided to stay.

“Econ. Worse.” He didn’t look up right away, but something in his posture shifted, settled, like your presence had registered before he’d even confirmed it with his eyes. “How’d the exam actually go? You gave me a one-word answer over text and I don’t trust one-word answers.”

“It was fine. Genuinely. I got a 91.”

“That’s not fine, that’s good.” He finally looked up, and something about his face doing that — actual interest, actual attention, like your stats midterm was a real piece of information he wanted rather than small talk he was performing — made you feel exposed in a way you weren’t prepared for at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday. “What was the part you were stressed about?”

“The regression stuff. I always mess up the regression stuff.”

“Did you mess it up?”

“No, actually.”

“See.” Something flickered at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, the same controlled almost-version of one you were starting to recognize as just how he looked when he was pleased about something he didn’t feel like performing loudly. “Told you you’d be fine.”

“You didn’t tell me anything, you texted me a four-word message four days after the fact.”

“I thought about it before that. I just didn’t text you about it before that.” You didn’t have an immediate response to that, which annoyed you more than the comment itself did, and you covered the gap by pulling Heeseung’s textbook out of your bag and setting it on the table with more force than necessary. “Anyway. This is Heeseung’s. Tell him I want it back faster next time, or I’m telling Coach he’s been using my notes to pass his sports psych class.”

“He’s been using your notes?”

“For two years. It’s our arrangement. I write good notes, he owes me eternal favors he never actually does.”

“I could text him for you. Tell him you stopped by.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to.” Jungwon said it simply, like the distinction mattered to him — not obligation, just preference — and went back to his laptop like the conversation had cost him nothing at all, which was somehow the part that unsettled you most as you let yourself back out the front door a few minutes later. He’s just like that, you told yourself, walking back across the quad. Considerate. It’s probably just a personality thing. You almost believed it.

It kept happening. That was the part you hadn’t planned for — not one specific moment you could point to and say this is when it became something, but an accumulation of small things that individually meant nothing and collectively meant something you weren’t ready to name. He started showing up. Not obviously, not in a way anyone could call out directly — he was just, increasingly, there, in the places you already were. You mentioned, once, in passing, that you liked the coffee place two blocks off campus better than the one on it, and the next time you walked into the campus one out of habit, you found him already in line, and when you raised an eyebrow he just said, “needed caffeine,” like that fully explained why a freshman hockey player with a packed practice schedule had wandered three blocks out of his way to a coffee shop you’d mentioned exactly once.

You came out of your Thursday lecture one week to find him leaning against the building’s brick exterior, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unbothered, like this was a totally normal place for him to be standing. “What are you doing here?”

“Was in the area.”

“Jungwon. This building is nowhere near the rink, nowhere near the Den, and nowhere near anything you have a reasonable excuse to be near. You don’t even have classes on this side of campus.”

“I have a class two buildings over.”

“At what time?”

“…Later.”

“How much later.”

“An hour and a half.” You’d laughed at that, properly laughed, the kind that surprised you because you hadn’t planned on finding it as funny as you did, and he’d just shrugged, unbothered by being caught, and walked you back toward the Den anyway like the ninety minutes he didn’t need to spend doing it were nothing at all to him.

You built explanations for every single one of these. He was nice. He was thoughtful with everyone — you’d seen him carry Riki’s gear bag without being asked, seen him remember Heeseung’s coffee order, seen him hold doors and notice things and generally exist as the kind of person who paid attention because that was simply who he was, not because of anything specific to you. He’s just like that, you told Sunoo, more than once, with increasing defensiveness each time. He’d do this for anyone. “Would he,” Sunoo said, unconvinced, the third time you tried the line on him. “Yes.”

“Has he stood outside any other girl’s lecture hall for ninety minutes?”

“I don’t know his entire schedule, Sunoo, I’m not his — I don’t track that.”

“You’re tracking it right now. You just told me it was a Thursday lecture and gave me a building name.” You hadn’t had a good answer for that one. You hadn’t really had a good answer for any of it, if you were honest, but being honest about it felt like opening a door you weren’t sure you’d be able to close again, so instead you kept doing the thing you’d apparently decided was easier: cataloguing every kind, attentive, specific thing Jungwon did, filing it carefully under that’s just him, and trying very hard not to notice how thin that file was getting to support the weight of what was actually piling up inside it.

—

The locker room before a game had a different texture than the locker room before practice, and Jungwon had learned the difference inside his first two weeks at Blackwood — practice was loose, chatter, somebody’s bad playlist. Game day was quiet in a way that wasn’t tense exactly, more like everyone in the room had individually decided to go somewhere internal for twenty minutes and would be back shortly. Jay sat at his stall with his eyes closed, headphones in, doing the same pregame ritual Jungwon had already watched him do four times now — three slow breaths, a fist against his own chest twice, then up and moving like a switch had been flipped. “You good?” Riki asked, low, from the next stall over, taping his stick with more focus than the task strictly required.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look good. You look like you’re about to throw up, which is hilarious, because you’ve told me multiple times you’re constitutionally incapable of that.”

“I’m not going to throw up.”

“Your face is doing a concerning thing.” Jungwon didn’t answer that, because Riki wasn’t entirely wrong — there was a specific, low-grade hum under his skin that hadn’t been there during any of the scrimmages or exhibition games, and he understood, finally and completely, the difference between playing well and playing well in front of a packed home arena on opening night with your name on the first line for the first time in program history as a true freshman. Coach had confirmed the lines an hour ago. Jungwon centering Jay and a senior winger named Sunoo’s roommate situation he hadn’t fully sorted out yet — no, that wasn’t right, he corrected himself, shaking the thought loose, focus — centering Jay. First line. Opening night.

He looked up once, scanning the stands through the tunnel as the team filed out for warmups, and found you almost immediately, three rows up behind the glass, exactly where you always sat — he’d clocked that without meaning to, the specific seat you and Sunoo claimed for every home game, close enough to see faces, far enough back to avoid getting hit by anything errant. You weren’t looking at him. You were looking at Jay, the way you always did first, tracking your brother onto the ice with the specific, unconscious attention of someone who’d been doing it your whole life. Then your eyes moved, found Jungwon’s, and something in your face did a small, private thing that he was almost certain nobody else in that stadium would have caught.

He scored his first collegiate goal eleven minutes into the second period — a give-and-go off Jay’s stick that he buried top shelf before the goalie had finished moving — and the arena went up around him in a wall of sound that he barely registered, because the only thing he was actually aware of, skating back toward the bench with his gloves up and his teammates slamming into him in celebration, was the specific spot three rows up where you were on your feet, both hands pressed over your mouth, looking at him like you’d forgotten, for one unguarded second, to look like you weren’t supposed to be looking at him like that at all. Jay slammed into him on the bench a second later, helmet knocking his, grinning wide and unrestrained in a way Jungwon hadn’t seen off him yet. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Lucky bounce.”

“That was not a lucky bounce, that was you reading a play I didn’t even know was there yet.” Jay clapped him hard on the shoulder, something genuinely proud in it that Jungwon felt land somewhere uncomfortable in his chest, given everything else currently happening in his life that Jay had absolutely no idea about. “Coach was right about you. I’m gonna hate saying that out loud as often as I’m clearly about to have to.”

Blackwood won 4–1. The Den that night was its own kind of chaos — a post-win party that started before half the team had even fully showered, Jake commandeering the speaker again, somebody’s questionable decision to bring home a literal cardboard cutout of the team mascot from God knows where. Jungwon found himself in the middle of it, still riding the particular high of a first goal in a packed building, fielding congratulations from upperclassmen who’d barely spoken to him three weeks ago and now seemed entirely willing to consider him a real part of the program.

You found him near midnight, in the kitchen, away from the worst of the noise, where he’d retreated with a water bottle and the specific overstimulated quiet of someone whose adrenaline had finally started to crash. “Hey, scorer.” You leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that he could smell whatever you were wearing, something warm underneath the general party smell of the house. “Good game.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. I’ve watched Jongseong play with a lot of centers. You two looked like you’d been playing together for years, not weeks.”

“It helped that he kept finding me.”

“He doesn’t do that for just anyone.” You said it simply, like a fact, and something about the specific weight you put on it — he doesn’t do that for just anyone, echoing right back at the same private logic you’d been using to talk yourself out of every single thing Jungwon had done for weeks — made you go quiet for a second too long, like you’d heard yourself say it and immediately regretted the implication. Jungwon didn’t push it. He’d learned, in three weeks of watching you build and rebuild the same careful argument, that pushing only ever made you retreat faster. “You disappeared fast after the game,” you said instead, recovering. “I thought you’d stick around for the chaos longer.”

“Needed air.”

“You’re standing in a kitchen.”

“It’s quieter air than the living room.” A small, almost-smile. “You found me, though.”

“I was looking for water. This is incidental.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away, and the space between you had gone thin and obvious in the same way it had three weeks ago at the party — except this time there was no excuse of being drunk, no Sunoo dragging you anywhere, just the two of you standing in a kitchen at midnight with three weeks of careful, deniable, he’s just like that tension sitting heavy in the air between you. You were the one who closed the distance this time. You’d think about that later — the fact that you’d made the decision, hadn’t waited for him to make the first move the way he had at the party — and you’d wonder what that meant about how far gone you already were without having admitted it to yourself yet.

You kissed him first, one hand fisting lightly in the front of his shirt, and he made a low, surprised sound against your mouth before his hands found your waist, steadying, like he needed a second to confirm this was actually happening before he let himself fully lean into it. “Thought this was a one-time thing,” he murmured, lips barely leaving yours.

“Shut up.”

“Just confirming the terms.”

“Jungwon.”

“Right. Shutting up.” He didn’t, not entirely — he kissed you again, slower this time, deliberate, walking you back until you hit the counter’s edge, hands braced either side of you like he had every intention of keeping you exactly there. “Upstairs,” he said, against your jaw, somewhere between a question and a statement. “If you want.” You did.

His room was darker this time, the party noise muffled down to a low thrum through the floor, and there was something different in the way he undressed you now — less the controlled, deliberate unhurriedness of someone proving a point, more the quiet hunger of someone who’d spent three weeks pretending he hadn’t been thinking about exactly this. “You moved first,” he said, mouth at your throat, hands sliding the strap of your top down your shoulder. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Not making it weird. Just noticing.” He pulled back far enough to look at you properly, something steady and a little too searching in his eyes for a hookup either of you was still insisting this was. “I like that you did.” You didn’t have a response for that that wouldn’t have meant admitting something, so you kissed him again instead, and let that be the answer.

He laid you back against the sheets with the same deliberate care as the first time, mouth trailing down your throat, your collarbone, lower, his hands mapping you like he was confirming something he already knew rather than learning it fresh. When his fingers finally find your folds, already slick, he exhales sharply at the feel of you, his head dipping, his forehead briefly pressing to your stomach like he needs a second.“Every time,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re like this every time.”

“Don’t get smug about it.”

“Wasn’t being smug. Was being honest.” His thumb found your clit, slow, deliberate circles that pull your breath out of you almost immediately, your hips shifting up into his hand before you can stop them. He notices. Of course he does. His eyes flick back to your face and stay there, watching everything — the way your mouth parts, the way your breathing changes, the way your body responds to him.“You gonna let me hear you tonight, or are you still trying to be quiet for the house.”

You let out a breath that turns into something softer, more broken as his thumb presses a little firmer. “The house is currently hosting forty drunk hockey players, Jungwon, nobody’s listening.”

“Good.” Something low and pleased in his voice. “Then don’t hold back.” His fingers slide through you again, slower this time, spreading the slickness, feeling you properly before he presses one finger into you, easing it in without rushing, letting you feel the stretch. You gasp. Your hands find his shoulders. He doesn’t stop, instead adds a second finger, deeper this time, the drag of them against your walls slow and deliberate, pulling soft sounds out of you that start low, breathy, and only get louder the longer he keeps going.Your breath breaks, your thighs tightening around his arm, your body reacting faster, harder.“Good,” he says softly. “You look so good like this—” His fingers curl slightly inside you, hitting deeper, and the sound you make this time is louder, less controlled.

When he finally settled over you, lining himself up, he paused just long enough to press his forehead to yours. “Look at me,” he said, the same thing he’d said the first time, like it mattered to him every time, and when you did, he sank into you slow, a rough exhale tearing out of his throat at the tight, slick give of your walls around him. “Fuck — there you go.” His hips found a slow, grinding rhythm almost immediately, deep, deliberate, his mouth finding your neck, sucking another mark into skin that hadn’t quite finished healing from the last one.

“You take me so well. Every damn time.” The praise pulled a moan out of you that you didn’t bother muffling this time, and he made a rough, satisfied sound at the back of his throat in response, picking up the pace, the tip of him dragging against that spot that had your hips rolling up to meet his own. “That’s it,” he breathed, voice fraying at the edges. “That’s it, just like that — you sound so good.” Your hand found his, lacing fingers against the sheet the way it had the first time, and something about the repetition of that small gesture — the fact that he’d done it again, unprompted, like it was simply part of how he touched you now — undid you faster than anything else, your moans climbing breathless and unguarded until you tipped over with his name broken on your lips, walls clenching tight around him. He followed seconds later, groaning into your hair, hips stuttering through the last of it.

Neither of you moved for a long minute afterward, his weight braced careful above you, both of you breathing hard. “Okay,” you managed eventually, the exact same word you’d used the first time, like your brain hadn’t come up with anything new in three weeks. “That was — “

“Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, unhurried, lingering half a second longer than a one-time thing required. “That was.”

You walked back to your dorm alone again that night, the same as before, and lay awake afterward turning over the same tired argument — he’s just like that, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just convenient, you’re both just convenient for each other — except this time, for the first time, the argument didn’t quite hold its shape all the way through to morning. Good note — this is exactly the right instinct, you want the “everyone notices” chapter to land on a foundation that’s actually been built, not implied. A montage of small, accumulating moments before the bigger social-fallout chapter. Building that now.

It became a pattern made entirely of small things, none of which felt significant on their own and all of which, stacked together, were starting to feel like a life you hadn’t quite agreed to but weren’t fighting either. He texted first more often now. Not every day — Jungwon wasn’t a constant-texter, never had been, but the texts that did come were specific in a way that always undid your he’s just like that theory a little further.

jungwon: what time’s your lecture end today

you: 2:15 why

jungwon: no reason

There was always a reason. You walked out of your 2:15 that Thursday and found him sitting on the low wall outside the building, gear bag at his feet like he’d come straight from the gym, scrolling his phone with the studied casualness of someone who’d been there longer than “no reason” implied.

“You weren’t even supposed to have a free period right now.”

“I moved my lift.”

“You moved your lift.”

“Coach lets me have some flexibility.” He stood, falling into step beside you without asking if that was the plan, like it had simply stopped being a question between you. “How was the lecture.”

“Boring. You moved your lift for a boring lecture you weren’t even in.”

“I moved my lift to walk you back. The lecture being boring is just a fact you told me, unrelated.” You didn’t have a comeback for that, mostly because you didn’t want one — you wanted to keep walking next to him in the cold with his shoulder bumping yours every few steps, which was its own small, uncomfortable piece of evidence you kept choosing not to look at directly.

You started going to more practices than you used to. You told yourself it was because the season was getting good, because Jongseong’s line was clicking in a way that made it genuinely fun to watch, and that was even mostly true — but you also couldn’t deny, standing at the glass with your arms crossed against the cold of the rink, that your eyes found a specific number on the ice before they found your own brother’s. After one particular Thursday practice — closed to the public, technically, but the rink doors were never actually locked and you’d been sneaking in to watch since before you could legally drive — you waited until most of the team had filtered toward the locker room tunnel, until it was just a few stragglers and Coach Anders gathering up cones at center ice, and caught Jungwon’s eye across the rink with a small tilt of your head toward the narrow service corridor that ran behind the home bench.

He peeled off from the group without a word, gear bag over one shoulder, and found you in the dim, concrete-smelling hallway two minutes later, still in his practice jersey, hair damp with sweat, breathing a little hard from the skate. “That’s disgusting, by the way,” you said, wrinkling your nose as he got close. “You smell like a locker room.”

“You wanted me back here.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to be close to the smell.” He laughed, low, and backed you gently against the cool concrete wall anyway, one hand braced beside your head, and you let him, because apparently you’d stopped pretending the smell was actually a deterrent somewhere around hookup number one. “Well done today,” you murmured, against his mouth, an echo of the thing you said after every good game, except this was just a Thursday practice nobody else was watching, and you’d said it anyway, like it mattered to you whether he heard it. “It was just a drill.”

“You still looked good doing it.”

“Yeah?” Something pleased and a little smug crept into his voice, and you kissed him before he could lean too hard into it, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, the kiss going slower, deeper, his tongue tracing yours unhurried even though you both knew Coach was thirty feet away and any one of the team could walk down this corridor in the next ninety seconds. “We’re going to get caught one of these days,” you said, when you finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.

“Not today.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know nobody comes down this hallway. I checked.” He said it so simply, so practically, like he’d actually scouted the corridor in advance for exactly this purpose, that you laughed again, helpless, and he caught the sound with another kiss before you could finish it.

You let him walk you back out a side door a few minutes later, his hoodie — Blackwood Hockey, his last name on the back, YANG in block lettering you definitely hadn’t memorized the shape of — somehow ending up over your shoulders, because you’d complained once about the cold and he’d simply taken it off and handed it to you without making it a whole thing, the same easy, unbothered way he did most things for you now. You meant to give it back. You told yourself that every single time. The pile of his hoodies steadily accumulating at the back of your closet would suggest otherwise, if anyone had thought to look. Sunoo noticed the hoodies before he noticed almost anything else, mostly because he had unrestricted access to your closet and the world’s least subtle eye for detail. “Okay, why do you own four of the same hoodie.”

“I don’t own four of the same hoodie.”

“You own four hoodies that all say YANG on the back, Y/N, I’m not colorblind, I can see the consistent theme.” Sunoo held one up by the shoulders, inspecting it like evidence at a trial. “This is not subtle. This is, in fact, the opposite of subtle. This is a paper trail.”

“They’re comfortable.”

“I’m sure they are. I’m sure that’s the only reason.” He folded it back into the pile with exaggerated care, like he was handling something fragile and emotionally significant, which, you supposed, it currently was. “You know I’m rooting for you. I just think you should know that your closet has officially ratted you out, in case you were under the impression you were being subtle about any of this.”

“I never said I was being subtle.”

“You implied it heavily by insisting nothing’s going on, repeatedly, for over a month.” You didn’t have a defense for that one either. You were running out of defenses generally, you’d noticed — the file you’d been keeping, he’s just like that, it doesn’t mean anything, had gotten so thin and so unconvincing that you’d basically stopped pulling it out except as a reflex, a thing you said because you’d been saying it so long it had become muscle memory rather than something you actually believed.

The one bright spot in all of it, weirdly, was Sunoo’s own slow-motion disaster running in parallel — because somewhere in the same stretch of weeks, Sunghoon had apparently decided that ignoring Sunoo at the gym wasn’t a sustainable long-term strategy, and had started, with the same painful, visible effort it took him to do anything emotionally honest, showing up around him on purpose. “He asked me to get food,” Sunoo reported one night, vibrating with it, sprawled dramatically across your bed while you tried to study. “Just the two of us. No team. No excuse. He said, and I’m going to quote this exactly because I’ve already memorized it, ‘do you want to get food sometime, just us, like, as a thing, if you want it to be a thing, no pressure if not.’”

“That’s so awkward.”

“It’s the most romantic sentence anyone’s ever said to me, don’t ruin this for me.”

“I’m not ruining it, I think it’s sweet that he’s bad at it.”

“He’s so bad at it. He practiced that sentence, Y/N, I could tell, there was a cadence to it like he’d said it in his bathroom mirror forty times.” Sunoo rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands, grinning at you with the specific delight of someone who’d finally gotten what he wanted and couldn’t quite believe it. “Anyway. We’re getting food Friday. As a thing. I said yes so fast I think I scared him a little.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for you too, even though you keep insisting there’s nothing to be happy about, which, by the way, four identical hoodies.”

“Drop the hoodies.”

“I will never drop the hoodies.” Underneath all of it — the texts, the corridor, the hoodies steadily migrating into your closet, Sunoo’s slow, awkward, delighted thing with Sunghoon humming along beside yours like a quieter mirror of the same feeling — there was a song you’d started playing on repeat without quite noticing you’d started doing it, something low and aching and a little too on the nose, the kind of song that made you feel caught out by your own playlist. You didn’t examine that too closely either. You’d gotten good, lately, at not examining things too closely. It wasn’t sustainable. You knew that, somewhere underneath the part of you still insisting otherwise. You just weren’t ready yet to be the one who said it out loud first.

Riki had a theory, and the problem with Riki’s theories was that he refused to keep them to himself until he’d fully confirmed them, which meant Jungwon spent most of a Tuesday afternoon practice getting side-eyed across the locker room like he was a crime scene Riki hadn’t finished processing yet. “You smell like her perfume,” Riki said, apropos of nothing, while they were both lacing up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do laundry next to you, Jungwon. I know what your detergent smells like. I also now know what her perfume smells like, because it’s been showing up on your hoodies for three weeks, and those are two very different smells, and you are currently covered in the second one.”

“That’s not — “ Jungwon stopped, recalibrated, decided the better strategy was not engaging at all. “Tie your skates.”

“I’m just saying. For a guy who insists nothing’s going on, you sure do smell like a specific person an awful lot.” He wasn’t wrong, which was the most annoying part. Jungwon had gotten careless — not about the actual secret, he was still careful about that, still made sure nobody saw anything that would actually confirm it — but about the smaller tells. He’d started checking his phone faster than he used to. Started angling his laptop screen away from the kitchen table on instinct whenever someone walked by, even when all he was looking at was a stats reading. Riki, sharing a room with him for six weeks now, had apparently built up a working database of Jungwon’s baseline behavior and was running constant diffs against it. “You also disappear,” Riki added, undeterred by the silence. “At parties. You’re there, then you’re not there, and then forty minutes later you’re back like nothing happened, except your hair’s different and you’ve got this look.”

“What look.”

“The look. The one you’re doing right now, where you’re trying very hard to have no look at all, which is itself a look.” Jungwon gave up entirely on the laces and just stared at him. “What do you actually think is happening, Riki.”

“Honestly?” Riki considered it, head tilted, with the specific seriousness of a man about to deliver a verdict. “I think you’ve got a hookup situation going with someone you really, really don’t want anyone to know about, and I think it’s someone close enough to this house that the secrecy isn’t paranoia, it’s necessary.” That was, Jungwon thought, uncomfortably close to the actual truth for someone who didn’t have the full picture. “And I think,” Riki continued, clearly enjoying himself now, “that if I had to bet money on exactly one specific person, I would bet on—”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not gonna say it. I respect the game too much to just say it out loud. I’m gonna let you have this.” Riki finally bent down to actually tie his skates, infuriatingly satisfied with himself. “I just want it on record that I noticed first. When this eventually comes out — and it will, things like this always come out — I want full credit for calling it in week three.”

“There’s nothing to call.”

“Sure, buddy.”

Jake noticed differently, and later, and by accident — which was, in retrospect, the way most of the house ended up noticing things, because Jake’s primary skill was being in the wrong room at the right time and immediately understanding the significance of whatever he’d walked into. It happened on a Thursday, three weeks after the home opener, when you’d come by the Den to return Heeseung’s textbook for the second time — a running bit at this point, since Heeseung kept “forgetting” to give it back specifically so you’d keep coming by, a fact you had not yet clocked and that the rest of the house found hilarious — and Jungwon had intercepted you in the front hallway before you’d even made it to the kitchen. “He’s not even here,” Jungwon said, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been waiting, which — Jake would think later, replaying it — he absolutely had been. “Practice ran late for the d-men. You can just leave it.”

“I know I can just leave it, I was going to leave it on the kitchen table—”

“I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to.” The same line he’d used weeks ago, delivered with the same easy certainty, and something about the rhythm of it — the fact that you both seemed to already know this bit, already had a shorthand for it — was what actually caught Jake’s attention as he came down the stairs, gear bag over one shoulder, mid-text to someone else entirely.

He stopped on the landing. Didn’t say anything yet. Just watched for a second longer than either of you noticed him watching, taking in the specific quality of the space between you — not friendly-easy, not stranger-polite, something with more weight in it, the kind of familiarity that took longer than six weeks to build unless something had sped the process up considerably. You handed Jungwon the textbook. Your fingers brushed his on the handoff, the kind of accidental contact two people lingered on a half-second longer than accidental contact usually got, and neither of you seemed to register that you’d done it at all. “I’ll see you around,” you said, already turning for the door.

“Yeah.” Jungwon’s voice did something on that one syllable that Jake had genuinely never heard out of him before — not at practice, not at games, not in six weeks of living down the hall from the guy. Something soft. Something that had no business being attached to a sentence that short. Jake waited until the front door clicked shut behind you before he came the rest of the way down the stairs, eyebrows already halfway up his forehead. “So,” he said.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You were about to say something.”

“I was about to say so, and then I was going to let the so do a lot of heavy lifting, and you just confirmed everything the so was going to imply by getting defensive about it before I finished.” Jake dropped his gear bag by the stairs, grinning now, delighted in the specific way he got delighted about things that promised future entertainment value. “Bro.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You said ‘yeah’ to her like it cost you something to say it. I’ve known you six weeks and I’ve genuinely never heard your voice do that.” Jungwon didn’t have a response that wasn’t a lie, and Jake — to his credit, Jungwon would think later — didn’t push for one. Just clapped him once on the shoulder, the universal gesture of a man choosing not to make something someone else’s problem yet, and headed for the kitchen. “I’m not gonna say anything,” Jake said, over his shoulder. “Mostly because I don’t actually know anything, I just watched a vibe happen. But for the record? If I’m right about what that vibe was — and I think I’m right — you’ve picked the single most complicated person on this entire campus to have feelings about.”

“I don’t—”

“Jungwon.” Jake stopped in the kitchen doorway, looking back at him with something almost gentle underneath the usual bit. “I’ve watched Jongseong run off guys at parties for less than what I just saw happen in that hallway. I’m not saying don’t. I’m saying be careful. That’s all. That’s the whole speech.” He disappeared into the kitchen, already calling out to Heeseung about something unrelated, and Jungwon stood alone in the hallway for a long moment, the textbook still in his hands, thinking that be careful was advice he’d needed about six weeks ago, and was currently far too late to actually take.

Heeseung found out the most boring way possible, which fit him — he was the kind of person who noticed things quietly and decided what to do with the information later, rather than announcing his discoveries the way Jake did. He’d simply started noticing that you knew things about Jungwon’s schedule that you had no obvious way of knowing — texting Sunghoon once to ask if practice was running over because Jungwon mentioned it might, a detail that hadn’t come from anyone but Jungwon himself.

He didn’t say anything about it. He just started covering, automatically, the way he’d cover for any of his teammates without needing to be asked — vague answers when Jay asked where Jungwon was, a deliberate slowness in mentioning that you’d stopped by when you clearly hadn’t wanted it mentioned. He never confirmed anything out loud to anyone. He just quietly became part of the machinery keeping the secret intact, the same unbothered, low-key way he did most things, and never once brought it up to Jungwon directly. Jungwon noticed the covering before he ever figured out Heeseung had clocked anything. By the time he put it together — weeks later, in the middle of an entirely unrelated conversation, when Heeseung said something that only made sense if he already knew — it didn’t even feel like a confrontation. Just a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment between two people who’d both decided silence was easier than the alternative.

Sunghoon noticed last, mostly because Sunghoon’s attention was almost entirely occupied that semester by his own slow-motion crisis regarding a specific person on the other side of campus, and he genuinely had very little processing power left over for anyone else’s romantic developments. When he finally did clock it — weeks later, watching Jungwon hover a half-second too long near the door whenever you were expected — his only reaction was a flat, “oh, that’s happening too?” like the house had simply hit its quota for secret entanglements and he was mildly annoyed there’d be two simultaneous storylines to keep track of.

By the time the home stretch of the semester hit, the entire house knew something — not the full shape of it, not how far back it went or how much it had already become, but enough to start quietly rearranging themselves around it. Cover stories appeared without being requested. Jay’s questions about Jungwon’s whereabouts got answered just vaguely enough to be technically true. Nobody said anything to Jay directly, because nobody wanted to be the one to set off whatever they all correctly suspected would be a genuinely bad reaction, and because — if anyone had asked them, which nobody did — most of them had quietly decided, somewhere along the way, that they liked watching Jungwon be like this. Soft. Distracted. Obviously, hopelessly gone for someone, in a way none of them had ever seen out of him before. It was, Jake said once, to Heeseung, the two of them watching Jungwon check his phone for the fourth time in ten minutes during a film session, “honestly kind of nice. Watching the guy be a disaster for once. Makes him feel human.”

“Jay’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out.”

“Yeah.” Jake didn’t sound especially worried about it, in the moment, in the specific way nobody in that house was worried about anything yet, because the bad part hadn’t happened. “But that’s a future problem.”

—

It was Sunghoon who spotted the hickey, and he didn’t even mean to — it was just there, dark and obvious, riding the curve of Jungwon’s neck above his collar when he peeled his shirt off before practice, and Sunghoon, mid-conversation with Heeseung about something entirely unrelated, simply stopped talking and stared. “Okay, what.”

“What?” Jungwon, lacing his skates, didn’t look up.

“Your neck.”

“What about it.”

“It’s got a — “ Sunghoon gestured, vaguely, at the general vicinity of his own throat, like the word itself was too much effort. “There’s a whole situation happening there.” Heeseung leaned over to look, and to his credit, didn’t say anything immediately — just took it in with the resigned, weary calm of a man who already had a working theory about its origins and didn’t need it confirmed out loud. Jake, three stalls down, had no such restraint. “OH my god.” He was up and crossing the room before Jungwon could even reach for his collar to cover it, grabbing his jaw and tilting his head sideways with zero regard for personal space. “That is not subtle. That is genuinely the least subtle hickey I have ever seen on a human neck, who did this to you, I need a name—”

“Get off.” Jungwon shoved him away, yanking his collar up with more force than the gesture required, ears going faintly red in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the locker room. “You’re blushing! He’s blushing, everyone look, Yang Jungwon is blushing—”

“I will end you, Jake.”

“You can’t end me, I’m a senior, I have seniority over your blushing.” Jake was delighted in a way that was going to make the entire practice session unbearable, Jungwon could already tell, and the fact that Riki had gone suspiciously, deliberately quiet in the corner — not even looking up, very pointedly minding his own business in a way that screamed I know exactly whose mouth did that and I am choosing not to say it out loud right now — only made it worse.

“Coach is gonna notice,” Heeseung said, mildly, like he was doing Jungwon a genuine favor by flagging it rather than just enjoying the chaos. “Coach notices everything,” Sunghoon added. “He noticed I changed deodorant brands once. Mid-practice. Pulled me aside specifically to ask if I was sick.”

“It’s a hickey, not a medical emergency, can we move on—”

“We absolutely cannot move on, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in this locker room all semester.” Jay walked in midway through, gear bag over his shoulder, and the entire room — Jake included, for once — went quiet fast enough that it was almost funnier than the joke itself. Jay glanced around at the sudden silence, mildly suspicious, the universal expression of a captain who’d clearly walked into the middle of something and didn’t yet know what. “What.”

“Nothing,” six people said, at almost exactly the same time, in a unison so synchronized it was its own kind of confession. Jay’s eyes narrowed, scanning the room, landing — inevitably, because Jungwon still had his hand half-cupped over his own neck like that wasn’t going to draw more attention than just leaving it alone — directly on him. “You good, Yang?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just — cold. In here. Cold room.”

“It’s not cold in here.” Jay frowned, looking around at the room generally, like he was trying to locate whatever joke he’d clearly missed, and then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the time, the way captains learn to triage which mysteries are actually worth solving. “Whatever. Get your skates on, Coach wants us on the ice in five.” The second he turned away, Jake mouthed “cold room” at Jungwon with such exaggerated disbelief that Jungwon had to physically look away to keep from laughing, which, in retrospect, was its own kind of tell, but at least Jay had already left the room.

Jay, for his part, had started noticing something else entirely — not the hickey, he genuinely never clocked that one, too distracted by practice logistics to connect dots that weren’t directly in front of him — but the simple, accumulating fact that you’d been at the Den constantly lately. More than usual, and his version of usual was already pretty high, since you’d basically grown up treating the place like a second home. “You’re here a lot,” he said one evening, finding you on the couch with your laptop, a half-finished essay open and very obviously not being worked on. “I’m always here.”

“You’re here more. I counted. You’ve been here five out of the last seven days.”

“Wow. Tracking my movements. Very normal brother behavior.”

“I’m not tracking your movements, I just notice things, it’s a captain instinct, it doesn’t turn off.” He dropped onto the couch beside you, stealing a chip from the bag balanced on the armrest without asking, the same easy, thoughtless intimacy you’d had your whole lives. “Is everything okay? With you? Is this an avoiding-your-dorm thing, or a missing-your-favorite-brother thing?”

“You’re my only brother.”

“Which makes me the favorite by default. Don’t dodge the question.”

“Everything’s fine, Jongseong. I just like it here.” You said it lightly, easily, and it wasn’t even technically a lie, which made it easier to say without flinching — you did like it here, more than you’d let yourself examine the actual reasons for lately. “Can’t a girl enjoy her brother’s questionable life choices in frat-house form without it being a whole investigation?”

“I guess.” He didn’t look fully convinced, but he let it go, the way he generally let things go when you used that exact tone — easy, unbothered, nothing here worth the energy of pushing — and went back to stealing your chips instead, and you let yourself exhale, slow and quiet, grateful that the version of you he’d known your whole life was apparently still convincing enough to hold up under a few extra questions. You weren’t sure how much longer that was going to keep being true. You didn’t let yourself think about it too hard.

The “team bonding” thing happened on a Friday Jay had scheduled weeks in advance — mandatory, his words, no exceptions, an entire evening at some axe-throwing place across town that he’d decided the team needed for “chemistry,” which had become a running joke all week because nobody fully believed Jay actually thought axe-throwing built chemistry so much as he just wanted an excuse to make everyone do something together that wasn’t hockey. Jungwon went. Obviously. Mandatory was mandatory, and he was still new enough to the program that skipping a captain’s event wasn’t a card he could play yet. He lasted two hours — long enough to throw a genuinely embarrassing number of axes into the wall instead of the target, long enough for Jake to declare him “tragically bad at exactly one physical activity, finally, some humility” — before he found a moment between rounds, phone in hand, thumb already moving before he’d fully decided to send it.

jungwon: team bonding. axe throwing. I’m terrible at it you: send proof jungwon: no you: that bad? jungwon: jake has been narrating my failures for forty minutes. it’s a whole bit now. you: I want to see it jungwon: absolutely not jungwon: what are you doing tonight you: nothing. sunoo’s out with sunghoon. apparently it’s becoming an actual thing thing. jungwon: good for them you: you’re going to be at this for hours, jongseong’s not letting anyone leave early jungwon: probably jungwon: unless I’m not. You’d read that last text three times before you fully understood what he was implying, and by the time you’d typed back don’t you dare get in trouble for this, he’d already left it on read, which — you’d learn, later, watching him recount it with a kind of sheepish pride — meant he’d already made the decision somewhere around the second eyeroll Jake gave him for missing yet another axe throw, and had simply waited for the right moment to slip out the side door while Jay was mid-story about last season’s playoff run.

He didn’t call an Uber to your dorm. He texted you instead, come open your window, which felt like an unnecessarily dramatic instruction until you actually looked outside and found him three stories down, standing in the grass below your window with his hands in his pockets like climbing buildings was a totally normal Friday activity for him. “You cannot be serious.”

“There’s a drainpipe. It’s very stable.”

“It is not — Jungwon, that is not a stable anything, that is a liability, get away from it—” He was already climbing by the time you finished the sentence, infuriatingly competent at it in a way that suggested either an athletic background doing something useful for once or a genuinely concerning lack of risk assessment, and you spent the entire ascent with your heart somewhere in your throat, half ready to call campus security and half ready to laugh, until he finally hauled himself up onto your windowsill and dropped into your room with significantly less grace than the climb itself had suggested, nearly taking out your desk lamp on the way down. “You’re insane.”

“I missed you.” He said it so simply, breathless from the climb, hair messed up, grinning in a way you rarely got to see fully unguarded, that you didn’t even have a comeback ready. “Jongseong’s gonna do the speech about attendance tomorrow. Worth it.”

“You’re going to get in actual trouble.”

“Probably.” He didn’t seem remotely concerned about that, already crossing the small space of your dorm room toward you, hands finding your waist. “Worth that too.” You kissed him before you could think better of it, and it had a different texture than usual — none of the unhurried, deliberate pacing of the first two times, something hungrier in it, both of you a little reckless off the adrenaline of him literally having climbed a building to get here. “You climbed three stories,” you murmured against his mouth, “to do this.”

“Wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow.”

“You could’ve just waited.”

“Didn’t want to.” He walked you back toward your bed, mouth at your jaw, your throat, hands already working at the hem of your shirt with considerably less patience than usual. “Wanted you tonight.” Clothes came off faster this time, less ceremony, more want, and when he finally got you under him, bare skin against bare skin, his mouth found yours again, deep, insistent, tongue sliding against yours with none of the careful restraint from before. “You’re in a hurry,” you breathed, when he finally pulled back enough to look at you.

“I am not in a hurry.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone, lower, his hand sliding between your thighs to find you already slick, and the rough sound he made at that told you exactly how much restraint he currently had left. “I’m just very motivated.” His fingers worked you open quick, sure, two fingers curling against your walls in a way that had your back arching off the mattress almost immediately, his thumb finding your clit and pressing tight, deliberate circles that pulled a breathy moan out of you before you could think to muffle it against anything. “That’s it,” he murmured, low, watching your face with the same hungry attention he always gave you. “God, you’re so wet for me already.”

“Jungwon—”

“I know. I know, I’ve got you.” He kissed you again, hard, swallowing the next sound you made, and when he finally settled between your thighs and pushed into you, there was nothing slow about it this time — a long, rough slide that had you both groaning at once, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck — “ His hips found a rhythm fast, deep, grinding into you with a kind of urgency that had your nails dragging down his back. “You feel so good, every single time, I swear—” The pace built quick, his mouth at your neck sucking another mark into skin that already had a fading one from days before, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together against the sheets the same way it always did, like even rushed, even reckless, that small piece of tenderness was non-negotiable to him.

“Look at me,” he said, rough, and when your eyes met his, something in his rhythm shifted, deepened, the tip of him dragging against that spot inside you that had your moans climbing breathless and unguarded. “You’re so good,” he breathed, voice fraying. “So good, taking me like this — gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name.” The praise tipped you faster than usual, your walls clenching tight around him as you came apart with a cry you pressed into his shoulder to muffle, and he followed almost immediately after, a rough groan torn out of him as he spilled into you, hips stuttering through the last of it before he collapsed half his weight onto you, both of you breathing hard in the quiet of your dorm room.

“Worth the drainpipe?” you managed, eventually, into the dark. “Worth the drainpipe.” He pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, still catching his breath. “Worth Jongseong’s speech tomorrow too, honestly.”

“He’s actually going to kill you.”

“He’s gonna yell about attendance. He’s not gonna kill me.” Jungwon settled beside you, pulling you in against his chest with an easy, unthinking familiarity that you both noticed and didn’t comment on — the fact that he hadn’t left yet, hadn’t started the usual post-hookup routine of finding his clothes in the dark. “Can I stay a while?” You should have said no. You’d been saying no to exactly this for weeks, the staying, the parts that made it feel like something with a future instead of something contained. “Yeah,” you said instead, quiet, already half-asleep against him. “Yeah, you can stay.” Neither of you said anything else about what that meant. You didn’t have to. You both already knew.

—

The qualifier had been circled on the team calendar since August — win, and Blackwood was through to the regional bracket that fed straight into the Founders Cup; lose, and the season’s best version of itself ended in a building three hours from campus with nothing to show for it. Coach Anders had been quieter than usual all week, which everyone had learned meant he was more nervous than usual, and Jay had been running pregame meetings with the specific intensity of a captain who’d been to this exact game twice before and lost it. “Eyes up,” he said, in the locker room, voice pitched low and even in the way it got before something mattered. “We’ve done the work. We know this team. We know their power play, we know their breakout, we know their goalie cheats low on his glove side.” A pause, scanning the room, landing — same as always — on the freshmen for half a second longer than anyone else. “Tonight’s not about being perfect. It’s about being the team that wants it more for sixty minutes straight. I need that from everyone. Especially my first line.” His eyes found Jungwon’s. Held there. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon said, and meant it the way he meant most things — completely, with no real plan for what came after if it didn’t go his way. It went his way. It went the whole team’s way, in the end, but it was close enough for most of the third period that the entire arena had been on its feet for the last six minutes of regulation, the score knotted at two, both benches screaming themselves hoarse at every faceoff. Jungwon won the draw with ninety seconds left, fed it back to the point, and when the rebound came loose in the slot it was Jay who buried it — top corner, glove side, exactly where Jungwon had told him all week the goalie wouldn’t expect it — and the arena came apart at the seams.

Jay found him first in the pile, both of them screaming something at each other that wasn’t even words anymore, helmets knocking, the whole bench spilling over the boards to bury them both. Riki got there a half-second later, half-sobbing with the specific delirious exhaustion of a freshman who’d just played the biggest sixty minutes of his life, and for a long, loud, glorious minute none of it had anything to do with secrets or rules or anyone’s sister. It was just hockey, the purest version of it, the kind Jungwon had signed up for in the first place. “THAT’S MY CENTER,” Jay was shouting, at no one, at everyone, dragging Jungwon into a headlock that was technically a celebration and technically also just Jay needing somewhere to put the sheer volume of feeling currently moving through him. “That’s my guy! I called it week one, I told Coach, I told him—”

“You told him nothing, you were terrified of me in week one—”

“I was never terrified, I was strategic—”

The bus ride home was loud the whole way, somebody’s phone playing the win highlight on a loop until everyone had watched Jay’s goal from six different angles, and by the time they pulled up outside the Den, the entire street already had cars parked along it that didn’t belong to anyone in the house — word traveled fast on a qualifier night, and half the campus seemed to already know there’d be a party going by the time the team actually walked in the door.

Riki covered for him for the first time that night, and it happened almost by accident, in the sense that Riki didn’t plan the lie in advance so much as produce it instantly, under pressure, with the specific improvisational skill of someone who’d apparently been quietly preparing for this exact moment without telling anyone, including himself. It was maybe forty minutes into the party, the living room already a wall of noise, when Jay turned around mid-conversation and said, to no one in particular, “where’d Jungwon go?” Riki, standing two feet away with a cup in his hand, didn’t even blink. “Bathroom.”

“He’s been gone a while.”

“Stomach thing. Pregame nerves, probably hit him late.” Riki said it with such total, unbothered conviction that even he seemed mildly impressed with himself afterward, recounting it later to Jungwon like he’d just pulled off a heist. “Should probably give him some privacy, honestly. Not a great scene in there right now, I’d imagine.” Jay made a face. “Gross. Okay. Tell him to drink water.”

“Will do, Captain.” The second Jay turned away, Riki allowed himself exactly one slow exhale of relief before pulling his phone out and typing, with the gravity of a man reporting from the field: covered for you. stomach thing. you owe me forever. Jungwon — who was, in fact, not in the bathroom at all, but in the kitchen with you, half-hidden behind the open refrigerator door under the thin cover story of getting a drink — read the text and laughed out loud, which made you ask what was funny, which made him show you, which made you laugh too, the two of you ducking further behind the fridge door like that added any real concealment at all. “He’s never going to let this go,” Jungwon said. “He’s never going to let what go specifically — the lie, or the leverage?”

“Both. Definitely both.”

Near midnight a freshman approached and flirted with Jungwon, a girl from his econ discussion section who’d apparently decided that a qualifier win was the right occasion to finally act on whatever interest she’d been nursing since week one, and she found him by the drinks table with a confidence that suggested she had no idea — none at all — what she was walking into. “You were so good tonight,” she said, hand finding his forearm, easy and familiar in a way that made something in your chest go tight and hot the second you spotted it from across the room. “Like, genuinely incredible. I didn’t know freshmen could even play like that.”

“Thanks.” Jungwon’s voice was polite, a little distant, the specific tone of someone being friendly without encouraging anything, but he wasn’t pulling his arm away either, too caught up in the general adrenaline of the night to fully register what was happening. You watched for exactly eleven seconds before you decided you’d watched enough. “Hey.” You inserted yourself into the conversation with more edge than you meant to, hooking a hand into Jungwon’s other arm like it was the most natural thing in the world, which — to anyone watching, you reminded yourself, it absolutely had to look like, since nobody here knew. “Jongseong’s looking for you. Something about the highlight reel.”

“Oh — yeah, I should—” Jungwon, to his credit, picked up on the temperature shift immediately, even half a beer in, and extracted himself from the girl’s hand with an easy, “good game tonight, good luck on the econ midterm,” before letting you steer him away by the arm without any real resistance. The second you’d put enough distance between yourselves and the drinks table, he was already grinning. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re a little mad.”

“I am not — Jongseong does not actually want you, that was a lie, I made that up.” You let go of his arm like you’d only just realized you were still holding it, crossing your own instead, which did nothing to disguise how transparent you currently were. “I just didn’t feel like watching that.”

“Watching what.”

“You know what.”

“I genuinely don’t, you’re going to have to use words.” He was enjoying this far too much, falling into step beside you toward the stairs, something delighted and a little smug working at the corner of his mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Say it or I go back and ask her what the econ midterm’s actually about, since you brought it up.”

“Fine.” You stopped on the stairs, turning to face him, irritated mostly at yourself now for how easily he’d gotten this out of you. “I didn’t like watching some girl touch your arm and call you incredible. There. Happy?”

“Very happy.” He said it so simply, so plainly delighted, that some of your irritation softened into something else despite your best efforts. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m — annoyed. On principle.”

“That’s jealous with extra steps.” He caught your hand, tugging you the rest of the way up the stairs toward his room, the party noise dropping away behind the closing door. “I like it, for the record. Watching your whole face do that.”

“Don’t make this a thing.”

“Too late,” he said, against your mouth, already kissing you. “It’s already a thing.” You shoved him back onto the bed with more force than the moment strictly required, and he went easily, laughing low under his breath, hands finding your waist as you climbed over him, straddling his hips before either of you had bothered with much in the way of preamble. “Still jealous?” he murmured, hands sliding up your sides under your shirt.

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Jungwon.” You pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere you didn’t bother tracking, and the sight of him underneath you — flushed, win-high, looking at you like you were the only thing that had happened all night that actually mattered — undid the last of your patience. “Less talking.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You worked his belt open with quick, certain hands, and he watched you do it with his jaw tight, breath already gone uneven, hands gripping your hips like he was holding himself back from taking over entirely. When you finally freed him, hard and already aching, he let out a low, rough groan that you felt all the way down. “Tell me you want this,” he breathed, even now, even like this, the same checking he always did. “I’m on top of you right now. What does it look like.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I want this. I want you.” The honesty of it surprised you a little, coming out unguarded, but you didn’t take it back. You sank down onto him slow, both of you groaning at the slick, tight slide of it, and for a second you just stayed there, adjusting, his hands flexing against your hips like he was fighting every instinct to thrust up into you before you were ready. “Fuck — you feel — “ He cut himself off with a sharp exhale as you started to move, slow at first, finding a rhythm, his head tipping back against the pillow, throat working.

“This okay?” you asked, breathless, already rolling your hips again. “More than okay. God, look at you.” His hands slid up to your tits, thumbs brushing your nipples until you gasped, your rhythm faltering for a second before you found it again, faster now, chasing the building heat low in your stomach. “That’s it,” he groaned, hips finally rising to meet yours, the drag of him inside you hitting deeper at this angle, dragging a moan out of you that you didn’t bother muffling. “Ride me just like that — fuck, you’re so good, you have no idea—”

“Jungwon—”

“I know. I’ve got you.” His hand found your clit, thumb pressing tight, deliberate circles in time with your movement, and the combination had your moans climbing fast, breathless, your nails dragging down his chest. “You looked so good tonight,” you breathed, barely coherent, rolling your hips faster. “On the ice. I couldn’t stop watching you.”

“Yeah?” Something in his voice cracked open at that, rougher, more desperate. “Tell me again.”

“You were incredible.” You said it again, deliberately, watching the way it undid him, hips snapping up harder to meet yours. “Best on the ice. Better than anyone.”

“Fuck — “ His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your pace faster, deeper, the tip of him dragging against that spot inside you that had your vision sparking white at the edges. “Say it again—”

“Best player out there,” you gasped, close now, every word coming apart at the edges. “Mine — “ That seemed to do something to him entirely, a rough, broken sound tearing out of his throat as his thrusts turned faster, less controlled, chasing the same edge you were chasing, and when you finally tipped over it was with his name breaking out of you, walls clenching tight around him as he followed seconds later, spilling into you with a groan he pressed into your collarbone, hips stuttering through the last of it.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing hard, his arms coming up around you loose and unhurried, like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. “Hey,” you said, eventually, into the quiet, your cheek still pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow back down. “I’m proud of you. For tonight. For real, not just — “ you gestured vaguely at the bed, the obvious aftermath of it. “For the game. You were really, genuinely incredible out there.” Jungwon went quiet for a second, his hand stilling where it had been tracing slow, idle patterns against your back, and when he finally spoke, his voice had lost all of its earlier teasing. “Nobody’s said that to me tonight. Not like that.” A pause. “Jongseong said it loud, in front of everyone. Riki said it because he’s my best friend and he has to. You’re the first person who said it just to me. Quiet. Like you meant it specifically.”

“I did mean it specifically.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, settling you further into his chest, his fingers finding yours and lacing them together against his stomach, slow and easy, the most unhurried, domestic gesture either of you had managed yet. “I like this part. After. Just this.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, quiet, letting yourself mean it without flinching for once. “Me too.” Neither of you said the word that was sitting in the room with you, obvious and unspoken, but you both heard it anyway, in the silence, in the way his heartbeat hadn’t gone all the way back to normal yet, in the way you’d stopped pretending, even to yourself, that this was still just convenient.

The team’s covering operation had, by this point in the season, developed an almost professional structure to it, and Jake — somewhat to his own surprise — had ended up running point on the version of it that covered for you specifically, rather than Jungwon, in a way that felt less like keeping a secret and more like something closer to actual brotherly instinct kicking in where Jay’s couldn’t. It started small. Jay would ask, casually, where you’d gotten to after a party, and Jake would have an answer ready before the question had even fully landed — “she left with Sunoo,” or “she said she was tired, headed back to the dorm early,” delivered with such easy, bored conviction that Jay never once thought to push further. It wasn’t even really lying, most of the time, just a careful management of which true things got said out loud and which got quietly left out, and Jake did it with the same instinctive ease he’d cover for any of his actual teammates, except this time the teammate he was protecting was you. “You don’t have to do that,” you told him once, catching him right after he’d smoothly redirected Jay away from asking why you’d been at the Den three nights running. “I know I don’t have to.” Jake shrugged, like it cost him nothing, which — Jake being Jake — it probably genuinely didn’t. “I’ve watched you get treated like property by every guy who’s ever looked at you twice on this campus, Y/N. Watching Jungwon actually be good to you, and good for you, is the first time I’ve actually wanted to help one of these situations instead of running it off.” He bumped your shoulder, easy, the same brotherly affection he’d had for you since you were sixteen. “Plus he climbed a drainpipe for you. I respect the commitment.”

“You heard about the drainpipe?”

“Everyone heard about the drainpipe. Riki couldn’t keep that one to himself for more than six hours.”

The sloppiness crept in gradually, the way it always does — not one specific reckless decision but a slow accumulation of smaller ones, each individually defensible, collectively a problem. You stopped checking the hallway before leaving Jungwon’s room. He stopped waiting the full ten minutes before following you down to a party. You held his hand under the kitchen table once during a group dinner and didn’t notice you’d done it until Heeseung’s eyes flicked down and back up again, saying nothing, filing it away with the same quiet discretion he applied to everything.

Riki, increasingly, found himself in the position of full-time alibi generator, a role he’d apparently decided to take seriously enough to develop a rotating cast of excuses so he wouldn’t repeat himself in front of Jay. “Stomach thing again?” Jungwon asked once, amused, after overhearing Riki deploy it for the third time that month. “I can’t keep using stomach thing, Jay’s gonna think you have a chronic illness.” Riki looked genuinely affronted at the suggestion. “I’ve diversified. Library. Equipment fitting. One time I said you were ‘processing the loss emotionally’ after a game we won, which in retrospect was a mistake, because Jay actually came to check on you and I had to improvise an entire secondary lie on the spot.”

“You told him I was sad after a win?”

“I panicked! You were not in the building, Jungwon, I needed something fast!”

It was Heeseung, in the end, with his usual quiet bluntness, who said the thing that pushed you both toward an actual conversation about what exactly you were doing. “You two are being sloppy,” he said, apropos of nothing, while you were both in the kitchen at the same time for once without any real cover story prepared, his voice pitched low enough that it wasn’t a public confrontation, just an observation meant for the two of you. “Not in a ‘someone definitely knows’ way yet. In a ‘it’s only a matter of time’ way.”

“We’re being careful,” Jungwon said, automatically, though even he didn’t sound especially convinced. “You held her hand under the table on Tuesday. I watched it happen. Jay was four feet away.” Heeseung took a sip of his coffee, unbothered, delivering the rest like a weather report rather than an accusation. “I’m not telling you to stop. I’m telling you that whatever you’re doing right now isn’t a secret thing anymore, it’s a secret-shaped thing that everyone already knows the shape of. The only person who doesn’t know is Jay, and that’s getting harder to maintain every single week.” Neither of you had a response to that. Heeseung, satisfied he’d made his point, simply finished his coffee and left the room, and the silence he left behind sat heavy enough that you finally looked at each other and both understood, without saying it yet, that something needed to actually be decided.

It happened that same night, quieter than either of you expected — no big declaration, no dramatic setup, just the two of you lying in his bed in the dark, his fingers tracing slow shapes against your bare shoulder, the kind of stillness that made honesty easier than it usually was. “Can I ask you something,” Jungwon said, into the quiet. “Mm.”

“What are we doing.” You didn’t answer right away, not because you didn’t have one, but because you’d been avoiding the question so deliberately for so long that actually hearing it out loud felt strange, like a word you’d practiced saying in private finally being spoken in front of someone else. “I don’t know what we’re calling it.”

“I know what I want to call it.” He said it simply, no hesitation in it at all, the same steady certainty he’d had since the very first night, since before you’d even properly known his name. “I haven’t been seeing anyone else. I haven’t wanted to. I don’t want some random freshman from your econ section thinking she has a shot, and I really don’t want some guy at a party thinking he does either.” A small pause. “I want this to actually be something. Not just — convenient. Not just a secret. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, even if nobody else gets to know that yet.” You let that sit for a second, feeling the actual weight of it land somewhere real in your chest, and then you turned to face him fully in the dark. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Exclusive. Just us.” You felt something loosen in your chest as you said it, like a held breath finally let go. “I haven’t wanted anyone else either, if that wasn’t obvious from the jealousy thing.”

“It was very obvious.” He was smiling, you could hear it even without seeing it clearly. “I liked the jealousy thing a lot, for the record.”

“I know you did. You’re insufferable about it.”

“I’m allowed to be insufferable. My girlfriend’s jealous over me. That’s a good day.” He tried the word out like he was testing the weight of it, girlfriend, and something about the easy way he landed on it — like he’d been holding it ready for weeks, waiting for permission to use it — made you press closer into him, burying the small, helpless smile against his chest before he could see the full shape of it. “Don’t get used to saying that out loud,” you murmured. “Not yet. Not where anyone can hear.”

“I know.” Some of the lightness faded out of his voice, the reality of the actual logistics settling back in. “Soon, though. Right? We’re not doing this forever.”

“Soon,” you agreed, and didn’t let yourself think too hard about how soon soon actually needed to be, or what it would cost when it finally happened.

Sunghoon came out to the team on an entirely unrelated Tuesday, with none of the ceremony he’d apparently been bracing for, during a postpractice stretch session that had devolved, as most of them did, into nonsense. “I’m gonna say something and I need everyone to not make it weird,” he announced, to the room generally, mid-stretch, with the specific tension of someone who’d clearly rehearsed the moment and chosen the most low-stakes possible setting to finally do it. “Oh god, are you quitting hockey,” Jake said immediately. “Don’t quit hockey, we need you for the power play—”

“I’m not quitting hockey. I’m gay.” The room went quiet for exactly one second. “Okay,” Heeseung said, easily, already going back to his own stretch like Sunghoon had just announced the weather. “Cool.”

“That’s — that’s it? That’s the reaction?”

“What reaction did you want?” Jake looked genuinely confused. “Bro, we know. We’ve known. You’ve been weird about Sunoo for two months, you think we didn’t clock that?”

“I — okay, I knew you guys clocked the Sunoo thing, but I meant, like, generally—”

“We know generally too,” Riki put in, helpfully unhelpful. “I think Heeseung called it back in like September.”

“I called it the first week,” Heeseung corrected, mildly offended at the underselling of his own detective work. “It’s not, like, a thing, man,” Jake said, more gently now, sitting up properly to actually look at Sunghoon instead of just talking past him. “You’re still you. You’re still the guy who’s weirdly competitive about stretching and once cried during a dog food commercial—”

“That was one time and the dog was sick in the commercial, that’s a valid reaction—”

“You’re still our guy. That’s the whole thing. Nothing about that changes because you said the actual words out loud instead of us just all politely knowing.” Jake grinned, the tension fully gone from the room now. “Although I will say, the Sunoo thing makes a lot more sense now in terms of timeline. I thought you were just developing a coffee addiction for a while there.”

“I don’t even like coffee.”

“I KNOW, that’s what tipped me off, you kept buying it and not drinking it, it was clearly a Sunoo-adjacent purchase—” Sunghoon, somewhere in the middle of the room’s easy, immediate, unbothered acceptance, looked like a man who’d spent considerably longer bracing for this moment than the actual moment had required, and Jungwon — watching from across the room, his own secret still folded carefully out of sight — felt something complicated move through his chest. Relief, for Sunghoon, that this house was exactly the kind of place where something like that could land soft. And underneath it, quieter, a feeling he didn’t examine too closely: the knowledge that his own reveal, whenever it finally came, was not going to land anywhere near this gently. He thought about you, across the room and thought, not for the first time, that soon was a word doing a lot of work to put off something that was eventually going to come due no matter how careful you both stayed.

—

The quarterfinal landed on October 12th, which Jay had been complaining about since the schedule first dropped over the summer — “of course it’s on our actual birthday, of course the conference hates me specifically” — though the complaining had always had a performative edge to it, since everyone in the house knew Jay would rather play a quarterfinal on his birthday than not play one at all. You’d been planning the surprise party for two weeks, in increments small enough that nobody outside the inner circle had noticed: a quiet text chain with Heeseung about decorations, a grocery run with Riki that he’d disguised as “team snacks” when Jay asked, a cake order picked up that morning and hidden in the trunk of Sunoo’s car like contraband. The whole house had folded into the conspiracy with an enthusiasm that surprised even you — Sunghoon handling the lights, Jake in charge of the playlist, Heeseung quietly making sure there was enough food to feed forty hockey players without it looking suspicious in the fridge beforehand.

Jungwon’s job was the hardest one, and you’d given it to him on purpose: keep Jay distracted enough after the game that nobody had to rush the setup. “You’re sure he won’t notice anything’s off,” Jungwon asked, the night before, lying beside you with his chin propped on his hand. “He’s terrible at noticing things that aren’t directly related to hockey or me. You’ve watched him miss four separate hints about his own surprise party already. He thinks we’re doing dinner. A small dinner. That’s it.”

“And the call thing?”

“My job. I’ll handle my job. You handle yours — keep him in the locker room long enough, talk hockey at him, whatever it takes.”

“I can talk hockey at him for hours. That part’s not hard.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, easy, settling further into the pillow. “Happy almost-birthday, by the way. Twenty-one’s a big one.”

“Don’t remind me. I feel ancient.”

“You’re the same age as your brother, you’ve always been this age relative to him, nothing’s changing.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

Blackwood won the quarterfinal 5–2, Jay scoring twice and assisting on a third, playing like a man who’d decided his birthday came with an obligation to be the best version of himself on the ice, and the locker room afterward was loud with the specific giddy exhaustion of a team that knew it was one step closer to the Cup. Jungwon found Jay by his stall, still half in his gear, and did exactly what he’d promised — kept him there, breaking down the third goal frame by frame, asking deliberately long questions about reads and lane choices that he already understood perfectly well, buying every minute he could.

Across the room, you were on the phone, your voice pitched loud enough to carry. “Mom wants to FaceTime him the second he’s out of the shower, she’s been texting me nonstop, she says happy birthday like four times already and wants to actually see his face—” It worked exactly as planned. By the time Jay finally extracted himself from Jungwon’s increasingly elaborate hockey questions and took the call from your parents in the hallway outside the locker room — your mother’s voice audible even through the phone, your father in the background insisting on singing the first two lines of happy birthday badly, on purpose, the way he had every year since you were both kids — the entire team had already loaded into cars and beaten you both back to the Den, where Heeseung’s lights were up, Jake’s playlist was queued, and Sunoo had the cake set up on the kitchen counter with twenty-one candles that had taken Riki three attempts to actually light because the lighter kept giving out.

You walked Jay through the front door fifteen minutes later, phone call wrapped up, still mid-sentence about something your mom had said, and the entire house erupted at once — lights up, music starting, a chorus of “SURPRISE” loud enough that Jay actually flinched, one hand flying to his chest like his heart had genuinely stopped for a second. “You—” He turned on you immediately, half-laughing, half-betrayed. “The FaceTime was a setup.”

“The FaceTime was real, Mom does want to call you later, I just needed you distracted for twenty minutes.”

“I can’t believe you used our parents as a smokescreen—”

“I can’t believe it worked this well, honestly, you’re shockingly easy to fool.” He pulled you into a hug before you’d finished the sentence, the kind that lifted you half off your feet, laughing into your hair. “Happy birthday to you too, by the way. We’re the same age, idiot, this is also your party.”

“I know. Co-birthday king and queen. I expect a toast.”

“You’ll get several toasts. Jake’s already written something, I can see it on his face, he’s been holding it in all night.” He had, in fact, written something, and it was exactly as unhinged as advertised — a toast that started sincere, devolved into a list of increasingly embarrassing stories about Jay from freshman year, and ended with Jake actually getting a little emotional about “the best captain and the most tolerant sister a team’s ever been lucky enough to share a house with,” which got a genuine cheer from the room and a swat to the back of the head from Jay, who was visibly moved and trying very hard not to show it.

The party ran late, the good kind of late, the kind where nobody’s watching the clock because nobody wants the night to end — cake, then dancing, then somebody’s questionable decision to bring out the karaoke machine that lived in the Den’s basement for occasions exactly like this one, Jay and Jake butchering a duet so badly that Heeseung had to leave the room to compose himself. You danced with your brother for one whole song, the two of you doing the same ridiculous, half-choreographed bit you’d been doing at every birthday since you were fourteen, and across the room you caught Jungwon watching, something soft and unguarded on his face that he didn’t bother hiding for once, since nobody was paying close enough attention to notice. By two in the morning, the house had finally gone quiet — bodies passed out across couches, Jay asleep sitting up in an armchair with cake frosting still on his collar, Riki face-down on the floor for reasons nobody had bothered to investigate, Sunoo and Sunghoon curled into each other on the porch swing outside, low voices and easy laughter drifting in through the screen door. The kind of ending a good party earns. “Come on,” Jungwon said quietly, finding you in the kitchen surveying the wreckage of cake and cups. “I’ll walk you back.”

The campus at two in the morning had a particular hush to it, streetlights doing most of the work, your footsteps the loudest sound for blocks. Jungwon had his hands in his pockets, walking close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every few steps, neither of you in any real hurry to get where you were going. “Good birthday?” he asked. “Best one in years, honestly. Jongseong cried a little during Jake’s toast and he’s going to deny it forever, so that alone made the whole night worth it.”

“I have something for you. For your actual birthday, not the team thing.” He pulled a small, carefully wrapped box out of his jacket pocket — he’d clearly been carrying it all night, waiting for a quiet moment that wasn’t surrounded by forty other people — and held it out, a little sheepish in a way you rarely got to see on him. “It’s not much. I wanted to give it to you without an audience.” You unwrapped it slowly, under the streetlight outside your dorm, and found a thin silver chain inside, a small charm hanging from it shaped like a tiny hockey puck, and on the back, when you turned it over, your birthday engraved in careful, small lettering alongside a single date you recognized immediately — the night of the party, three months ago, when this whole impossible thing had started. “Jungwon.”

“I know it’s a weird thing to commemorate. I just—” He rubbed the back of his neck, the first genuinely nervous gesture you’d seen out of him in weeks. “I wanted something that was just ours. Something nobody else would know the meaning of if they saw it. You could wear it and nobody would ever know what it actually means, except you. Except us.” You didn’t say anything for a second, just looked at it, the weight of how much thought had clearly gone into something this small landing somewhere soft and unguarded in your chest, and when you looked back up at him, he was watching you with the specific, quiet hope of someone who genuinely wasn’t sure how the gift would be received. “I love it,” you said, finally. “I love it so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You let him fasten it around your neck right there under the streetlight, his fingers careful at the clasp, and when he was done you turned and kissed him — slow, unhurried, none of the urgency from earlier in the semester, just the easy, settled kind of kiss that came from three months of knowing exactly how this felt and not being in any rush to stop feeling it. “Best birthday gift I’ve gotten in years,” you murmured, against his mouth. “Good. That was the goal.” He kissed you again, lingering, his hand coming up to rest against the curve of your jaw. “Happy birthday.”

“Hey,” you said, pulling back just far enough to look at him properly, an idea you’d been sitting on for a week finally finding its moment. “There’s a festival next weekend. Off campus, like an hour out — Sunoo’s been talking about it for weeks, lights and music and the whole thing. I want you to come with me.”

“An hour off campus.” Something in his face shifted, considering it properly. “That’s far enough that nobody from the team would just stumble into us.”

“That’s the point.”

“You’re asking me on an actual date. A real one. Outside the Den, outside parties, outside all of this.” He said it slowly, like he was turning the idea over, savoring it a little. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me something like that since September.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s the easiest yes I’ve ever given anyone.” He pulled you back in, forehead resting against yours, both of you smiling too wide for the hour, for how tired you should have been, for how much you still had left to figure out about the rest of this. “I’d go anywhere with you. An hour’s nothing.” You stood there a while longer under the streetlight, in no hurry at all, the small silver puck resting warm against your collarbone, neither of you saying out loud the thing you were both clearly thinking — that a real date, an hour off campus, away from anyone who might recognize either of you, felt like the first real crack of daylight after months spent entirely in the dark. Like maybe, soon, you wouldn’t have to keep choosing between him and the rest of your life.

The week leading up to the festival passed in a way that felt almost suspiciously easy, and Jungwon noticed it more than once — the specific, unguarded lightness of just being happy, without the usual undercurrent of calculation running underneath it. He caught himself smiling at nothing during an econ lecture. Caught Riki noticing him do it. “You’ve been weird all week,” Riki said, eyeing him over a stats problem set neither of them were actually working on. “Weird good, though. Like, suspiciously content. It’s unsettling, honestly, I’m used to you having at least one low-grade crisis going at all times.”

“I don’t have crises.”

“You have constant crises, you just hide them well. This week you’ve had zero. I noticed.” Riki narrowed his eyes. “Something’s happening this weekend. You’ve got a bag packed already and it’s Tuesday.”

“We’re going to a festival.”

“You’re going somewhere overnight with a bag packed four days early for a day festival. Those numbers don’t add up, my friend.”

Jungwon didn’t dignify that with an answer, mostly because Riki wasn’t wrong, and the not-answering was its own kind of confirmation that Riki accepted with a satisfied, knowing nod and went back to his problem set, humming something annoyingly pleased with himself under his breath.

You’d booked the hotel two weeks in advance, a small, unfussy place near the festival grounds that you’d found mostly because it was far enough out that nobody from Blackwood would plausibly be staying there too, and you’d told Jungwon all of it with the same deliberate, slightly nervous energy of someone planning something that mattered more to her than she wanted to admit out loud.

“Friday to Sunday,” you’d said, showing him the booking on your phone. “Festival’s Friday, but I figured — we never get an actual weekend. Just us. No covering for anyone, no checking the hallway first.”

“Friday to Sunday,” he’d repeated, something settling and pleased moving across his face. “I like that math a lot.”

Sunoo and Sunghoon were going too — officially, publicly, the easiest couple in the entire group now that Sunghoon’s coming out had cleared whatever quiet tension used to sit underneath their dynamic — and the four of you drove out together Friday afternoon, windows down, Sunoo controlling the music with the same merciless authority he applied to most things, Sunghoon driving with one hand permanently finding Sunoo’s knee whenever a song he liked came on. “This is so much better than sneaking around,” Sunoo announced, from the front seat, twisting around to grin at the two of you in the back. “You two get to have, like, a real weekend. With us. As an actual couple thing. Double date energy. I’ve been waiting for this since September.”

“We’re not technically a public couple yet,” you reminded him.

“You’re public to us. That’s basically the same thing, just smaller scale.”

The festival itself was everything Sunoo had promised — string lights strung between food trucks, a stage at the far end of the field playing through a lineup of bands neither of you fully recognized, the whole grounds lit gold as the sun went down. And for the first time since the party back in September, you got to just be a couple in public — Jungwon’s hand finding yours without either of you checking who might be watching first, his arm slung easy around your shoulders while you waited in line for festival food, both of you laughing at something stupid Sunoo said without the automatic, practiced half-second of distance you usually kept in case anyone from the Den happened to be nearby. “This is so weird,” you admitted, leaning into his side as the two of you watched some local band finish their set. “Good weird. I keep waiting for the part where I have to let go of your hand.”

“You don’t have to let go of my hand.” He squeezed it, like he was making the point physically as well as out loud. “Not here. Not this weekend.”

“I know. It’s just — new. Being normal about it.”

“I could get used to normal.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, easy, unhurried, the kind of casual public affection that would’ve sent your heart into your throat back at the Den and here just felt like exhaling. “We should do this more.”

“We will. Eventually. Just — not yet.” He didn’t push on the not yet, the way he’d stopped pushing on it weeks ago, content for now with the version of normal a weekend an hour outside of everyone’s orbit could actually offer. Sunghoon bought Sunoo a ridiculous oversized stuffed animal from one of the carnival games after missing the target six times and finally landing it on the seventh, to a level of triumphant celebration that drew the attention of half the surrounding crowd, and Sunoo carried it around for the rest of the night like a trophy, occasionally hitting Sunghoon with it when he said something he found insufficiently romantic.

You got back to the hotel late, well past midnight, festival dust still on your shoes, and the second the door clicked shut behind you, Jungwon had you pressed gently back against it, his mouth finding yours unhurried but certain. “Good night?” he murmured, against your lips. “Best one in a while.” You let your hands slide up under his shirt, the festival heat and the long day and months of careful waiting all collapsing into one slow, building want. “Come to bed.”

He undressed you slow, the same deliberate care he’d had since the very first night, like the weekend stretching ahead of you had taken away any reason to rush. He laid you back against the hotel sheets, mouth tracing the same patient path down your throat, your chest, lower, and when his fingers finally found your folds, already slick from the whole night of anticipation, he groaned low against your skin. “We’ve got all weekend,” he said, glancing up at you, something dark and unhurried in his eyes. “No reason to rush any of it.”

He took his time proving that, working you open with slow, deliberate fingers until you were gasping his name into the quiet of the room, and when he finally settled over you and pushed in, the rhythm he found was slow and grinding, deep, drawing soft, breathy moans out of you that built steadily rather than rushing toward anything. “Look at you,” he breathed, watching your face with open, unguarded want. “We’ve got two more nights of this. I’m not in a hurry tonight.” He kept that promise. The first time was slow, drawn-out, both of you trading low praise and his name and yours back and forth until you came apart around him with a soft, broken sound, his own release following unhurried moments later. The second time, near dawn, was slower still, lazier, half-asleep limbs and unhurried kisses until neither of you could tell anymore where the festival ended and the rest of the weekend began.

Saturday morning arrived late, neither of you bothering to leave the bed until room service knocked, and you spent a solid hour tangled in the sheets eating pancakes off the same plate, his fingers occasionally stealing bites off your fork just to watch you swat at him. “This is what I want,” you said at one point, syrup-sticky and entirely unguarded, watching him steal another piece of bacon. “Just this. Mornings like this, except not just on a weekend an hour from campus.”

“Soon,” he said, the word that had become something like a promise between you over the last few weeks, and this time it landed differently — closer, more real, like the gap between soon and now had finally started to close.

You spent Saturday afternoon wandering the small downtown near the hotel, ducking into shops mostly for the fun of it, Jungwon buying you a ridiculous pair of sunglasses you’d tried on as a joke and then genuinely loved, you talking him into a soft, oversized sweater he swore he’d never wear outside this trip and absolutely would, in fact, wear constantly once you got back. Sunoo texted updates from his and Sunghoon’s parallel afternoon — we got matching bracelets I’m going to cry — and you sent back a photo of Jungwon in his new sweater with the caption we’re matching in spirit. By Saturday night you were both too sun-tired and festival-worn to do much more than order room service again and fall asleep tangled together by ten, and Sunday morning came too fast, the drive back to campus quieter than the drive out had been, all four of you a little subdued at the idea of stepping back into a world where this version of things — easy, public, unguarded — had to fold itself small again.

“I don’t want to go back to hiding it,” you said quietly, somewhere on the drive, your head against Jungwon’s shoulder, watching the festival grounds disappear behind you through the back window. “I know.” His arm tightened around you, his voice low enough that it was just for you, even with Sunoo and Sunghoon talking quietly up front. “We won’t have to. Not forever.”

The drive back from the festival had the particular quiet of a good weekend ending — not sad, exactly, just settling, everyone a little sun-worn and content, Sunoo’s playlist gone soft and slow for the last hour of the trip in a way that matched the mood better than anything from Friday’s drive out. Sunghoon dropped you and Sunoo off first, your dorm closer to the highway exit than the Den, and the goodbye had its own small chaos — Sunoo hugging you so hard you nearly lost your footing, already texting in the group chat about “the best weekend of my entire life, I’m emotional, don’t talk to me,” Sunghoon leaning out the driver’s window to tell Jungwon something about practice schedules that was really just an excuse to keep the car parked a few extra minutes.

You climbed out last, your bag over one shoulder, and Jungwon got out too, rounding the car to walk you the short distance to the dorm entrance even though it was barely twenty feet, because apparently three days of being an actual couple in public had made him reluctant to let the smallest goodbye go un-marked. “This was the best weekend I’ve had in years,” you told him, under the dorm’s overhead light, voice still a little rough with the particular exhaustion that comes from too much sun and too little sleep and exactly the right amount of everything else. “Best one I’ve ever had.” He said it simply, with no exaggeration in it at all, like he’d actually run the comparison in his head and landed on the truth of it. “I don’t want to go back to checking hallways.”

“I know. We won’t, soon.”

“Soon,” he agreed, and pulled you in for a last kiss right there under the light, slow and unhurried despite Sunghoon’s car idling at the curb, his hand coming up to cup your jaw the same way it had the very first night, except nothing about this kiss carried any of that night’s uncertainty. This one knew exactly what it was. “Go,” you murmured, eventually, laughing against his mouth. “Sunghoon’s going to start honking.”

“Let him.”

“Jungwon.”

“Fine. Going.” He kissed you once more, quick, like he couldn’t quite help himself, then backed away toward the car with obvious reluctance, already calling over his shoulder, “text me when you’re inside.”

“I’m twenty feet from the door.”

“Text me anyway.” You watched the car pull away before you went in, and true to his word, your phone buzzed before you’d even gotten your key in the lock.

jungwon: best weekend of my life. thank you for asking me.

you: thank you for climbing through my window in september. none of this happens without that.

jungwon: worth every inch of that drainpipe

The car ride to the Den was quieter, Sunghoon driving, Jungwon in the passenger seat with his phone still warm in his hand, the particular loose, contented quiet of someone who’d spent three days being exactly who he wanted to be without having to manage it. “You good?” Sunghoon asked, eyes on the road. “You’ve got a face.”

“What face.”

“The face you’ve had all weekend. The one where you look like someone hit you with a happiness truck and you haven’t fully recovered.” Sunghoon said it without judgment, mostly amused. “It’s a good look on you. Different from the usual broody thing.”

“I don’t do a broody thing.”

“You do an extensive broody thing, it’s just been on pause for three days.” Sunghoon pulled up outside the Den, cutting the engine. “You ready for the readjustment? Back to hallway-checking and stomach-thing alibis?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah. Figured.”

Jay was in the kitchen when they walked in, mid-conversation with Heeseung about something on his laptop, and he looked up the second the door opened with the easy, automatic attention of a captain checking who’d come home. “There he is. Where’ve you been all weekend? Riki said something about a festival, but he was being weird and cagey about it, which usually means he’s covering for somebody.” Jungwon felt the question land exactly where he’d known it would eventually land, and answered it the way he’d practiced in his head somewhere around hour two of the drive home, voice easy, unbothered, the specific calm he’d built a habit of deploying for exactly this purpose. “Went with Sunghoon. Sunoo wanted to go to that festival thing out near the lake, dragged us both along, figured it’d be good to get off campus for a weekend before the semester gets worse.” A small shrug, casual, nothing in it worth a second look. “Needed the break, honestly. Been a heavy few weeks.”

“Yeah, you’ve earned a weekend off.” Jay nodded, easy, already moving past it, no reason in his world yet to ask a follow-up question, because nothing about the answer had given him one. “Glad you went. You’ve looked tired lately, this is the first time in weeks you’ve looked like you actually slept.”

“I slept a lot.”

“Good. Need you sharp, we’ve got the semifinal in two weeks, I’m not losing my center to burnout right before that.” Jay clapped him once on the shoulder on his way past, the same easy, trusting gesture he’d been giving Jungwon since week one, completely unaware of how much weight that trust was currently carrying without his knowledge. “Go unpack. We’ll talk lines tomorrow.” Jungwon watched him go, the lie sitting easy and practiced in his chest, and felt — not for the first time, but more sharply than usual, the festival’s three days of honesty still warm in his memory — exactly how much it cost him to do this so smoothly. He was good at it. That had stopped feeling like something to be proud of weeks ago.

Sunghoon, beside him, didn’t say anything, just exhaled slow through his nose, the universal sound of someone watching a friend get better and better at something that was eventually going to catch up to him. “You’re really good at that,” Sunghoon said, finally, quiet, once Jay was out of earshot. “Yeah,” Jungwon said, and didn’t sound proud of it at all. “I know.”

Coach Anders had decided, with the semifinal now exactly two weeks out, that the only acceptable response to that fact was to make practice considerably worse for everyone involved, and Jay had taken to that decision with the specific zeal of a captain who agreed with it completely and intended to make sure the rest of the team did too. “Again,” Jay called, for what had to be the eighth time, as the line reset at the blue line. “We’re not running this drill again because it was bad. We’re running it again because it needs to be automatic. You shouldn’t have to think about this read by week fourteen of the season.”

“My legs are gone,” Jake announced, from somewhere near the bench, draped over the boards like a man who’d given up on dignity entirely.

“Good. That means it’s working.” Jay didn’t even look over, already skating back to center ice. “Yang, Riki, line up. Same read, full speed this time.”

Practice ran nearly forty minutes long that day, and longer the day after that, Coach standing at the bench with his arms crossed and his expression unreadable in the particular way that meant he was satisfied without wanting anyone to know it yet. Jungwon’s legs felt like they belonged to someone else by the time they finally got let off the ice, the good kind of exhausted, the kind that meant the work was actually sinking in.

Jay gathered them at center ice before letting anyone head for the showers, voice pitched in the low, even register he used when he meant something seriously. “Two weeks,” he said. “I know everyone’s tired. I’m tired. I don’t care. We’ve worked too hard this season to lose in the semis because we got comfortable in October.” His eyes moved across the group, the same way they always did, landing for half a second longer on his first line. “I need everyone locked in. No distractions. No slipping. We’ve got one shot at this and I’m not watching it fall apart over something stupid.” Jungwon felt that land somewhere uncomfortable in his chest, the word slipping hitting closer than Jay could possibly know he meant it.

You came by the Den that evening with a folder of notes Jay had texted you about twenty times asking for — something he’d left at your apartment after a study session weeks ago that he apparently needed for a presentation he’d been putting off — and you found the house in its usual post-practice wind-down, the smell of someone’s attempt at dinner drifting from the kitchen, the low murmur of a TV nobody was actually watching. “Finally,” Jay said, intercepting you in the front hallway before you’d even made it past the framed photo on the wall, snatching the folder out of your hands with the particular gracelessness of an exhausted older brother. “You’re a lifesaver. I would’ve actually failed this presentation.”

“You’re welcome. Next time, don’t leave your stuff at my place for three weeks before remembering you need it.”

“Noted. Ignored, probably, but noted.” He flipped through the folder to confirm everything was there, and in the process of doing so, his eyes caught on something at your collarbone, the small silver chain that had become such a constant fixture you’d genuinely forgotten, in this exact moment, that it was something worth noticing. “That’s new,” Jay said, tilting his head, studying the little charm hanging from it. “The necklace. I haven’t seen that before.” Your stomach did a slow, cold drop, the kind that came from being caught flat-footed by a question you should have seen coming and hadn’t prepared an answer for. “Oh — yeah. Just something I picked up.”

“Where? It’s cute. Looks expensive for a ‘picked up’ kind of thing.” He leaned in slightly, squinting at the small engraved charm without actually reaching for it, which was the only mercy currently available to you. “Is that a date on the back?”

“It’s — just a birthday thing. From myself. Treated myself.” The lie came out faster than you’d planned it, stacking itself on top of the truth so quickly you almost believed it yourself for a second. “You know. Twenty-one. Felt like an occasion.”

“Huh.” Jay studied it a beat longer, and for one suspended second you were certain he was going to ask the obvious next question — why would you buy yourself a hockey puck charm, you don’t even like hockey jewelry, you’ve made fun of mine for years — but exhaustion and a folder full of overdue coursework apparently won out over curiosity, and he just shrugged, already turning back toward the stairs. “Cute, though. Looks good on you.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell Sunoo I said hi. And tell Sunghoon he owes me ten bucks from the bet last week.”

“What bet?”

“Doesn’t matter, just tell him.” Jay was already halfway up the stairs, folder under his arm, the conversation closed in his mind as completely as it had opened.

You stood there for a long moment after he disappeared, your hand coming up unconsciously to touch the small charm at your collarbone, feeling the particular vertigo of having walked right up to the edge of something and stepped back from it by pure luck rather than any actual skill. Across the room, in the kitchen doorway, Jungwon had gone very still, having caught the entire exchange from a few feet away, and when your eyes finally met his, you both understood, without saying anything, exactly how close that had just been. “That was too close,” you said quietly, once you’d both retreated to the relative privacy of the back porch. “I know.” Jungwon’s jaw was tight, his eyes still on the doorway like Jay might reappear any second. “He was right there. One more second of looking at it and he would’ve asked the question that actually matters.”

“He didn’t, though.”

“This time.” Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, something frayed at the edges of his usual calm. “We’ve been doing this for four months. We just got lucky in there. That’s not the same as being careful.” You didn’t have a good response to that, mostly because he was right, and the two of you stood there in the cold evening air, the necklace warm and suddenly heavy against your skin, both quietly aware that the margin you’d been operating in had just gotten visibly thinner, and that luck, eventually, the way it always does, was going to run out.

—

You went to Jungwons to study and the studying had been real, at first — that was the part that would seem darkly funny to Jungwon later, in the version of this night he’d replay for weeks afterward, the fact that the thing that finally got them caught had started as something genuinely, boringly innocent. You’d come over with your laptop and a stack of flashcards for a psych exam, and Jungwon had his own econ readings spread across the bed because his desk was buried under hockey equipment he kept forgetting to put away, and the two of you had actually studied, properly, for almost an hour — quizzing each other, him stealing glances at your flashcards and making fun of your handwriting, you threatening to revoke his snack privileges if he kept distracting you.

The studying had stopped being the point somewhere around the time he’d leaned over to correct an answer on your flashcard and you’d turned your head at exactly the wrong — or right — moment, and what started as a normal, domestic kind of closeness had tipped, slow and easy and entirely without either of you deciding it on purpose, into something else. Flashcards forgotten on the floor. His laptop pushed aside. The particular unhurried quiet of two people who’d done this enough times now that there was no nervousness left in it at all, just familiarity, comfort, the specific ease of being completely known by someone.

Neither of you heard the door.

Jay had knocked — he’d insist on that later, loudly, repeatedly, as if it mattered — but the knock had landed in a gap between two things that weren’t paying attention to anything outside the room, and when nobody answered, he’d done what he always did at the Den, what he’d done a hundred times before without a second thought, because it was his team’s house and these were his guys and there had never, not once in three years, been a reason to think twice about opening a door that wasn’t locked.

“Hey, Jungwon, I need to ask you something about the line rush tomorrow—” The sentence didn’t finish. It just stopped, mid-air, the way a record stops when someone lifts the needle, and the silence that replaced it was the loudest sound Jungwon had ever heard in his life.

For one full second nobody moved. Jay stood frozen in the doorway, hand still on the handle, his expression doing something complicated and fast — confusion first, the brain’s split-second refusal to process what it was looking at, and then, almost instantly, the confusion burning off into something else entirely, something that didn’t have a soft landing anywhere underneath it.

Jungwon didn’t scramble. That would come a second later, the reflexive grab for a shirt, the half-formed motion of putting himself between you and the door, but in that very first second he just froze too, eye to eye with Jay across the room, and some old, certain part of him understood with total clarity that there was no version of the next ten seconds that ended anywhere good. “Get out,” Jay said. Flat. Quiet. Worse than yelling. He wasn’t talking to you. He couldn’t look at you.

His eyes were locked on Jungwon, and his voice, when it came again, had dropped even lower, which somehow made it land harder than volume would have. “Get dressed. Get downstairs. Now.” He turned and left before either of you could say a single word, the door left hanging open behind him, and the sound of his footsteps on the stairs was the sound of something detonating in slow motion, the blast wave still traveling, the real damage still about thirty seconds out.

By the time Jungwon made it down to the common room — shirt yanked on inside out, hands not quite steady, you two steps behind him with your own clothes hastily fixed, both of you moving on the kind of adrenaline that doesn’t leave room for thinking — the house had already started gathering, drawn by the sound of Jay’s voice carrying from the kitchen where he stood with his hands braced flat on the counter, head down, breathing like a man trying very hard not to put his fist through something.

Riki was already there, having apparently come downstairs to investigate the noise, and the look on his face when he caught sight of Jungwon was somewhere between sympathy and pure dread. Jake appeared from the den a second later, take-out container still in hand, taking in the scene with rapidly dawning horror. “Jongseong,” you started, “let me explain—”

“Explain what.” Jay’s head came up, and his voice cracked across the room loud enough that it didn’t matter anymore who heard it. “Explain how long this has been going on? Explain how many times I’ve asked where you were and gotten a lie back? Explain how every single person in this house apparently knew except me?” Nobody answered that. Jake’s eyes dropped to the floor. Riki’s jaw tightened. The silence itself was an answer, and Jay heard it land, his face going through something raw and furious all at once.

“You all knew.” He looked around the room, voice climbing now, no longer flat, no longer quiet. “You knew, and none of you said a word to me. I trusted every single one of you—”

“It wasn’t our secret to tell,” Heeseung said, low, the only person brave enough to say anything at all. “Don’t.” Jay’s voice cracked on the word. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me about whose secret it was. She’s my sister.” He turned back to Jungwon, and whatever had been simmering under the flat, quiet anger from upstairs finally broke loose entirely. “I had one rule. One. I told you on day one, I told you to your face, and you shook my hand on the ice an hour later and let me believe you actually meant it.”

“Jongseong, I—”

“How long.” Jay was closing the distance now, chest heaving, and Jungwon — to his credit, to the credit of the discipline that made him good at everything he did — didn’t back away from it. “How long has this been happening. Don’t lie to me again, you’ve done enough of that already.”

“Since September.” Something in Jay’s face actually broke at that, the math of it landing visibly — four months, nearly the entire season, every single practice, every single game, every locker room conversation happening underneath something he’d had no idea about — and the breaking turned immediately back into rage because rage was easier to hold than the alternative. “Four months.” He shoved Jungwon, hard, both hands flat against his chest, hard enough that Jungwon actually stumbled back a step. “Four months of you standing next to me on the ice, four months of me trusting you with line calls, with the C someday, with everything, while you—”

“Jongseong, stop—” you tried to get between them, hand on your brother’s arm, but he shook you off, not violently, just completely focused on Jungwon now, advancing again. “You don’t get to touch her.” His voice had gone rough, half-wrecked. “You don’t get to look at me every single day at practice like nothing’s wrong while you’re—”

He shoved again, and this time Jungwon’s back hit the counter, and for a second it looked like it might actually become something neither of them could walk back from — Jay’s fist closing, his whole body coiled toward throwing the punch that had clearly been building since the second he opened that door — and that was when Jake and Heeseung both moved at once, Jake’s arms locking around Jay’s middle and hauling him back bodily, Heeseung grabbing his arm, both of them talking over each other, fast, low, hey, hey, not like this, not here—

Jungwon didn’t fight back. Didn’t even raise his hands to defend himself, just stood there and took the shove, which seemed to make something in Jay even angrier — like some part of him had wanted Jungwon to fight back, needed somewhere to put all of this that wasn’t just him screaming into a room that wouldn’t push back. “GET OFF ME—” Jay wrenched against Jake’s grip, and that’s when you stepped fully between them, voice cutting through everything else in the room, loud enough and furious enough that it actually stopped him.

“Stop it. STOP. Look at me.” Your voice broke on the last word, but you didn’t back down, standing your ground directly in the space between your brother and the boy he was trying to put a fist into. “You want to be mad? Be mad at me too, then, because I made every single one of these choices right alongside him. He doesn’t get to decide who I love.” Your voice cracked again, and you let it. “And neither do you.” The room went dead silent. Even Jay, still half-restrained by Jake’s grip, stopped pulling.

“He doesn’t get to decide who I love,” you said again, quieter now, but no less furious, “and you don’t either, Jongseong. I am not a rule on your team. I’m not something you get to protect by deciding for me. I’m twenty-one years old and I fell in love with someone, and I don’t care whose name was on a list you made up three years ago.”

Jay stared at you, chest still heaving, something in his face caving in around the edges in a way the anger hadn’t managed to do yet. “You’re in love with him.” It wasn’t really a question. It came out flat, hollowed out, like he was hearing the actual shape of what he’d walked in on for the first time, underneath all the rage. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. The answer was already all over your face, and Jay saw it, and something about seeing it confirmed broke whatever had still been holding the anger together.

He went quiet. Genuinely quiet, the fight draining out of him all at once, Jake’s grip loosening because there was nothing left to restrain. He looked at Jungwon one more time — not with rage now, something worse, something flatter and more wounded. “I trusted you, Jungwon.” His voice had gone rough, almost gentle, which somehow landed harder than anything he’d shouted. “Out of everyone on this team. You.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked out, past all of them, out the front door into the night, and nobody followed him, because nobody in that room had any idea what they’d even say if they did.

The house didn’t go back to normal noise after that. It just sort of held its breath, everyone scattering into smaller, quieter clusters, nobody quite looking at you or Jungwon directly, the weight of the last five minutes still hanging thick in every room.

You found Jungwon upstairs, sitting on the edge of his bed exactly where the two of you had been studying an hour before, flashcards still scattered across the floor like nothing had happened, like the whole world hadn’t just come apart downstairs. He had his elbows on his knees, head down, and when you sat beside him he didn’t look up right away. “Hey.” You put a hand on his back, careful. “Look at me.”

When he finally did, his eyes were wet, and the sight of it — Jungwon, who never cried, who’d taken a shove to the chest downstairs without flinching — undid something in you faster than the whole fight had. “I ruined it,” he said, voice cracking. “The one thing he ever actually trusted me with. I told him I wouldn’t touch you and I — I broke it anyway, and I’d do it again, and I hate that about myself, I hate that I’m not even sorry—”

“Hey.” You pulled him into you, his head dropping against your shoulder, his arms finally coming around you like he needed something solid to hold onto. “I’m not sorry either. I can’t be sorry about you.” He cried quietly into your shoulder for a long time after that, and you just held him, neither of you saying anything else, because there wasn’t anything left to say that would fix what had just happened downstairs.

Blackwood played the semifinal four days later, and somehow, despite everything, despite a locker room that had gone quiet and brittle in a way Coach Anders clocked within the first five minutes of the first practice after, they won — 3–2, in overtime, a deflection off Jake’s stick that barely crossed the line before the horn sounded. It should have felt like the best night of the season. Instead it felt like survival. Jay hadn’t passed to Jungwon all night. Not once, not even when the lane was wide open, not even in overtime when every read on the ice screamed for it. Jungwon had noticed. The whole bench had noticed. Coach noticed most of all, and in the chaos of the locker room afterward, amid the relief and the exhaustion and the muted, uncertain celebration, he pulled both of them aside before anyone could even get their gear half off. “Park. Yang. My office. Now.”

The door clicked shut behind the three of them, and Coach Anders didn’t sit down, just stood there with his arms crossed, looking at both of them like a man who’d run out of patience an entire period ago and had only just now gotten the chance to say so. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t want the details.” His voice was level, but there was steel under it. “What I do know is that I watched my captain refuse to pass to his center for sixty minutes of playoff hockey tonight, and I watched us nearly lose a game we should have won by two goals because of it.” Neither of them said anything.

“We have the regional final in nine days. Whatever this is — and don’t tell me it’s nothing, I’ve coached long enough to know what a broken line looks like — you two figure it out. I don’t care how. I don’t care if you hate each other off the ice.” Coach’s jaw tightened. “But if you skate like that again next week, I will bench one of you myself, captain or not, and I will not lose sleep over it. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Coach,” Jungwon said, quiet. Jay didn’t answer at all. He just nodded once, jaw tight, and walked out without looking at either of them, and Jungwon stood there in the sudden quiet of the office, understanding with total clarity that the hardest part of all of this hadn’t even started yet.

The thing nobody had warned either of them about — because nobody had ever needed to before, in twenty-one years of being twins who occasionally fought and always, always talked it back out within a day — was how loud silence could actually be. Jay didn’t yell anymore after the night in the kitchen. That part, somehow, made it worse. He simply stopped. Stopped texting back. Stopped answering calls, then stopped letting them ring through at all, your name going straight to voicemail within the first week. Stopped looking at you when you were in the same room, which happened less and less because you’d quietly, painfully started avoiding the Den altogether, the one place that had felt like a second home for twenty-one years suddenly feeling like somewhere you weren’t welcome.

You tried, the first few days. Texts that got delivered but never answered. A voicemail you left, voice cracking halfway through, asking him to just call you back, just to talk, you didn’t even care if he yelled at you again as long as he said something. Nothing came back. Not a word. Not even the dismissive, irritated kind of nothing that meant he was still paying attention. Just an absence, total and deliberate, the kind that told you he’d made a decision and intended to hold it. “He’s never done this before,” you told Sunoo, one night, curled up on your dorm room floor with your phone face-down beside you because you couldn’t stand looking at the unanswered thread anymore. “Not once. Not ever. We’ve fought — God, we’ve fought about stupid stuff our whole lives, but it’s never lasted more than a day. We don’t know how to not talk to each other. I don’t know how to be a person without him answering when I call.”

“He’s hurting,” Sunoo said, careful, sitting beside you with a hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “That doesn’t make it okay that he’s doing this to you. But I don’t think this is really about punishing you. I think he genuinely doesn’t know what he’d say if he opened his mouth, so he’s choosing not to open it at all.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“I know. I’m not saying it does.”

You didn’t tell Sunoo the rest of it — how you’d started reaching for your phone out of pure instinct a dozen times a day to send Jay something stupid, a meme, a complaint about a professor, the small constant traffic of two people who’d shared a womb and then a childhood and then this whole strange, public college life, and how every single time you caught yourself doing it, the realization that you couldn’t landed like a physical thing, a small fresh cut reopening in the same spot.

Jay wasn’t unaffected. He’d never have admitted that to anyone, least of all himself, but the proof of it sat in small, private moments nobody saw — him staring at your contact in his phone some nights, thumb hovering over the call button for whole minutes before he locked the screen and set it face-down on his desk. Once, badly, at three in the morning, he’d actually started typing something — I don’t know what to say to you right now but — before deleting it letter by letter and throwing the phone across his bed instead. He told himself it wasn’t about punishing you. He told himself a lot of things that week that he didn’t fully believe.

What he couldn’t tell himself a way out of was practice. He and Jungwon were still first line. Still had to be, with the regional final nine days out and Coach having made it unmistakably clear there was no alternative on the table. So they skated together, every single day, in a silence that had nothing companionable in it at all — Jay calling line changes and breakout patterns in the flattest voice anyone had ever heard out of him, never once including Jungwon’s name in anything that wasn’t strictly necessary.

He passed to everyone else. That was the part the whole team had clocked within the first practice back, and nobody said anything about it out loud because nobody knew how to say it without making things worse. Three-on-twos where Jungwon was the better read, and Jay sent it wide instead. Breakouts where the play sheet called for a direct feed up the middle, and Jay dumped it to the boards instead, conceding possession rather than putting the puck on his center’s stick. “Jongseong, why didn’t you pass?” Coach called out, the third time it happened in one practice, his patience visibly fraying.

“Saw a better option,” Jay said, flat, already skating back to the faceoff dot. “The better option was standing in open ice on the opposite side of the rink from where you actually shot it.” Jay didn’t answer that at all. He just lined up for the next drill, jaw locked, and ran it exactly the same way again.

The only time he spoke to Jungwon directly anymore was to yell — sharp, clipped corrections mid-drill, none of the easy back-and-forth they’d built over a season of trust, just you’re late on that read or cover the weak side, that’s basic positioning delivered in a voice that had nothing left in it of the guy who’d fist-bumped Jungwon at center ice in September and said welcome to the Wolves. Jungwon took every single one of them without arguing back, jaw tight, because arguing felt like it would only confirm to Jay that he’d never deserved the trust in the first place. “He’s doing this on purpose,” Riki said quietly to Heeseung, watching from the bench as Jay sent another pass wide of an open Jungwon. “He knows exactly what he’s costing us. He doesn’t care right now. That’s how mad he still is.”

“He cares,” Heeseung said. “That’s actually the whole problem. He cares so much it’s easier to be furious than to feel any of the rest of it.”

The locker room had gone strange too, the easy noise of September curdled into something careful and over-managed, everyone monitoring their own jokes for anything that might land near the wound. Jake had tried, once, to lighten things with a comment that would’ve killed in October and instead landed in dead silence, Jay’s face shutting down entirely, and Jake hadn’t tried again since. Jungwon noticed the way the team had started, almost unconsciously, dividing its attention between the two of them — careful not to seem too friendly with him in front of Jay, careful not to seem like they were taking sides, the whole house caught in a kind of low, exhausting diplomatic tension that hadn’t existed a month ago. He hated that he’d done that to them. He hated, more than anything, the particular shape of Jay’s silence — not the screaming from that first night, which had at least been something he could push back against, but this. The total absence. The refusal to even grant him the dignity of being yelled at like he mattered enough to yell at.

He found you most nights now at your dorm rather than the Den, both of you retreating to the one space that didn’t have Jay’s silence sitting in every room of it. “He looked right through me today,” Jungwon told you, one night, staring at the ceiling instead of you, like saying it out loud while looking at something else made it easier. “Not even with anger anymore. Just — through me. Like I’m not even worth being mad at.”

“He’s mad at me too. He won’t even do me that.”

“At least he’s saying things to me. Even if it’s just to yell about a read.” Jungwon’s voice cracked slightly. “I keep thinking if I just play perfectly enough, eventually he’ll have to say something else to me. Something that isn’t a correction. And then I realize how stupid that is, because this was never actually about hockey.” You reached over and laced your fingers through his, the same gesture he always did to you, except this time it was you reaching for him, and he held on like it was the only steady thing left in his whole week. “We’re going to fix this,” you said, with more certainty than you actually felt. “I don’t know how yet. But we are.”

Neither of you believed it fully, not that week, with the regional final closing in and Jay’s silence showing no signs of cracking and the whole team holding its breath around a fracture none of them knew how to heal. But you said it anyway, because saying it out loud felt like the only thing keeping either of you from drowning in how bad it had actually gotten.

Jake snapped on a Tuesday, in the most unlikely place for it to happen — not at the Den, not somewhere private, but right there in the locker room twenty minutes before practice, with half the team already in their gear and the rest filtering in around them.

It started small. Jay said something clipped to Jungwon about positioning on the upcoming power play, the same flat, correction-only tone he’d been using for a week and a half, and Jungwon nodded along the way he always did now, jaw tight, taking it without pushing back — and something about that exact exchange, the smallness and the sadness of it, the way two guys who used to actually talk to each other had been reduced to this, finally broke whatever restraint Jake had been holding onto. “Okay, I’m done.” He said it loud enough that the whole room turned, his gear bag dropping to the floor with a thud. “I am actually done watching this.”

“Jake—” Heeseung started, already sensing where this was going. “No, shut up, I’ve been quiet for a week and a half and I’m not doing it anymore.” Jake rounded on Jay first, finger pointed, and the sight of it — Jake, who was never the serious one, never the one who got genuinely heated about anything, standing there with real fire in his face — stopped the whole room cold. “You’re acting like Jungwon committed an actual crime. He didn’t murder anyone, man, he fell in love with your sister, and I’m sorry, but that’s not the same thing, and you have been treating him like it for two weeks.”

“Jake, this isn’t—”

“It is my business, actually, because I’m watching our first line fall apart nine days before the most important game of the season, and I’m watching my captain — who I respect more than almost anyone on this team — turn into someone I genuinely don’t recognize.” Jake’s voice cracked slightly, more emotional than anyone had ever heard him. “You taught me what it means to be a captain on this team. You taught all of us. And right now you’re teaching us that the second something actually hurts, the move is to go cold and silent and pretend the person doesn’t exist. Is that the lesson? Because if it is, I don’t want it.”

He turned on Jungwon next, and his voice didn’t soften much. “And you. You’re walking around like you’re being sentenced to life in prison. Take the hit, man. You broke the rule, fine, you knew what you were doing, but you don’t get to just curl up and accept being treated like nothing either. You love her. Act like it actually means something instead of apologizing with your whole body language every single day.”

Nobody said anything for a second. Riki had gone very still by his stall. Heeseung’s eyes were on the floor. Even Sunghoon, usually unreadable, looked like he didn’t know where to put his face. Jay was the one who finally broke the silence, and his voice, when it came, didn’t have any of the cold flatness from the last week and a half in it anymore. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I like feeling like this?”

“I think you’re so far up in your own anger that you forgot we’re all still here,” Jake said, quieter now, the heat draining out into something more tired. “I think you forgot Jungwon’s not just the guy who broke your rule. He’s also the guy who’s centered your line for an entire season and made you look like the best captain this program’s ever had. Both things are true. You’re acting like only one of them is.”

Jay’s jaw worked, something complicated moving across his face, and for a long moment the whole room just watched, waiting, nobody quite breathing. “Everyone out,” Jay said finally, low. “Except him.” A nod toward Jungwon. “Give us the room.” The team filed out slowly, Jake last, clapping Jay once on the shoulder on his way past — not quite forgiveness, not quite anything, just contact, the kind two people who actually cared about each other still managed even mid-argument — and the door shut, leaving Jay and Jungwon alone in the locker room for the first time since the night everything broke.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Jay sat down heavily on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, and Jungwon stayed standing, not sure if sitting down uninvited was a privilege he still had. “Jake’s right,” Jay said finally, quiet, not looking up. “About all of it. I hate that he’s right.”

“I’m not going to pretend I didn’t break the rule,” Jungwon said. “I did. On purpose, eventually, even if it didn’t start that way. I’m not going to stand here and tell you I’m sorry about loving her, because I’m not, and I think you’d see right through it if I tried.”

“I know you’re not sorry about that part.” Jay’s voice was rough. “I think that’s actually what made it worse. If you’d looked guilty about loving her, I think I could’ve hated you clean. But you didn’t. You looked like a guy who’d do it again in a heartbeat, and I didn’t know what to do with that.”

“I would do it again. I’m sorry it cost you what it did. I’m not sorry I did it.” Jay finally looked up at that, and something raw and exhausted passed over his face. “I trusted you more than anyone on this team. That’s still true, even now. That’s what made this hurt the way it did — it wasn’t just the rule, Jungwon, it’s that I actually thought I knew you. I was already talking to Coach about making you assistant captain next year. I thought you were the one guy who’d never make me regret trusting him.”

“I know. I heard about that, after. It made everything worse, knowing that.”

“Good. It should.” But there wasn’t much heat left in it. They sat in silence for a while, the kind that had a little more give in it than the silence of the last two weeks, and finally Jay let out a long breath, something in his shoulders loosening for the first time since the night he’d opened that door. “I’m still mad,” he said. “I know.”

“I’m not gonna be okay with this overnight. I don’t know how to just turn that off.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Jungwon’s voice cracked slightly. “I just — I miss you, man. Not just as my captain. You were the first person here who actually made me feel like I belonged on this team, not just on the ice but in the house, in everything. I miss that. I know I don’t get to just ask for it back right now. I just wanted you to know I miss it.” Jay stood up slowly, and for a second neither of them moved, and then he closed the distance and pulled Jungwon into a hug — quick, a little stiff, the kind two guys give each other when they’re not sure the moment’s fully earned yet but need the contact anyway — a hard clap on the back, the kind of bro-hug that said more than either of them were ready to say out loud. “We’re not good,” Jay said, pulling back, voice rough. “I want to be really clear about that. We are not good yet.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t keep doing this on the ice. Jake’s right, I’m costing us the season out of spite, and that’s not who I want to be as a captain.” He exhaled, something almost like a laugh escaping despite everything. “God, I hate that Jake was the one who had to say all that to my face. He’s never serious about anything.”

“He was pretty serious about that.”

“Yeah. Scared the hell out of me, honestly.” Jay actually laughed then, short and surprised, like the sound had snuck out before he’d given it permission, and Jungwon found himself laughing too, the first time in two weeks either of them had laughed about anything, the sound strange and rusty but real. It faded into quiet again, but a different kind this time, something a little more bearable.

“I love your sister, man,” Jungwon said, finally, simply, no longer something he was confessing so much as just stating, plain and certain. “I know that’s the whole problem. But it’s true, and it’s not going away, and I needed you to hear it from me like that, not in the middle of a fight.” Jay was quiet for a second, looking at him steady. “Yeah,” he said, eventually, something tired and a little wrecked in his voice. “Yeah, I know.” He paused at the door on his way out, looking back at Jungwon for a long moment. “Would’ve been good,” he said, quiet, almost too quiet to catch, “having you as an actual brother. If this had all gone differently.” He left before Jungwon could answer, but the words sat warm in the room behind him, the first real crack of something other than anger in two weeks.

Jay showed up at your dorm that night after, no text first, just a knock you almost didn’t answer because you’d stopped expecting anyone good to be on the other side of your door lately. When you opened it and saw him standing there, hands in his pockets, looking exhausted in a way that went deeper than just practice, you didn’t say anything at all — just stepped back to let him in, the way you always had, the way you hoped you always would. “I’m not okay,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed, not looking at you yet. “I want to be clear about that before we do this. I’m still hurt. I’m still figuring out how to be around either of you without it costing me something.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t keep not talking to you. I tried. I’m not built for it, apparently. I kept reaching for my phone to tell you something stupid and then remembering I wasn’t allowed to, and it felt like missing a limb.” He finally looked up, and his eyes were wet, and yours were too, the two of you mirroring each other the way you always had, even now. “We’ve never gone this long without talking. I hated every single day of it.”

“Me too.” Your voice broke. “I know I hurt you. I know hiding it for four months made it so much worse than if I’d just told you. I’m sorry for that part, even if I’m not sorry for him.”

“I know.” Jay’s voice was rough. “I heard basically that same sentence from him a few hours ago. Word for word, almost.” A short, tired laugh. “You two are annoyingly aligned on this.”

“Are you going to be okay? With him? Eventually?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m working on it. He’s — “ Jay stopped, considering. “He’s a good guy. I always thought that. That’s actually most of why this hurt so much, if I’m honest. It would’ve been so much easier if he was someone I didn’t already respect.” You moved to sit beside him, and after a second, he let his head drop onto your shoulder, the same way he had a hundred times before across twenty-one years, every fight, every bad day, every moment either of you needed the only other person who’d been there from the very beginning. “We’re not okay yet,” he said quietly. “I need you to know that. This is going to take a while.”

“I know.”

“But we’re better than we were yesterday.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself lean into him, the two of you sitting there in the quiet of your dorm room, bruised and tired and still not fully mended, but closer to it than you’d been in two weeks. “We’re better.” It wasn’t fixed. Not all the way, not yet. But for the first time since that night in the kitchen, it felt like something that could actually be fixed, eventually, by two people who’d never once, in their whole lives, managed to stay broken with each other for very long.

The weeks following something in the Den shifted back toward warmth so gradually that nobody quite noticed the exact moment it happened — only that by Wednesday, Jay was sitting across from Jungwon at the kitchen table going over breakout patterns like nothing had ever broken between them, and by Friday, the two of them had fallen into an easy rhythm on the ice that made Coach Anders actually smile during a drill for the first time in three weeks. It wasn’t instant. Jay was still careful in ways he hadn’t been before — a half-second pause before he passed to Jungwon that hadn’t existed in September, a watchfulness in his eyes when you and Jungwon were in the same room that read less like suspicion now and more like a brother recalibrating, slowly, what he was allowed to feel okay about. But the silence was gone. That was the part that mattered most. He talked to Jungwon again — really talked, not just corrections barked mid-drill — and the first time Jungwon made a joke and Jay actually laughed at it, properly, the whole bench seemed to exhale at once, like the entire team had been holding its breath for weeks without realizing it.

You started coming to the Den again too, openly, without the old careful choreography of checking who was in which room first. The first time Jungwon kissed you goodbye in front of everyone — quick, easy, right there in the kitchen doorway, his hand finding your jaw the way it always did — Jay made a sound like he’d swallowed something unpleasant. “I’m gonna need a warning before you do that,” he said, not looking up from his cereal. “Some kind of system. A bell.”

“You walked in on considerably worse than a kitchen kiss, Jongseong, I think you can survive this.”

“That’s exactly my point. I have a very low tolerance left for surprises involving you two.” But there was no real heat in it anymore, just the particular, well-worn grumbling of an older brother performing discomfort he didn’t fully feel, and when Jungwon came back through twenty minutes later to grab his gear bag and kissed you again on his way out the door — bye, love you, back after lift — Jay just groaned into his cereal bowl. “Gross,” he announced, to the room generally. “Both of you. Disgusting. I’m eating.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.” But he was almost smiling when he said it, and that almost-smile told you more about how far you’d actually come than any amount of words could have.

The necklace sat against your collarbone every single day now, no longer something you had to explain away with a half-true lie about treating yourself — Jay knew exactly what it was and who’d given it to you, had asked about it directly one evening with none of the old danger in the question, just genuine, easy curiosity. He give you that? And when you’d said yes, he’d just nodded, looked at it a second longer, and said, it’s nice. He’s got good taste, in a tone that wasn’t quite forgiveness yet but was something moving steadily toward it.

The regional final was scheduled for a Saturday night, home ice, the biggest game Blackwood had hosted in four years, and the week leading into it had the specific, charged intensity that comes when an entire program understands exactly what’s at stake. Coach Anders ran practices longer and harder than he had all season, the kind of two-a-days that left everyone’s legs feeling like wet sand by Thursday, and Jay led every single one of them with a focus that had fully returned to its old, easy command, no longer fractured by anything sitting underneath it.

“This is it,” he told the team, the night before, gathered in the Den’s living room in a rare moment of total quiet, no music, no chaos, just thirty guys who’d spent a whole season building toward exactly this. “Four years I’ve waited for a shot at this. I’m not gonna stand up here and give you some big speech, because you already know what this means to all of us.” His eyes moved across the room, the way they always did, landing on Jungwon for a beat — not the wary, careful look from a few weeks ago, but something warmer, something closer to trust fully restored. “We’ve been through a lot this season. On the ice and off it. I think that actually makes us better for tomorrow, not worse. We know how to fight for each other now. Let’s go show everyone else what that looks like.”

The room broke into noise after that, the easy, electric kind, and later that night, after most of the house had gone quiet, you found Jungwon out on the back porch alone, staring out at nothing in particular, the cold air doing nothing to cut the obvious nervous energy radiating off him. “Hey.” You wrapped your arms around him from behind, chin resting between his shoulder blades. “You’re thinking too loud. I can hear it from inside.”

“Biggest game of my life tomorrow.” He turned to face you, pulling you properly into him, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “I keep running through every possible way it could go wrong.”

“It’s not going to go wrong.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually. I’ve watched you all season. I’ve watched you and Jongseong figure out how to be brothers again in like two weeks after the worst fight either of you have ever had. You two can do anything when you’re actually trying together.” You kissed him, slow, certain. “I love you. I need you to actually hear that tonight, not just as a thing I say after games. I love you, and I’m so proud of everything you’ve become this season, on the ice and off it, and tomorrow doesn’t change any of that no matter how it goes.” Something in his face went soft and open at that, all the nervous energy settling for a moment into something quieter. “I love you too,” he said, and it landed the same way it always did between you now — easy, certain, no longer something either of you had to hide in a kitchen at midnight or whisper behind a closed door. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes, how much this season’s actually been worth it because of you, even with everything that happened.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be good.”

“Yeah.” He kissed you again, lingering, the cold night air around you both finally feeling less like a threat and more like just weather. “Yeah, I think it actually will be.”

The arena on Saturday night was packed beyond anything Jungwon had played in front of all season — every seat filled, students standing in the aisles, the kind of noise that hit you physically the second you stepped out for warmups, a wall of sound that hadn’t fully let up by the time the puck dropped for the first period. You sat in your usual seat, three rows up behind the glass, except tonight you weren’t in your normal clothes — you were in his jersey, YANG stitched across the back in block lettering, his number stretched over your shoulders, and you hadn’t hidden it from a single person walking in, hadn’t thought twice about who might see. Sunoo sat beside you in a Blackwood shirt of his own, practically vibrating with nervous energy, occasionally grabbing your arm hard enough to bruise every time the play got close to either net.

The first period was tight, both teams playing tense, controlled hockey, neither side willing to make the first real mistake. Jay’s line — Jungwon centering, Jay and a senior winger flanking him — controlled most of the offensive zone time but couldn’t find the back of the net, hitting a post once that sent the whole arena into a held-breath gasp before the horn sounded for intermission still scoreless.

The second period broke the dam. Blackwood’s opponent struck first on a power play seven minutes in, a wrist shot through a screen that the goalie never saw, and the home crowd’s noise dropped into a tense, anxious murmur. You watched Jay’s face on the bench during the next shift — jaw locked, eyes scanning the ice with total focus — and when his line went back out, something in the way he and Jungwon moved together looked different than it had all season, sharper, more locked in, like the deficit had snapped something into perfect alignment between them instead of rattling it apart.

Jungwon tied it up with four minutes left in the second — a give-and-go off Jay’s stick that mirrored almost exactly the play from his very first collegiate goal back in October, except this time when he buried it, Jay was the first one to slam into him in celebration, both of them screaming something wordless into each other’s face masks, the whole bench spilling over in noise. “THAT’S MY GUY,” Jay was shouting, dragging Jungwon into a headlock that had nothing restrained about it. “THAT’S MY CENTER!” You were on your feet with the rest of the arena, Sunoo screaming directly into your ear in a way that was going to leave you half-deaf, both your hands pressed against your chest like you could physically hold your own heart in place.

The third period was the longest twenty minutes of your entire life. Both teams traded chances, the goaltending on both ends going from good to borderline miraculous, the clock ticking down with a kind of cruelty that made every single shift feel like it might be the one that decided everything. With six minutes left, Blackwood’s opponent hit the post on a breakaway that made the entire arena gasp in unison and then exhale just as loud when it rang off harmlessly. With ninety seconds left, Jay blocked a shot with his own body that had the whole bench up on its feet, limping briefly before shaking it off and getting back into position like it had cost him nothing at all.

And then, with thirty-one seconds left on the clock, it happened. Jungwon won the offensive zone faceoff clean, the puck sliding back to the point, worked low, and when it came back out to the slot it found Jay’s stick exactly where Jungwon had read it would be all night — the same instinct, the same trust, rebuilt and somehow stronger than it had been before everything broke. Jay’s shot beat the goalie clean, top corner, far side, and the horn that followed wasn’t even fully necessary because the entire arena had already exploded before the puck had finished crossing the line. 3–1. Twenty-nine seconds left. The building came apart.

The final horn sounded like the loudest thing you’d ever heard in your life, and the ice turned into total chaos within seconds — gloves and sticks flying, the entire bench pouring over the boards, players piling on top of each other near center ice in a scrum of padding and screaming and pure, uncut joy. You were over the glass and through the gate before you’d even consciously decided to move, Sunoo right behind you, security barely bothering to stop the wave of people flooding toward the ice because there was no stopping it tonight, not for this.

You found Jungwon in the chaos near the blue line, and the second he saw you coming he dropped his stick and gloves and just opened his arms, and you ran straight into them, the momentum spinning both of you in a full circle, his arms locking tight around you, lifting you half off the ice entirely. “You did it,” you were saying, half-laughing, half-crying, his face buried in your neck. “You actually did it—”

“We did it.” He pulled back just far enough to kiss you, right there in the middle of the ice, in front of the entire arena, in front of every single camera and every single person who might have once whispered about whose sister you were — none of that mattered anymore, none of it had ever mattered less. “I love you. I love you so much, you have no idea—”

“I love you too.” You kissed him again, laughing into it, both of you spinning slightly on unsteady skates and unsteady legs, the whole world around you a blur of noise and lights and bodies celebrating. Jay found you both seconds later, breathless, helmet already off, and for one suspended moment you weren’t sure what he was going to do — and then he just pulled both of you into him at once, one arm around each of your necks, dragging you both into a hug that nearly took all three of you down onto the ice. “WE WON,” he was screaming, not really to either of you specifically, just into the air, just because the feeling needed somewhere to go. “We actually won—”

He pulled back enough to look between the two of you, something in his face gone fully soft for the first time in months, no wariness left in it at all. “I’m happy for you two,” he said, breathless, genuine, loud enough that you both heard it clearly even over the noise of the whole arena. “I mean that. I’m actually happy.”

“Jongseong—”

“Don’t make this weird, I already feel weird saying it.” But he was grinning, fully, easily, pulling Jungwon into a separate hug, a real one this time, no stiffness left in it at all, clapping him hard on the back. “You’re a hell of a center, Yang. Best one this program’s had in years. Maybe ever.”

“Means a lot, coming from you.”

“It should.” Jay pulled back, studying him for a second, something decided and certain settling into his face. “I talked to Coach last week. Before tonight, actually — wanted to wait and see how things played out between us first, didn’t want it to feel like I was just handing it to you out of guilt.” He took a breath. “You’re gonna be assistant captain next year. I already told him that’s what I want. You earned it. On the ice, and — yeah. Off it too, eventually. I see that now.” Jungwon stared at him for a second, something overwhelmed moving across his face, and then he just laughed, short and disbelieving and entirely happy. “Good,” he said, simply, because there wasn’t really a bigger word that could hold everything underneath it. “Good,” Jay agreed, grinning, and pulled him into one more hug, and over his shoulder his eyes found yours, warm, settled, twenty-one years of being twins finally feeling whole again underneath all of it.

The ice stayed full of celebration for a long time after that — Jake hoisting the game puck over his head like a trophy, Riki crying openly and loudly and without a single ounce of shame about it, Sunghoon finding Sunoo at the glass and kissing him in front of the entire arena with none of his old hesitation left, Heeseung quietly recording all of it on his phone because someone, he kept saying, needed to actually remember this properly. You stood at the center of it all in Jungwon’s jersey, his arm around your shoulders, your brother laughing somewhere beside you, and let yourself feel, fully and without reservation, exactly how far all of you had come to get here — through secrets and silence and the worst fight any of you had ever had, into something that finally, finally, felt whole.

“Soon,” Jungwon murmured, against your temple, echoing the word you’d both used all season as a promise for later. “Remember when we kept saying soon?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not soon anymore.” He kissed your temple, easy, certain, home. “It’s just now. It’s just us. For real, finally, out loud, in front of everyone.”

“Yeah,” you said again, smiling so wide it ached, watching the chaos of the best night of the entire season swirl around you both. “Yeah. It really is.”

⋆。˚ lacey speaks!! that’s a wrap! thank you so much for giving this fic your time. i hope you loved these characters as much as i loved writing them. don’t forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed it—it always makes me so happy to read them. 🤍

perm taglist… @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza @simjakeyjake @heeseungdada @bbrianawhatt @onlyifusayyesxx @mintchocoddeonut @sillycactus143 @heexyzy @wonkiipiilled @sugarcwtie @alleiraa @firstclassjaylee @katalior @layxmint @xoheedeung

[peyboritaera]

Could you please pls pls do a drabble with Jealous Jungwon 🙏🙏🙏

thank you for being my first req! ur wish is my command (i apologize in advance)~

WARNING : content contains (dark) suggestive content + SMUT. read at your own risk.

miss me? , yang jungwon ⁀➴

[synopsis - inspired by fwb jungwon series!] after a fight over a “meaningless” kiss shared between you both as close childhood friends, jungwon had fled the city for a few days. coming back earlier than scheduled, he finds you unexpectedly cozy with his best friend/roommate at a party. the look on your face was disgustingly sweet— did you even miss him?

“you’re back already?” jay greeted him, clearly a little drunk from all of the beer sprawled across the table.

“mmm. i didn’t realize you were throwing another party” jungwon bent over to grab a closed bottle, “i’ll just have a drink and leave.”

the house was loud, and there were probably hundreds of people there that he couldn’t recognize by name alone. the only thing he really disliked about the parties jay threw were how disorderly they appeared. jungwon hated giving people the wrong impression. “jeez hyung,” jungwon took a sip, “who even is here?”

“everyone!” jake giggled excitedly. all of the guys looked like monsters in comparison to the magnetic, cheerful sim jaeyun. “c’mon guys… let’s go hang out with some people other than each other.” he rolled his eyes.

“i don’t want to.” sunghoon sighed, tossing a bottle into a bin. “this disgusts me. i’ll be in my room.”

“just tell ur girlfriend to come here,” riki laughed, speaking to basically no one as sunghoon disappears from eyeshot into a dark hallway.

jake tugged on jungwon’s arm. “let’s have fun pleasee. ur my last hope.” jungwon hated to admit that his puppy dog-eyes amused him a little.

“where’s heeseung hyungie?” jungwon asked, looking around the carousel of people passing by them one by one.

jake squinted to retrace his memory. “oh! i think y/n came and he wanted to keep an eye on her.”

the loud music stilled entirely in jungwon’s ear. he had been thinking about u since the moment he had left. the kiss u shared. how u both acted like nothing happened— like it didn’t matter. the fight that got in between the two of you because of it. how much he missed ur face all those days he was away.

he didn’t have any right to be mad at u for coming to the party. regardless, he was. and that feeling began to suffocate him more and more by the second.

“she’s here?” jungwon took another sip of beer, longer than all of his previous ones, surprised.

“mhm. she said hi to us then went to walk around with heeseung.” jake recognized the concerned look on jungwon’s face. “do you wanna look for her?”

even though jake never said it out loud, he knew jungwon had feelings for you. it was painfully obvious.

“she doesn’t even know i’m back.” jungwon finished the bottle, the alcohol numbing the burn he felt in his heart. “did she even ask about me?”

jake looked down and shook his head slightly. “let’s go.”

jungwon followed jake’s pull of the arm, his mind racing a mile a minute and any happiness he had carried walking in completely vanishing. honestly, if he had drank anymore he couldn’t mask the emotions he was feeling right now. she didn’t care about him, huh? why was she even here in the first place? why was she spending time with heeseung, his oldest friend? it didn’t make any sense.

again, he didn’t have any right to be angry. he knew that you both shared feelings for one another, he just couldn’t bare to face that reality now— or ever.

before he knew it he was bumping into people, but they didn’t matter. none of them had your face. your smell. your body.

his eyes felt hopeless.

“they’re down there!” jake cut through jungwon’s thoughts, pointing down under the staircase where both you and heeseung sat.

you looked beautiful. i mean you always looked beautiful but the fact that days had gone by without seeing the real you—not just instagram photos through a screen— made ur appearance even more captivating. that face which had been haunting him since the day he met you.

but then, he saw heeseung too.

your legs were sprawled on top of his on the couch. to anyone else, this would seem much, much, more than just "friendly". cute even. you were laughing at whatever bullshit he was saying, and he was touching your hair with his fingers playfully. you both shared the same red flush on ur cheeks.

jungwon recognized the look in heeseung’s eye. it wasn’t as innocent as yours. it was deliberate.

he felt like he was going to throw up.

“jungwon?” jake asked, recognizing the way his expression had darkened to an even more worrying shade than when he had initially mentioned heeseung and you.

jungwon shrugged jake off and started going down the stairs, as if his body was pulling him to u before his head could.

you still hadn’t realized he was there. did you just not care? did u forget about him? did all those years just mean nothing?

jungwon walked over to the couch, earning concerned and annoyed looks from those at the party he had pushed past.

he could clearly hear your voice now. that laugh. as if it was taunting him.

he saw heeseung touch the side of your thigh, laughing as well, just playing it off.

that was enough.

jungwon took a few strides, unmistakably making his presence known now.

“jungwon?” you looked up, the smile dropping from your face immediately.

heeseung’s hand dropped from your hair and legs as he turned his head around to face jungwon. though, he didn’t move— provoking him.

“miss me?” jungwon mocked. he was clearly angry. his eyes said it all.

“jungwonnie~” heeseung smiled, getting up off the couch to greet him. the seconds that went by felt painful. he pulled him in for a hug but jungwon’s arms stayed to his sides. “back so soon?”

you stood up too now, suddenly anxious. you hadn’t anticipated jungwon to be here. if you had known, you wouldn’t have come to begin with.

“do you wanna drink with us?” heeseung pulled away, grabbing a bottle of liquor from the table.

you recognized that look on jungwon’s face more than anything else.

he was jealous.

it made no sense. you didn’t owe him anything. you were single. you could do whatever you wanted, and it wasn’t like you and heeseung were even doing anything, right?

jungwon looked at you. why do you look so guilty? he scoffed, annoyed.

“no, i’ve had enough to drink tonight.” jungwon’s eyes met heeseung’s again. “i think i’m just gonna take y/n home.”

this angered you even further. you took a step towards them, behind heeseung. “i didn’t ask you to.” you said calmly, not satisfying his need for a reaction. jungwon wanted u bothered, right? you could push those feelings down easily...

the corner of jungwon’s lip curved up, taking your wrist in his hand. he hated the way you stood behind heeseung as if you were his instead. “you’ve clearly had enough fun.”

heeseung wanted to protest, but he didn’t. he had pushed jungwon enough for today. the look in hiss face screamed the fact that it wasn’t worth it. he wouldn’t let you go anyway. “i’ll see you tonight when your back then.” he smiled, “come again y/n”

you bit back your words as jungwon dragged you out of the party. he guided you in a way that no one even got close enough to touch you both, which only upset you more. who the hell did he think he was? your dad?

after walking far enough outside from everyone the frustration began to spill out of u.

“what was that?”

“jungwon?” you pulled on your wrist but he wouldn’t budge, “let go of me.”

he didn’t say a word, even refusing to look at you as he opened the passenger door to his car.

“are you fucking serious? why are you treating me like a child?” your wrist was hurting now from all the pulling, and a lump began to form in your throat.

he pulled you into the car and shut the door as if u weighed nothing, getting into the driver’s seat without another word. he started the car and began to drive.

the audacity horrified you.

“what the fuck is wrong with you? why did you do that? it’s barely 11 o clock and your forcing me to go home?”

your voice rang in his ears but he didn’t stop. irritation continued to build more and more inside of him.

“you have no right.”

jungwon looked at you then, then looked back at the road. just a few more minutes

“did you hear me? jungwon?” your throat started to burn now. “you’re being so fucking immature. it’s one party. it’s not like i’m too drunk to function.”

jungwon pulled into the driveway of your dorm, parking silently. he turned towards you, your eyes never meeting, and unbuckled your seatbelt.

“don’t touch me.” you said quickly, furthering yourself from him. you got out of the car and began to walk, hearing him shut the car doors and follow you.

were you losing it or something? was tonight a dream? this wasn’t playful banter anymore.

no, that kiss had made everything real now.

“can you fucking say something?” you turned around again after jungwon had locked the door behind him.

he faced you now, his eyes finally meeting yours. god, why did he look like that? so perfect, so tired, so angry.

jungwon took a step towards you, “why were you there tonight?” his voice was low, but sure of itself nonetheless. ur heart beat faster.

“i wanted to go. why does it matter?” he was in front of you now, so you were practically forced to look up at him. you despised how much power he had over you at this moment, regretting the drinks u had and how weak you were in comparison.

“don’t be like that.” jungwon said, stern. “we argue, i leave, and you’re there. at my fucking house with my fucking friend like you don’t care at all? what would everyone there think? what the fuck am i supposed to think?”

your eyes widened. what? you were the bad guy now?

“you have no right to be upset.”

jungwon held onto the side of your shoulder, his fingers dripping with possession. “i have every right. i just spent the past few days driving myself crazy over the thought of you. alone. all by myself.” your heart squeezed, beating with an even more rapid pace now. “while you were here, in seoul— with him. showing off like you both are in some kind of sick relationship. if i’m not around that’s just how u act? huh?”

you scoffed. “how i act? we had a drink jungwon. that’s it. god, you weren’t even supposed to be there.”

his brows furrowed even deeper, getting angrier by the minute. “are you fucking serious? so how far would things have gone if i wasn’t there?”

you turned your head bitterly, not even daring to look at him.

“you were all fucking over him, y/n. laughing.” jungwon took your face in his hands forcing u to look up at him again. “do i really mean that little to you?”

the words hit you harshly. how could he say that? did he know how much you missed him these few days? you couldn’t get the fight out of ur head. was it seriously all just your fault?

“we’re friends, jungwon.” you ignored the thoughts and tried to pull out of his grasp but it was no use.

“and heeseung?” he looked for a response in your face but ur expression remained blank. “do you have feelings for him?”

“you’re being ridiculous.” you struggled. “let go of me.”

“i won’t. you’re just gonna run to someone else instead, right?” jungwon held onto you a little tighter. “he’s good looking huh?” jealousy consumed him. “tell me the truth right now. do you have feelings for him?”

you couldn’t move anymore, completely defeated.

“do you even know the way you make me feel?” jungwon asked, breathlessly looking into you. your stomach fluttered. “i don’t wanna see you with him. i don’t want to see you with anyone.”

his arms were too strong. the black tank top he was wearing showcased it— along with his delicate skin and masculine figure. you were practically melting into him.

“it makes me sick.” jungwon closed his eyes for one long pause. his emotions were obviously more than just pure jealousy, and that overwhelmed him. this unfamiliar feeling was way too much. and the worst part was that he couldn’t even find the words to express it.

“jungwon..” you said softly, the guilt rushing in.

“do you know how much i thought of you while i was gone? do you know how bad i felt? i kept looking at your pictures. i knew i didn’t even deserve to text you so i didn’t, y/n.” jungwon’s grip softened. “i missed you so much. but u just don’t care.”

he looked so beautiful.

“i can’t even think about anything or anyone else. i hate this.”

“jungwon.” you brought your hand to his face, his bangs flowing lightly above his eyes. you loved him like this. so raw, so frantic. “i’m sorry..”

a spark of hope flashed across his face. “tell me you don’t like him,” he breathed out. “tell me you only want me.”

you were completely and utterly dazed. it was as if he was hypnotizing you with his pleading.

“i don’t want him..” you gasped, “just you, wonnie—”

you were silenced by his mouth crashing onto yours. his hands found your hips, gripping them tightly and pressing your body against his own. he kissed you hungrily, as if he needed you in order to breathe. rough and messy. you both stumbled towards the bedroom in a frenzy.

your fingers found his hair as he laid you down on the bed, pressing each other’s faces even closer. you could taste the beer on his breath, and the resentment on his lips.

he got rougher as the minutes went by; his fingers seeping deeper into your skin and his tongue getting deeper in your mouth. this felt entirely different than the first time you had kissed.

it felt desperate.

he tugged on your skirt, harshly brushing the side of your leg that heeseung had touched. that feeling of anger still seethed within him. he broke the kiss and moved onto your neck, recklessly leaving bruises as you struggled to bite back your moans.

“jungwon..” you begged.

he didn’t stop, and you could feel your neck getting covered by hickeys as he moved faster. you pulled on his hair again, attempting to numb the pain.

this was wrong. so wrong. you both aren’t meant to have each other this way. it was the one rule that clouded both of ur minds all these years.

and as the minutes went by, it was going way too far.

he began to lift your tank top, your stomach showing. he looked up at you, meeting your eyes once again. you were too tempting. any sense of rationality he had flew out the window the second he saw you with him.

“tell me you missed me..” he sucked on the skin of your stomach now, teasing. “you’re so beautiful..”

you bit your lip in response. it was too much.

“you’re mine y/n.” you could already see the bruises forming on your stomach as he tugged on your skirt again, this time pulling it off.

he could see the damp cloth in between your legs, blood pumping through him vigorously as well. he couldn’t even think straight anymore, pulling his sweats down in response.

“i missed you jungwon..” you looked down at him, his hands pinning yours down. “i’m yours.”

your submission caused him to groan— loudly. you were always so bratty. so bossy. so frustrating. it was maddening that he had to have you like this for you to finally listen to him,

though jungwon wasn’t exactly complaining.

he moved up to kiss you again, his hardness pressing up against ur sensitive core, sending a shiver down the spine. was this really happening?

you moved your hands to press up against him but he just took them again, interlocking your fingers and holding them against the bedsheets. jungwon drove his hips into u causing a moan to escape from him, breaking the kiss briefly. he kissed you again, grinding rapidly like an animal. the moans were suffocated by kissing, and the feeling was quickly becoming exorbitant.

“don’t touch anyone else…” he breathed out in between kisses. “not when i make you feel this good.”

the words quivered out of his throat, and he himself felt as though he was getting too close.

“please-” he breathed out a little, shuddering. "i touched myself thinking of you the entire time i was gone..."

you gripped his hair again. all you wanted to do was make him feel good.

u reached down to your underwear and began to pull them off when a hand stopped you. “y/n…” jungwon looked you in the eyes. “if you do that i won’t be able to stop.”

a small smile tugged at your mouth before you kissed him again.

you looked so perfect. all bruised up. all his.

he pushed your underwear to the side, brushing his fingers against your folds causing you to gasp a little. forcing himself to hold back, jungwon’s moans overpowered yours nevertheless.

he kissed you softly as he slid a finger inside of you, the tightness causing you both to gasp. he had been enjoying this even more than u did, clenching around him— completely lost.

jungwon rubbed your clit, causing u to stop kissing back and bite your bottom lip instead. you were so sore it hurt, but the feeling of release undeniably kept building inside of u.

frustrated, he moves his finger even deeper inside, getting rougher. “i want to hear your voice, please…” he begs pathetically, grinding his hips up against the mattress to get any sense of relief.

you blink hard, breathing loudly as he adds another finger inside, causing you to moan into his ear. so responsive. he smiles a bit, moving inside of u. he felt that u were close. “jungwon!” you pushed his shoulders a little but it was so use.

“you can’t take it?” he asks, taking your lips in his mouth once again.

“let me make you feel good..” you breathe out, “wonnie please.”

he doesn’t object. he physically couldn’t. he was even close to pathetically cumming untouched against the bed.

jungwon’s fingers slid out of you softly. he brought them up to his face and then into his mouth, looking at you as he licked them clean. ur eyes widen at the dirty motion, speechless at how the boy you met as little kid could act this way in front of you now.

he pulled down his underwear with his free hand, kissing you again so you could taste yourself on his mouth. feeling how hard he was fully bare now, a gasp escapes your lips.

honestly the pure thought of this had always terrified you. and you had thought about it—with jungwon specifically—a lot.

he couldn’t wait anymore, bringing his hands down to himself, rubbing it against your wet folds roughly. pre-cum dripped from him, and just thinking about having sex with u was bound to make him cum at any moment now.

he kissed you again, slower this time, and he pressed up against your entrance.

“i love you, y/n..” he whispers, moaning the second he pushes inside of you.

you couldn’t even speak anymore, choking at how both painful and pleasurable this indescribable feeling was.

you felt so tight around him that he rolled his eyes back, attempting to hold onto the mattress as much as he could so he wouldn’t hurt you. he moaned louder as he moved in and out of you, mindlessly moving his body now.

hearing jungwon’s noises only made you closer. and he could feel you clench around him. “y/n…” he went faster, “am i doing good?”

you clenched your fists, causing him to take your hands himself. you nodded rapidly, unable to speak. jungwon covered your eyes with his free hand, going all the way inside of you.

you pant loudly, the confusion building in your core. “shhh,” he yelps. “you’re all mine. no one else can have you like this, right y/n? i love you. you make me feel so— f-fucking good..”

his words are too much and you completely let go. the feeling of u tightening around him forces jungwon to come undone as well, deafening moans filling the empty room. he loves hearing you so much. ill do this forever from now on...

jungwon couldn’t help but beam with pride looking down at you. bruises from his lips and touch, his cum endlessly dripping out of you.

you were all fucking his— no matter what.

general: @ladysplained @simplyangelixa @simjaeyunslut @moontmoochi @whoisovee @lhazlhuo @tttggghhh @yuristhend

notes: guys im not exaggerating when I say it took me soooo long to write this even tho the editing and storyline is a bit rough😓. this is my first request so I apologize if it wasn't exactly what u wanted length/material wise. i was literally studying tiktoks, content, his lives, etc. to really evoke jealous jungwon since i love that side of him so much. my content is a bit dark so it was hard to mix the two feelings which is why its a bit confusing lol. im not super happy with it cuz its kind of a mess but i hope u guys enjoy this and ty ty to this anon for requesting! (side note: did anyone notice lost promises sunghoon make a cameo hehehe)

[haehihee]

𝒜𝓈 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒...★

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: idolbf!jungwon x gf!reader

𝒾𝓃𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽: jungwon possessiveness keeps growing even as he tries to cover for it, until it snaps.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈: jealousy; i found it a bit toxic in the pre-final scene; possessiveness, language..

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[heedisk]

cw: dead dove do not eat. taboo themes , incest , olderbrother!jungwon , dryhumping , voyeurism , praise kink , they are both legal just lots of infantilization , slight coercion , size difference , slight degradation , #justthetip except jungwon straight up lies , jungwon biggest damn perv out there , ends abruptly but ending is up to you! , NO USE OF AI.

an: hihihi thanks for all the love on my first post🥹 THIS IS SO SHORT and gross… i am finishing up the other evan fic im writing and that one is so much longer so it’s taking forever but it will be worth i swear :p

olderbrother!jungwon who quietly dragged you into the dark pantry and whispering “wanna help wonnie again, baby?” you noticed jungwon left a small crack in the door, you seeing a glimpse of your parents in the dining room. either way, you nodded. you wanted to be the best little sister for your older brother! “now… wonnie needs you to be really quiet, princess. our parents are right outside the door and if they hear you, i can get in big trouble… and we don’t want that right?” jungwon’s large hands were on your tiny hips, slowly rubbing up and down on the dips. his were lips pressed into a kiss against the back of your head as you nodded again. jungwon hummed in satisfaction. “mm, good girl. doing so well already.”

olderbrother!jungwon who’s bulge was pressed against your back as he made you lean back to touch your small tits. “oh princess… they’ve gotten much bigger since last time, yeah?” jungwon slowly kneaded your breasts while he thrusted his hips upwards onto your clothed bottom. he slid his hands back down to your hips. his grip was firm, but not too rough. “so warm for me, i bet it’s so wet and tight too. wonnie wishes he could fuck you here, but he can’t yet… too risky.” you heard the sad pout in his voice, but you can tell he didn’t falter. “you can let wonnie take your panties off today, right? please? your brother really needs this…” jungwon slid your small panties off and tossed them somewhere it didn’t matter. “remember what i wonnie said about being quiet baby. you don’t wanna get in trouble, hm? i’ll cover your mouth if i have to.”

olderbrother!jungwon who’s hand is covering your small face while he thrusts into the middle of your wet thighs. “oh that’s it baby, just like how i taught you.” your cunt is warm and slick against his bare cock— it making filthy sounds every time jungwon thrusts. you look through the small crack in the door. your parents are engaged in conversation about something you can’t even comprehend because of what you’re doing with jungwon. the thought of your parents being outside the door and can easily hear and see you making your head dizzy. jungwon notices your gaze on them. “you like knowing that they’re out there, princess? imagine if they saw me fucking into your cunt, hm? you’d like that, don’t you? i knew you would, that’s why i brought you here. my baby is so gross. little head of yours needs to be fixed”

olderbrother!jungwon who really does love his sister so much. “my beautiful girl. wonnie loves you so much, you know? cmon and let wonnie put the tip in… just a little. wonnie won’t spill inside, i promise.” jungwon aligns his tip with your small hole and pushes in slightly. your eyes roll back at the unfamiliar feeling. “that’s it, my good girl. f-fuck… thank you baby. only the tip, wonnie promises.” jungwon lies straight through his teeth and smiles to himself. “you feel just like how i imagined. shit, y-you’re milking me, sweetheart. cmon just the tip, oh fuck…” jungwon pushes in a little deeper, despite all his promises. “almost ready to take my whole cock, aren’t you? next time you’re gonna take it all. every single inch.” jungwon’s head is dizzy from the feeling of your gummy walls clenching with every thrust. he’s so close to climax— of course he doesn’t wanna hurt his girl, but he can’t help himself, and you know it too. “gonna cum, princess. wonnie’s trying not to be so rough but he—he really wants this y’know? fuck— oh fuck… wonnie might cum inside baby… wonnie’s so sorry…”

[404sheepnotfound]

Baby, That's Mine - Yang Jungwon

PART I

୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.

୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader

୨ৎ Wordcount : 6,5k

୨ৎ Warning : aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.

Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.

The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.

The apartment was supposed to be empty.

You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home. 

You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it 

Then it did. Your best friend.

You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears. 

The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound. 

Two years of engagement, gone.

Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday. 

You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.

You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.

"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.

"Too short."

"Too noticeable."

You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.

You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose.  You left the engagement ring where it was.

After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.  

.

.

.

Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.

Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about. 

He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why. 

The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.

A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.

He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet. 

She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.

"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.

"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.

"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"

"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.

"How long," he said again.

She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."

"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"

"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."

She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.

"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."

"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"

"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."

"Jungwon…"

"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.

"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"

He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her.  Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.

"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”

"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"

He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."

He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.

He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.

He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.

He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.

.

.

.

The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.

By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away.  You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.

He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger. 

That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.

His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.

You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.

"You look like you got dumped."

The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.

He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You still have your ring on," he said softly.

You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.

"I forgot to take it off."

It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.

"You look like you got dumped too."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I did."

He gave a slow nod.

"So did I."

The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.

He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"

You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."

Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."

The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.

"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."

You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.

He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome. 

He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.

"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.

He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.

Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away. 

The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.

Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.

"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.

He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.

Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.

He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.

"Look at me," he murmured.

You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.

The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.

"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.

You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.

You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.

As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.

.

.

.

A month passed by.

Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.

You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.

All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever. 

Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.

You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date. 

You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.

This was not normal.

Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched. 

"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been. 

It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere. 

You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you. 

One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning.  Anything.  All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.

By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew. 

You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.

As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.

Two lines. Then two more.

You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do.  The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"No..."

The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.

You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else. 

There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again.  You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.

You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.

A baby.

The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.

You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.

You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know. 

You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.

You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.

It didn't come.

Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.

You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.

Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.

You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.

A slow breath escaped you.

"I don't need him."

The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.

"I don't."

You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.

You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.

For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.

But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.

"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

"It's you and me now."

The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet,  somehow, they were enough.

.

.

.

The dream came to him three nights in a row.  Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.

In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch. 

He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.

He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.

"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."

Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"

"Yeah."

"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"

Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"

"It's a dream about fruit?"

Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to. 

"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."

Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing.  Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."

"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."

"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"

Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.

He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.

"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."

Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."

Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days.  A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.

.

.

.

The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.

A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.

You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.

You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind. 

We're not together.

If they pressed further, then—

I'd rather not discuss it.

Simple.

"Y/L/N?"

A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.

"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.

You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.

Then the door opened.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"

The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.

You looked up. And your whole body went cold.

He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.

The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.

Yang Jungwon.

Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.

"...You?"

It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.

You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.

Neither of you said anything. 

His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.

"...Is the baby mine?"

[sundives]

The world called us ✶ yjw.

Summary: Your relationship with Jungwon comes in hotel rooms and behind closed doors, where it's just the two of you who love each other with much tenderness. While in the outside world, the two of you are destined to be rivals due to your family's long-term rivalry when it comes to being the top corporation in your country. But when secrets are starting to spill, and meet-ups are getting harder to do so; you and Jungwon must face the world and prove that what you two have is real.

Sixth installment of Big reputations series.

✰ Song inspirations: Dancing with our hands tied by Taylor swift, Born to die by Lana del rey, Out of the woods by Taylor swift

✰ Word count: 19.6k

✰ Tags: CEO au, forced rivals au, secret relationships, established relationships, aged-up characters (they’re in their mid-twenties,) kinda star-crossed lovers, ceo! Yang jungwon, ceo! Reader, fluff, angst, misunderstandings, reader has some deep trust issues, they’re just so madly, deeply in love with each other, betrayal, family drama, minor violence somewhere, scandals. Mentions of kpop idols.

✰ CW: plot with porn, p in v sex, softdom! Jungwon, riding, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (lol no pls), cumming inside, praise, kinda public sex (restroom), fingering, petnames. I might miss a lot of tags lol but this is just pure filth lol idk shitty smut ig???

✰ Asul's note: we’re down to the second to the last story of the series!!! I hope you’d enjoy this one because I had a hard time writing this one. Also eyeballed everything so inaccuracies ahead, don't ask if i did research, i'm just here for the relationship with conflict trope lol. not proofread by the way.

✰ Series taglist: @kyutiepeachy @rosepetals09 @toastmenace @k1ttyjwon @kikidoul @brokenengene @tatikeu @ddeondalandan @ellyre @addictedtohobi @fancypeacepersona @heeseungsgf26 @axfyl @dollvtte @saraabbas @meloncholatte @andieekosmos @soltyshshs

-

Yang Jungwon entered the hotel lobby as if he owned the place.

He had his head held high while his posture stood proud. Everyone’s eyes were on him, every single one inside the lobby was awed by his visuals and presence but Jungwon remained unbothered. He approached the receptionist casually before giving her a smile — flirty and dimpled that the receptionist fawned immediately.

“Good afternoon Mr. Yang, the suite’s waiting for you, Mr. Kim had informed me about your last-minute booking, and I assure you that you’d get your usual room,” she said brightly before handing the keycard to Jungwon as she fluttered her eyelashes.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Ahn, it’s nice to see you here,” Jungwon said with a wink, making the woman giggle shyly.

“You’re too kind, enjoy your stay Mr. Yang,” with that, Jungwon gave her a wave one last time before going towards the elevator hall.

The man pressed the button and patiently waited for the elevator to go down. The hall wasn’t crowded compared to the lobby. There were a few people around but it was enough for Jungwon to be discreet, even clearing his throat as he brushed the stray dust on his coat. 

Suddenly, his ears caught the gentle footsteps approaching him. That’s when he felt his heart stopping and breath hitching. Jungwon glanced at his watch as if he was looking at his watch, pretending that he’s not bothered by the person who stood beside him.

“Oh, Mr. Yang, it's a pleasure to see you here,” but all his act melted the moment he heard your voice. His smile formed unknowingly as Jungwon could feel his cheeks heating up and heart racing rapidly before he turned to his left casually with a gentle smile.

As his eyes met yours, his smile became wider along with his dimples that turned deep. Too lovestruck to notice all this sudden shift. “Ms. l/n, it’s nice to see you too. Here for a meeting?” 

Your lips pursed before a small chuckle left your lips, “yes, apparently. A very important person I must say. How about you?” you lied casually as you fiddle the keycard around your hands. 

“Same here with me.” And just in time, the elevator rang and opened. Both you and Jungwon entered the elevator without a word. Then, the door closed in an instant and you pressed the highest floor button.

Jungwon didn’t say anything. He turned his head towards you who cleared her throat before looking in the opposite direction while the elevator slowly went up. The silence was tense, quiet yet suffocating. Your heart was pounding loudly as you could feel Jungwon’s eyes never leaving you. You closed your eyes, attempting to relax when you felt someone standing too close on your side.

“You’re too near, Mr. Yang,” you muttered under your breath.

“It’s just the two of us here, Ms. l/n,” a gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hands trailing on your waist until it reached the curve of your butt, giving it a squeeze and two.

“Pervert,” you mumbled before slapping his hands away, making Jungwon laugh before he leaned against the wall. 

“This elevator’s too slow,” Jungwon said, eyeing the screen where every second, the elevator’s slowly going up. 

“You’re an impatient man.”

“Of course I am,” and before you could react, Jungwon had pushed against the wall, trapping you in between his arms before he leaned on for a kiss.

You kissed him back without any thoughts, giggling against his lips like it’s the most natural thing you could do. His soft, lustrous lips tasted like peach, sweet and addictive that you couldn’t help but to bite his lower lips, receiving a groan from him who despite that, smirked at your move.

The elevator suddenly felt hotter as you two continued making out recklessly, not caring about the cameras recording your scandalous act as you two seemed to be in your own world until the ride stopped and Jungwon broke away from the kiss.

“We’re here,” he whispered before he pulled you out of the elevator. You didn’t complain anymore but instead, the smile on your lips became wider, letting your lover lead the way to his hotel room. 

As soon as the doors have locked and it’s just the two of you inside, Jungwon’s lips crashed onto yours once again — eager and hungry before he started to undress himself, without breaking the kiss.

You did the same with yours. Unbuttoning your blouse with haste, removing your ponytail and letting your hair fall down before you held onto Jungwon’s shoulders, never leaving his mouth as both clothes started to fall to the floor.

“I miss you,” Jungwon said in between, making you stop and chuckle as you stared at him fondly.

“We saw each other last week,” you pointed out before a small yelp escaped your lips when Jungwon carried you towards the huge, soft bed of the suite.

Placing you down gently, your heart was filled with anticipation as your lover crawled over you. His lips were stained with your lipstick, while his hair was all over the place as he stared at you like a predator — far from the sophisticated and well-respected Yang Jungwon, currently chief executive officer of the Eden group of companies.

That same goes to you who’s left with nothing but her undergarments, hair sprawled at the soft, cotton duvet as your eyes were only gazing on the person on top of you.

“Well, it couldn’t help when I miss you, so fucking much,” Jungwon admitted as his hands traveled at the soft plush of your stomach downwards the waistband of your stockings and panties, making him smirk.

“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” you asked, almost breathless yet adrenaline rushed as you could feel Jungwon fidget with the tight cloth on your thighs.

“You know me damn well, sweetheart,” Jungwon answered teasingly before he tore your stockings using his bare hands.

A small moan escaped your lips as Jungwon started planting kisses on your exposed skin, slow and careful as his lips worshipped your thighs until he stopped in front of your cunt. He glanced at you for a second and immediately, you nodded, giving him the signal to push your panties aside and leave you bare in front of him.

The last thing you heard was a curse coming out of Jungwon’s lips before he started ruining you, making you melt under his touch as he tasted every skin and slick on your wet cunt. The room was filled with nothing but the sultry moans escaping on your lips while Jungwon continued to devour your pussy like it was his last meal on earth.

“Fuck — Jungwon,” you mewled, grabbing a fistful of his hair while Jungwon focused on your clit, sucking the bud before inserting a finger inside your cunt. The sudden sensation felt overwhelming that your back arched naturally simultaneously moaning your lover’s name out loud.

“Fuck, say my name again,” Jungwon ordered and you complied. You screamed his name loud and clear. Repeating it numerous times like a mantra, knowing damn well that the walls of the suite were thick and soundproof that only you and Jungwon could hear how he makes you writhe under his tongue.

Because only you and Jungwon could know what’s happening inside the suite. It’s only the two of you who know the bliss of your skins making contact with each other, filled with warmth, and pleasure that’s too addictive yet forbidden.

Your relationship with Jungwon has always been like this — and it should stay this way. In hotel rooms and hushed conversations. Secret, hidden, wherein it’s just the two of you and no one should know. Of course, no one should know because you two are destined to be enemies in the first place.

Call yourselves modern-day Romeo and Juliet, but your families have had a constant rivalry ever since both companies were established. Everything comes down to money, connections, and power — and most of all, pride. It became a competition turned into rivalry. It wasn’t just a friendly rivalry, it involved political movement, scandals, and even dirty schemes. This on-going dispute has been passed down by generations until it reaches you and Jungwon.

Unlike in Shakespeare's play, you and Jungwon weren’t young and stupid when you both unknowingly fell in love with each other. The love story began in a simple way — college. It always feels nostalgic to think about it. You and Jungwon were classmates in a lot of course subjects given that both of you have the same college program. 

Then, it came — getting assigned together for a project. It seemed like destiny was making a way for you two to talk to each other.

You two had your walls high at first but as time passed-by, you realised that the only son of the Yang family wasn’t a cocky bastard who has narcissistic tendencies, and Jungwon realized that the Kingsmark heiress wasn’t a spoiled brat who’s a perfectionist that it’s sickening. First impressions got out of the way and friendship bloomed from there. 

But somewhere in your friendship, something grew deeper — something forbidden yet, irresistible.  It made you scared at first, knowing that you fell for an enemy out of all the people you could love. Still, despite your fear, you couldn’t ignore it especially when it’s Jungwon who could only make you feel that way. 

That’s why you confessed. You took the risk to tell your feelings to your supposed mortal enemy and to your luck, Jungwon reciprocated your love naturally. Just like you, Jungwon, unknowingly fell for you too. He didn’t expect it nor tried to deny it. For the man, it just happened, and he couldn’t do anything about it except to accept it.

Love sparked that day and ever since then, you risk your life just to meet up with Jungwon — and so did he.

Late-night sneak-outs, wearing covers while out on a date, the hotel room meetups, and hushed conversations during public events. You didn’t hate the setup, you just got used to it, knowing that it’s impossible for you and Jungwon to be together in public.

You lost track of how long your relationship with Jungwon has been going on. All you know was that it has become a part of your routine to meet him, one way or another, and as long as Jungwon’s not giving up on you, you’re not going to give up on him either.

As cliche as it may sound, no one knows you better than Jungwon. He had memorized every inch of you, knew your deepest secrets and fears that even your family doesn’t have a single clue about. He was your secret, and yet, it never felt like just a secret.

Jungwon — you may consider him as your home too. 

Because the moment he kissed you, soft and gentle, held you careful and light like you were made of porcelain glass, you’re convinced that no one could ever care and love you like he would. 

“You’re with me?” Jungwon asked, seeing you quiet and in daze after your love making. Both naked under the sheets, the time seemed to have passed by so quickly that it’s already late at night. You’ve lost track of the amount of times you two did it, and yet, the euphoric feeling still lingered on your body.

“Just tired,” you answered and you heard Jungwon’s soft chuckle before he kissed your forehead.

“Did I tire you out?”

You chuckled at his question, “You’re a monster in bed, Yang Jungwon.”

“Couldn’t help it when it’s you who I am fucking good.” he teased back.

An exchange of laughter escaped both of you before you pulled him close to you. Jungwon hovered over you as your lips locked into each other once again, deep, senseless as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“Again?” he whispered and that made you let out a sigh in relief.

“Again,” you answered with a smile before you pushed him down to the mattress and straddled against his lap.

“Thought I tired you out?” he teased before smacking your bare ass. You flinched at the pain and yet the impact only made your core wetter than as at the same time, you could feel Jungwon’s semi-hard cock against your cunt. 

“I thought so too,” you said breathless as you started grinding against his cock, making it hard and wet with your slick. Breathy moans started escaping your lips due to the sensation, rocking your body harder and more eager.

Jungwon watched as you lifted your hips before aligning your entrance on the fat head of his cock. Sucking your breath in, you slowly sink down, feeling your cunt getting stretched wide by just the sheer size of Jungwon’s cock. 

Sitting all the way down, you could feel your pussy full to the end. Taking deep breaths, your hands landed on Jungwon’s stomach for balance, moving your hips closely while your lover watched you shift on his lap, amused at how you didn’t hurry yourself immediately but instead, find time to adjust at his size, moving slow rolls and grinds around his cock.

“Go on baby, you’re doing good,” Jungwon said as his hands traveled on your waist, guiding you to roll around his cock. His eyes never left yours who had her head thrown back, breathy whines leaving your lips as you started moving faster. 

From your rolls and grinds, you lifted your hips and started bouncing on his cock. Finding your pace, you move more hastily and sloppily as you could hear the wet slap on your skin against Jungwon’s hips.

It urged you more to sink into him deeper, wanton moans started escaping your lips as you bounced on his cock harder. It didn’t help that your lover’s hold on you tightened, even helping you ram yourself on his cock.

“Jungwon —” you called his name again, a more eager plea as your body moved on its own. Fucking yourself on his cock continuously, you find yourself drowsy at the high of the act. It’s becoming too addictive that your body moves on its own. Your pace becomes faster, more rushed as you’re chasing after that high that comes within.

“Keep going baby — fuck! Look at you, is my cock fucking you good?” he teased and you nodded frantically. His words pushed you further, the feeling of his cock splitting your walls apart was too hard to ignore — especially when you could feel something churning inside your stomach.

Jungwon could feel your pussy tightening against the cock, that’s when his grip tightened, fingers digging on your soft skin, making you mewl in pain and yet, you didn’t stop bouncing on his cock like a whore.

“I’m gonna — c-cum —” you said, almost inaudible as your fingers made scratches around his stomach, making his pale skin red as you drowned yourself in the sensation. 

“Look at me baby, want to see you fall apart,” your glassy eyes met his sharp ones. A sultry sigh escaped your lips before you leaned downwards Jungwon for a kiss. Your hands got a hold of his face, squeezing it tightly as your lips battled against each other. Messy and wet kisses splattered around your mouth as Jungwon slides his tongue inside yours, earning a choked moan from you.

You broke out of the kiss first, focusing on your hips as your orgasm slowly built up and in a snap, your orgasm came along with pussy clamping around Jungwon. You came in silence, fingernails scratching Jungwon’s chest as your hips continued moving on its own, grinding against your lover’s hard, twitching cock.

That’s when a series of breathy groans started to leave Jungwon’s mouth. You knew that he was on the edge, hence, you started moving further, despite still being sensitive from your first orgasm, you ignored how you spasmed at every grind you made, because all you could think of was to make Jungwon come. 

“Baby —”

“You’re near right? Want to see you cum baby — hngh — you look so pretty laying down there for me,” you moaned as your nails pressed further down on his skin. Finding balance on his sturdy chest while you continued your movement.

“Ruin me baby, want to see my girl make me cum —” in a loud, guttural groan, Jungwon reaches his high, snapping his hips upwards as he releases his load inside you, filthy, thick, and hot spurts of cum fill you enough to be satisfied by it. You bite your lips at the warmth, rolling your hips slowly around him as you continue to milk your lover’s cock dry.

The room fell into silence. You find yourself weary before you remove yourself from Jungwon, laying next to him who seemed exhausted from the act.

“Are you hungry?” he asked out of nowhere. Arms wrapped around you as he pulled you close.

You shook your head as answer, eyes closed as you snuggle yourself on his chest, letting your body be dirty and sweaty for a moment as you leaned closer to Jungwon.

“I love you,” Jungwon blurted out of nowhere.

You hummed, opening your eyes to look at him. “I love you too.” you kissed him once again, and Jungwon responded without any thoughts. This time, the kiss was slow, gentle, and just an act of pure love for each other.

But your sweet moment was interrupted by a loud knock on the door — separating you two in a second. The two of you glanced at the direction before a series of knock echoed inside. That’s when Jungwon stood up and grabbed the folded robe nearby.

“It’s just probably Sunoo,” Jungwon said as he clothed himself and went towards the door. He looked at the door viewer for a second and from the tiny gap, Jungwon let out a deep chuckle before opening the door, revealing a man who seemed unpleasant with the situation.

“I need to talk to the two of you,” Sunoo started, arms crossed as he stared at his best friend who seemed to be still in a post-nut clarity. 

“Wanna join us?” Jungwon jokingly suggested but he was only met with a disgusted stare by his best friend. Sunoo walked strutted inside the suite, not caring about you who’s nude under the sheet and directly went towards the table, took the champagne bottle, opened it, and without any hesitation, drank straight from the bottle.

“Hey, that’s under my tab,” Jungwon complained but Sunoo continued drinking, almost finishing it halfway before placing it back. You only watched in amusement at their banters while you lay lazily on the bed.

“I really appreciate that you guys have become my patron here but this is getting suspicious,” Sunoo lectured. 

Contrary to the belief that no one knows about your secret relationship. There’s only one person who you and Jungwon had trusted with the secret, and that was Kim Sunoo, Jungwon’s childhood friend who happens to own the hotel building that became your escape.

“We’re being discreet,” you stated, but Sunoo wasn’t convinced.

“Right, making out in the elevator is fucking discreet,” Sunoo sarcastically commented. “What I’m trying to say is, auntie’s getting suspicious, Jungwon.”

By the mention of his mother, Jungwon’s teasing smile faded. He turned serious as he stood next to Sunoo, arms crossed.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s here, looking for you,” Sunoo answered, and your eyes widened at his sentence. “She’s currently in my office, I told them you just left, but they aren’t convinced.”

“And your solution was to go here?” Jungwon raised an eyebrow.

“I told her I am meeting an important client and I don’t have time to entertain her questions since I’m too busy managing here,” Sunoo explained. “She was persistent that you were meeting someone here and I am hiding it, which is true though.”

“She wanted to marry me off, that’s why,” Jungwon shared and that was the first that you heard of that problem. Jungwon seemed to be unbothered by it but your worry started to grow.

“I know, she keeps on telling me that one, she wanted you to settle down and not, “whore around,”” Sunoo warned, emphasising the last two words. “If you two value your relationship, then you should be more discreet.”

“We’ve been doing this for years, we’ll be fine,” Jungwon assured but Sunoo wasn’t convinced.

“It’s going to be much harder now Won, especially when you two have taken over your company, the whole world’s watching the two of you.” his best friend advised.

“Thank you Sunoo, we’ll try to be more discreet,” you butted in, giving the man a nod before you gave Jungwon a quick glance and assuring smile. “I think we should lessen our meetups here in Sunoo’s hotel, I don’t want to trouble you too.”

“No, it’s fine y/n, but just be careful, friendly advice,” Sunoo advised before glancing at his watch. “I should be going now, I’ll let you know if auntie has left.”

“Thanks Sunoo,” that was the only thing Jungwon could say, not having the energy to argue with his best friend who’s only looking after him.

Sunoo had left that moment, leaving you two in silence. Jungwon let out a deep sigh as he turned around to check on you.

But you only smiled and patted the bed, gesturing for him to return who did as what you told.

“Does it scare you?” he asked, sitting next to you with his hands open.

Instead of a worried expression, you gave him a smile before intertwining your hands around his. “A little, just scared that my parents might disown me.”

“If they ever do that to you, I’ll be here, don’t worry,” Jungwon assured.

You laughed at his answer, “even if it means losing our fortune and everything?”

“Of course,” he answered without any hesitation. From there, Jungwon gave you a kiss on the temples before he made you rest your head on his shoulders. “Nothing in this world could be more valuable than your love.”

“Our love,” you corrected and your lover only laughed. 

“Of course, our love.” he said lightheartedly before kissing your head once again.

It felt right.

It always felt right with Jungwon. Even though it is behind closed doors, everything about your relationship and soft, intimate moments felt right for you. It’s just your intuition and your guts has always been right, that’s why you sweep your worries away.

The whole world might go into a shock when they’ve realized that you had fallen in love with her rival, but that’s your future self’s worry.

As of now, all you wanted was to be in the arms of the man you’ve ever loved — truly, deeply, and madly.

-

On days that you aren’t on your secret rendezvous with Jungwon, you’re stuck in your office, doing what a good CEO does when it comes to leading a decades-long top corporation that probably holds a percentage in your country’s economy. 

It wasn’t an easy thing to do at all. You were just starting and you weren’t fully handling everything at all. Your parents are still guiding you, and even though you have the title and everything, most of the company decisions still fully come in power through them.

“You’ve done a great job securing the deal with the Wei tech corp,” your father said proudly.

“It was just nothing dad, just a little convincing and gift worked, I’ve learned from the best after all,” you said with a wink and both your parents were delighted with your reply.

“Oh, my sweet baby, we knew that it was right that you’d inherit this company,” your mother said softly before giving you a hug and kiss. “You’d do better than us, I know that you’d be able to overthrow Eden group in no time.”

At the mention of the said corporation, your stomach felt sour yet your heart skipped a beat.

“Mom, that again? I thought we’re over that,” you complained. Ever since you became head of Kingsmark, that’s the only thing you’ve heard from them — they wanted you to beat Eden group.

“This isn’t over y/n, you know that,” your father sternly said. “Not until we watch them crumble and be ruined, this isn’t over.”

“That’s so childish,” you commented.

“It’s not childish y/n, that’s just how business works, and you should know this alright?” your mother advised. “You’re still young and soft sweetheart, people will take advantage of your kindness. That’s why you should be careful and be wary of those who you call friends.”

Her advice gave nothing but chills on your spine. You looked at your mother who stared at you meaningly. You don’t know what she meant but you slowly nodded, like a good daughter would.

“Of course ma, don’t worry about me,” you convinced, even faking a smile to assure them.

“Great, I heard that Ms. Nakamura will be attending Mr. Han’s project launch, you’re invited there right?” your father asked and you nodded once again.

“Make sure you’d be able to swoon Ms. Nakamura on investing in Kingsmark, they’re a bigshot company in Japan, this will be a huge deal to us. Can I trust you with this one y/n?” he instructed.

“Of course pa, I won’t let you down,” you said with a smile, yet your heart felt heavy at the thought. The immense pressure suddenly washed over you.

You watched as they left your office and the moment the door closed, you felt how your shoulder slouched before leaning against your office chair. Feeling a headache coming right through, you stood up from your seat to get a glass of water when your phone lit up. 

sheep calling.

The notification made you smile. Suddenly, your mood wasn’t that bad anymore before you. Grabbed your phone and answered the call without any thoughts.

“I don’t think it is appropriate for you to call me at this hour,” you opened as soon as the call got in line. Your tone filled with teasing that the voice behind the line laughed.

“Is it bad that I am missing you?” Jungwon asked.

“It is bad that you’re missing me during office hours, I thought we aren’t allowed to call during office hours?” you lectured sternly but Jungwon only hummed. 

“Well, it’s been what? Two weeks since we last saw each other and to be honest, this is killing me,” he explained, and you smiled softly, knowing that it also kills you that you haven’t seen Jungwon that long.

“What are you trying to imply?” you asked.

“That we should meet this Saturday,” he replied immediately — which meant that he had been planning this for a while.

“I can't, I’ll be at Mr. Han’s project launch, did you get an invitation?” 

You noticed how Jungwon became quiet for a moment before answering. “Oh that, I didn’t.”

“That’s a shame, maybe Sunday would work,” you suggested.

“Or maybe I’d pick you up there after the event,” Jungwon teased and though it sounded sweet to be picked-up by your boyfriend, you know that it’s just a scandal waiting to happen.

“You’re being brave and stupid by doing that Jungwon.”

“But you’d like it,” he insisted and your smile became wider.

“Unfortunately, I’d do.”

“I’ll surprise you then,” before you could ask what he meant, the call ended. Your heart dropped at that moment, wondering and curious about what’s up to Jungwon’s sleeve this upcoming Saturday.

-

True to his words, the next time you saw Yang Jungwon was at Mr. Han’s project launch at a reception hall in an expensive hotel outside the city.

The event was a private one. Strictly through invitations, that’s why it wasn’t that crowded when you entered the hall. You wore a vintage navy blue gown along with some sapphire set that you’ve inherited from your grandmother. People were turning heads towards you but you chose to ignore them as you focused on your target.

“Ms. Nakamura, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I am Ms. l/n —”

“From Kingsmark? It’s a shame for me to not know you, and please, call me Kazuha,” she said with a smile. Kazuha was approachable and friendly. Offering you a small chat and talk along with a glass of wine.

Your conversation with her turned almost hours long. You were with her almost the duration of the event and you’ve noticed that she was interested in your future plans and projects which was ideal since her company’s going to play a crucial part as a new supplier and investor. This might turn into a multi-million deal if you had won her heart by the end of the night. 

“I am glad you had approached me Ms. l/n or else I’d die here from boredom,” she said jokingly before taking a sip on her wine once again. “I would like to talk to you more but let me go to the restroom first.”

“Of course, do you want more wine?” you offered, and she only gave you a smile before rejecting the offer, insisting that she doesn’t want to get too drunk by the end of the night which you understood.

As Kazuha left for the restroom, you decided to kill time by approaching the nearby grazing table that made your stomach growled. Grabbing a small plate, you started to fill it up with random finger foods when you noticed someone doing the same as you.

“Mr. Yang, it’s a surprise to see you here,” you said, not batting an eye as you focused on the delicacies on the table.

“Last minute plans, turns out my secretary did receive the invitation but forgot to inform me,” he explained casually.

You hummed to his answer, eyes still on the table as you spoke. “Well, it looks like you still came prepared despite the short time.”

“I had to impress you, by the way, nice dress Ms. l/n, it suits you and your proportions,” he whispered to you while he busied himself on taking a few finger food. 

“Vintage Yves Saint-Laurent, your suit and tie seemed ravishing,” you commented back.

“Prada, custom-made for me,” he smiled. “But you know what Ms. l/n, I think your vintage yves saint-laurent would look better on the floor of my hotel room.”

“I am unconvinced," you said but a smile on your face curved because of his words.

“Oh come y/n, no one would probably know that we’d disappear,” Jungwon persuaded, tone less formal and more playful. “Just an hour.”

“And why should I come to your hotel room Mr. Yang?” you raised an eyebrow.

But he only smiled at you, gazing at your dress as he shifted it to your eyes. “Because you love me, and you’re getting the best dick of your life.”

That made you scoff. “Such vulgar words for a formal event.”

“I couldn’t be any more vulgar when it comes to you.” he then took a step closer to you. “How about we make it quick? Meet me in the restroom? Fifteen minutes?”

“Now, you’re risking more of exposing our relationship,” you insisted.

“Come on, you like the thrill, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“There’s a restroom at the back of the corner hallway, I’ll wait for you for ten minutes,” Jungwon instructed, placing down the plate on the side before giving your back a small pat.

With his last words, Jungwon left you there frozen for a moment. You watched as he disappeared into the crowd and left the reception, turning to a small hallway which you assumed was the corner hallway. Your mind went blank as the hold on your plate tightened. 

This is a private event. This place is filled with people who know you and Jungwon as rivals. One may notice that you two are gone — or maybe someone might have seen you enter the same hallway Jungwon entered. You don’t even know if someone noticed your conversation earlier.

It’s a risk. That’s your first thought. It was indecent to do something vulgar at a private event and in public too. Those were things you and Jungwon would avoid but it made you wonder why Jungwon would suggest that. 

Perhaps he just misses you so much, and unfortunately, you’re a weak woman. Your heart folded immediately as you placed down the plate before checking if someone could notice you, you squeezed yourself in the crowd and found the corner hallway where no one seemed to be paying attention.

Your heart started pounding like crazy. Your conscience’s screaming at you — you should be back in the venue, convincing Ms. Nakamura to be one of the head investors of Kingsmark’s upcoming project. This is unnecessary — but it will be quick. You insisted as you took a deep breath and opened the door. Leaning against the wall was Jungwon, arms crossed with a small smirk on his face. 

“You’re here,” he said teasingly. “You really can’t resist me, don’t you —”

“Fifteen minutes Jungwon,” you told him as you entered and locked the door before facing him. “Let’s make this quick.”

He whistled low, looking at you with tease before his arms wrapped around your waist. “Let’s make it thirty.”

Jungwon kissed you hungrily, teeth clashing, tongue battling as he pushed you against the wall. The small thud sound only made him ferocious. He kissed you as if he was dying, eager for your warmth as his lips traveled downwards your jawline, until it reached your neck making you groan in pleasure, throwing your head to give him space while Jungwon continued kissing every skin his mouth could reach.

“No marks please Won, just — wanted to feel you inside me,” you whispered to him who halted to look at you.

“Of course, whatever my baby wants, she’ll get it,” he said quickly with a smile, giving you a short yet sweet kiss on the lips.

Jungwon put you down immediately before he dragged you towards the sink, turning you around and bending you against the marbled surface — that’s when your heart began to ring in anticipation.

“No prep baby?” he asked as he hoisted up your dress, creasing the expensive garment which you didn’t mind. Your mind’s melting because of what’s about to happen. It also didn’t help that Jungwon’s hands trailed on the curve of your ass giving it a light smack making you moan sharply.

“Jungwon please,” you whine, pulling your panties down on your own, revealing your bare self to him. But your lover only chuckled in response, before his hands found their way towards your entrance, making you moan loudly on his touch.

“We got to be quiet, baby, could you do that? We don’t want them to hear how much of a whore you are to your enemy, don’t we?” he whispered to you, voice deep and teasing that you could only nod feverishly as you bite your lips in order to conceal all the obscene noises that might come out of your mouth.

Despite his warning, a sharp, breathy moan escaped your lips the moment Jungwon pushed his slender finger inside you. He could feel your hot, pulsing walls clamping around his finger as your slick slathered around it. He hummed in satisfaction as he began pumping his finger in and out before inserting another one to prep you further. 

“Spread your legs wider for me baby, could you?” he asked, and although you’re shaky, you spread your legs further while he hoisted you further up to the sink, almost tiptoeing against the marbled vanity. You couldn’t do anything but to grip onto the surface while Jungwon continued scissoring your insides.

His fingers rapid, abusing your insides that made you shudder and moan helplessly. You clamped your mouth shut as your eyes turned glassy, and yet, a muffled cry escaped your lips when you felt Jungwon’s finger curl at a specific spot. You heard how he chuckled to your reaction as his finger brushed against that spot nonstop. Wanton moans started leaving your lips while the tears started to trail down your eyes.

“W-won — ah! Won, I’m c-close please,” you begged, feeling the tension inside you heating up. Everything’s becoming too sensitive as your pussy starts to clamp tight around Jungwon’s fingers.

“Please what baby?” he asked teasingly.

“Let me cum please?” you whispered

“Oh baby, you’d get to cum,” he said but in a split second, he removed his fingers and you cried at the sudden loss. 

That’s when you heard a metal clanking and from the mirror, you see how Jungwon freed his cock, already hard, aching, beading with its precum. You couldn’t help but to gulp at the sight, feeling your core heating and getting more wet at the sight.

“You’d get to cum around my cock, you’d like that?” he asked, humming lightly as he grazed the tip of his cock against your entrance. 

“Please, please, Won baby, I want it,” you begged, desperate for release, and your whiny, pitiful tone only made your lover’s dick twitch in excitement before without any warning he inserted himself inside you.

His thick girth ripped your walls open despite the prep earlier. It made you dig your nails deeper on the surface as hot tears kept on streaming down your face. The sensation left you choking while Jungwon continued to push himself inside you until he’s full-sheathed.

“Are you okay?” Jungwon asked as his hands went onto your waist. You nodded slowly before a small whimper left your lips.

“S-so full baby,” you muttered embarrassingly. “Could you move now please? I want to feel you more.”

Jungwon obliged. He pushed you down flat on the surface before his hands gripped on your waist tight. Slowly, he pulled himself out, then without any warning, gave your pussy a quick sharp thrust that made you arch your back naturally. He moved once again, precise yet sharp that slid all the way inside.

The restroom feels hotter and smaller as you and Jungwon became too lost in the obscene act you two are doing. There’s nothing you could hear other than how your skin slapped against each other, drowning the breathy groans Jungwon would release. His grip on your waist became tighter, fingers digging on your sides that you’re sure that it’ll leave a bruise on you.

And if it wasn’t enough, Jungwon’s other hand wrapped around your nape before he pulled you up to face the mirror. Revealing to you your ruined and messed-up self which only made your pussy tighter because you could see from the mirror how Jungwon would fuck you senselessly without any hesitation. 

“Look at you pretty, all ruin for me,” he said as he pushed himself deeper, the new angle only made you cry in pleasure. “Eyes on me, will you? I want to see you fall apart for me.”

Jungwon started thrusting inside you again — deeper, relentless, and aching to feel your warmth hugging his cock as every stroke and pounding made you levitate in pleasure.

Your head’s spinning and your mind’s starting to be blank. You started to blabber nonsense as your eyes rolled back in contentment. Jungwon could feel it, how you’re too knocked-out to respond and your pussy’s becoming too tight and warm for his own good that he could only bite his lips as he holds back. 

“Baby — still with me?” he groaned. “Want to cum now baby?”

“P-please,” you cried, almost a murmur. The pressure inside you was at its limit. Everything’s too overwhelming to you that the only thing that you wanted was for some release. “Won please, let me c-cum now — please, p-please…”

“Let it out baby, I got you,” he ordered.

You came in a silent mute. Breathe almost out of your lungs as your body shudders at the intensity of the high. Your nails scraped at the surface and your legs lost their strength if it wasn’t for your Jungwon who’s holding you tightly on your waist, still chasing after his own orgasm.

“Hold it in for me baby would you? Wanna come inside you,” Jungwon requested and though your body’s weak and melting from your orgasm, you let your lover use you for his own pleasure.

Jungwon focused on thrusting himself deeper on you. Your warm, wet walls clamped around his cock, as his head nudged on the spot nonstop, making his cock twitch in pleasure. The feeling became too much, making him groan uncontrollably. 

In a sudden glimpse, the coil in his stomach snapped and he came without any warning. His body shook as he thrusted one last time, burying his cock deep inside you as his hot, thick cum filled your insides, making you whimper at the feeling.

The two of you stayed at the position, catching one’s breath before Jungwon slowly pulled out. He pulled you away from the sink, strong arms protective around your waist as he observed you, seeing you still drowsy due to the high, he couldn’t help but to caress your face with worry.

“You with me?” he asked and you nodded as a response.

“Words baby, come on,” he repeated and you hummed.

“I’m okay, give me a moment please,” you said and that assured Jungwon, planting a kiss on your lips which you reciprocated immediately.

“Let’s get you clean okay? Just stay there,” he instructed. You didn’t complain further as you watched Jungwon grab a handful of tissues before wetting it. 

He wiped your body clean. All the parts that he had left his marks with. You could only hum in satisfaction as your boyfriend made you put on your panties and helped you fix your creased dress.

“You’re okay now?” he asked, rubbing your back in circles which made you relaxed and breathe better.

“Of course, thank you Won,” you answered with a smile.

“Let’s go home now?”

“I can’t Won, Kazuha’s waiting for me,” you told him.

“You mean Ms. Nakamura? Are you planning to ask them to invest in Kingsmark?” Jungwon asked.

You raised an eyebrow, “how’d you know?”

“I didn’t, just a business intuition,” he replied.

“Jungwon — can you keep it a secret?”

“Of course, but really? The Nakamuras? You’ll do better.”

“What do you mean?”

“They aren’t on the top anymore, I heard they’re on the verge of bankruptcy and have tons of loans in the bank — guess it wasn’t a surprise why Kazuha’s here, they need someone to pull them back to their feet.” Jungwon explained and you were left confused. You don’t know about that — nor did your parents. It felt impossible especially when the Nakamura’s has been one of the well-known names in Japan.

“Where did you hear that?” you asked that.

“I have resources,” he simply stated.

“Or are you just lying just to convince me to go home with you?”

“Hey, our families may be enemies, but we’re different,” Jungwon pointed, not sounding offended by your words. “I care for you enough that I don’t want you to make wrong decisions.”

You became quiet for a moment, staring at him who only had nothing but a persuading look on his face. “So you’re saying —”

“That Kazuha’s not worth it,” your lover concluded before he wrapped his arms around your waist. “But you know what’s worth it? Another round of sex.”

You weren’t able to rebut Jungwon’s words when he shut you off with a kiss, and like the fool you were, you kissed him back senselessly.

“Let’s leave?” he whispered to you, and you immediately melted, like a spell casted on you. 

“Okay,” you answered without any hesitation. Mind shutting down as all you could think of was Jungwon, Jungwon, and Jungwon.

-

Jungwon was right when he had warned you about Kazuha.

The invitation came a few days later. A simple dinner inside the Yang residence. The man felt something was wrong immediately. Private dinners meant big-time deals, investments — illegal transactions, and worse, marriage proposals.

His parents had set him up to marriage proposals many times that he had lost count how many women he had rejected, and with the mention of Nakamura Kazuha, Jungwon knew what he was facing the moment he entered the living room and was welcomed by his parents.

Jungwon played pretend. Act the act, his persona, the untouchable and intelligent Yang Jungwon who’s currently the CEO of the top corporation in South Korea. The dinner wasn’t just them and Kazuha, there were other guests too. He knew his parents’ move — this meant that he couldn’t do any brass action in front of them.

“Jungwon, meet Miss Nakamura Kazuha,” his mother introduced, smiling at the woman who seemed demure and elegant. She was beautiful, Jungwon thinks, but she’s not you, of course.

Jungwon greeted her formally with a dimpled smile. Kazuha reciprocated it casually as she accepted the man’s hand. “From Nakamura Tech, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Yang.” Kazuha replied, and with their exchange of greetings, Jungwon’s mother seemed satisfied, giving Kazuha a light tap on the shoulder.

“We’ll leave you two be, get to know each other too, excuse us,” the old woman left the two alone that moment, causing a dead air between them, Jungwon knows how to deal with this after his numerous proposal, that’s why he offered Kazuha some drink which the woman happily accepted.

“I must say that it’s a surprise to see you here Ms. Nakamura,” Jungwon opened up. “It’s rare for my parents to invite anyone, if you know what I mean.”

“Your parents have been in long contact with me,” Kazuha shared. “They’re offering me something, that’s why I am here.”

“My hand in marriage, I suppose,” the man concluded without a second doubt.

Kazuha chuckled at his words, “Yes, if I am being honest Mr. Yang.”

“I am afraid I have to reject the proposal Ms. Nakamura, you see, my heart belongs to someone else.”

“I know, Ms. l/n right?” Kazuha answered and Jungwon’s expression faltered.

“How did you know?” he asked, surprised.

“Your parents told me, hence the marriage proposal and merging of companies,” that’s when she let out a deep, worried sigh. “I don’t want this too but Mr. Yang, but I am desperate.”

“From what I’ve heard Miss Nakamura, you aren’t reliable in this field, I’ve learned of your incompetencies and mismanagement of your company way before you stepped foot here. I don’t want this partnership to be a charity work, so I am sorry, I couldn’t help you.” Jungwon pointed out.

But Kazuha didn’t feel offended by the man’s words. She nodded as she took a sip on her wine. “Your parents said otherwise, they were willing to help me.”

“Just to tie me down in a marriage? Bullshit, I am currently the head of Eden, so all decisions will be made by me,” Jungwon argued.

“Even so, without the marriage and merging, could you help me, please?” Kazuha asked, almost pleading and desperate and yet, Jungwon remained unfettered by her plea.

“I’ll think about Ms. Nakamura, but for now, would you please excuse me? I need to find my parents,” Kazuha only nodded, letting Jungwon, who felt sour to the idea, go.

Jungwon found his parents talking to some of their friends, his anger hadn't melted down and the itch to confront them was there. But there were other guests inside, that’s why he held it in, remained composed before approaching his parents and asking them for a talk in private.

They ended up in his father’s house office. The door closed with a suffocating tension inside. Jungwon faced his parents who were waiting, not surprised to see their son this furious.

“We are not merging companies with Nakamura tech, and the marriage isn’t going to happen,” Jungwon told his parents. “If you think that this is a way for me to stop seeing y/n, you two are wrong.”

“You are a disgrace Jungwon,” his father said angrily, pointing at his son who didn’t flinch. “I don’t care how long you’ve been seeing her, I want you to stop making any contact with her. Do you want our image to be tarnished by being linked to them?”

“Why? What’s wrong with them? They’re one of the top corporations here, they have a reputable name, and if you guys didn’t hold onto that silly little grudge of yours and just merged with them years ago, we could have total control of the economy,” Jungwon explained.

“I'd rather die than for that to happen,” his father declared. 

“Can’t wait,” Jungwon taunted and for that, his father punched him without any hesitation. Jungwon stumbled on the floor, lips bloodied and yet, he laughed mockingly at the situation. 

The older man grabbed Jungwon by the collar, lifting him up from the floor as the smile on his lips remained. “Don’t fucking laugh at me Jungwon, you may be the head of the company, but I am still your father.”

“Fuck, I don’t care about that,” Jungwon slurred before chuckle escaped his lips. “I love y/n, and not even you two could stop me.”

Filled with rage, his father threw him back on the floor. The loud thud only made Jungwon laugh louder, cursing under his breath as his father pointed at him angrily.

“Break up with her,” his father instructed. “Do it immediately if you really care about her life.”

That’s when the younger man stopped, glancing at his father as he tried to process everything. “Don’t you ever touch her.”

“She’s an enemy Jungwon, I can dispatch her whenever I like,” the older man reminded. “But you’re still my son, I’ll give you a chance. Do as I told you and I’ll leave her alone.”

With those final words, Jungwon’s father left him alone there, in pain and bruised lips, but that didn’t matter to Jungwon, and instead, he rest his head on the floor, body filled with ache and as the only thing he could think of was you.

-

A few weeks later, Jungwon asked you out on a date.

Dates are rare. Your hotel meetups weren’t dates. Dates should be romantic, sweet, and filled with surprises but your relationship wasn’t normal after all. That’s why Jungwon’s invitation left you half-anxious, and half-excited.

You don’t know what Jungwon had prepared but all you knew was that it had to be discreet and hidden. In restaurants with private rooms and trusted people, serving good food. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you drove your way towards the address Jungwon sent you.

You left the keys to the valet and walked towards the entrance when you stopped to see two familiar figures in front of it.

“Mom, dad, what are you two doing here?” you asked as you walked towards them.

“Your mother was craving their pasta, that’s why we decided to have dinner here,” your father explained. “What about you?”

“Meeting a potential investor, hopefully, they will be here,” you lied and your parents bought it immediately.

“If that’s the case, then how about you join us? It will be helpful if we also put in our insights, right darling?” your mother said sweetly. 

“You’re right dear, you know that we’re always here at every step of your career y/n,” your father added.

You were left with no choice but to nod, accepting their request. Your parents entered the restaurant first while you trail behind, fishing out your phone to text Jungwon about the sudden emergency.

The place wasn’t full at all. It was a weekday, that’s why a few tables were occupied — that included Jungwon who sat alone at a corner table. His place was hidden, almost felt like he’s out of place but you knew that it was the best spot for you two to enjoy dinner.

“What the hell is Yang Jungwon doing here?” your mother sneered.

You raised an eyebrow, acting innocent as you looked around. “Yang Jungwon?”

“Look at him, such a narcissistic jerk,” your father commented with a scoff. “Do you know they’re eyeing on the Nakamuras to invest in their company?”

“What?” That's when you glanced at your father with surprise. You may have failed to close a deal with her but you trust your guts that Jungwon’s words were right — you just didn’t expect that they’re also running after her company too.

“Yes, that’s why he was at Mr. Han’s project launch. I heard he wasn’t invited at all, he was given last minute out of formality,” your father explained and slowly, everything’s starting to connect. Jungwon’s appearance was a last-minute invitation. You don’t know if your parents were telling the truth, but you wanted to insist that Jungwon show up because of you. 

“Right, they’re offering marriage right? How dirty! They’re so desperate that they opted to partner with foreign companies?”

Your heart dropped at the news. Marriage? Is this why Jungwon’s asking you out on a date? Was he going to call it off? Your mind suddenly went blank. Memories of you and Jungwon from the past few years started to flash in your mind. If it’s true then you’re thankful that your parents saved you from the heartbreak —

“Y/n? Is there anything you want? Are you alright?” you snapped out of your mind when your mother touched your arms. You flinched at her warmth but immediately, you gave them a quick smile before clearing your throat.

“I’ll just have the salmon please,” you said to her, whose worry washed away with your smile.

While your parents talked in their own world, you couldn’t help but to take a quick glance at Jungwon who you locked your eyes with in a second. You gave him a short, sorry smile and he nodded, understanding your situation.

Dinner started and you sat there while your parents indulged in the food and talk. You focused on your food, your mind still filled with thoughts about what your parents said about Jungwon earlier.

You looked at Jungwon, he looked like he’s having dinner alone — casual and in his own world. It looked like the situation doesn’t affect him at all, and you’re itching to know why he seemed so chill about everything.

While you’re here, sitting with your parents, overthinking about everything that involves you and him.

“Y/n, is your guest arriving?” your gaze shifted towards your parents. Heart hammering like crazy, hoping they didn’t notice how your stare towards Jungwon lingered too long.

“Oh,” you pretend to look at your phone before giving them a pitied smile. “They aren’t responding to my text at all. I don’t know if they’ll show up.”

“How irresponsible,” your mother commented. “Well, it’s a good thing that we’re here.”

“Right, thank you for accompanying me,” you only said before you took a sip on your wine. Your parents went back to their conversation, while your eyes shifted again towards your lover whose eyes were on you too.

Jungwon raised his glass, subtle and quick, and that made you smile, you tipped your glass in response, quick and short. Both of your eye contact remained as you took a sip on your glass. It assured you somehow and your thoughts that night vanished in just a glimpse.

Hours passed and you found yourself back in your house, alone and disappointed with tonight's outcome. The only thing you could do was to take a quick shower to wash off today's exhaustion, and hopefully — get some good night's sleep.

But you knew tonight wasn’t over when a text from Jungwon showed up on your phone. 

Nuggets? his text said and you knew what it was. A small smile formed on your lips unknowingly before you grabbed a large cotton jacket and left your place in your pajamas. 

You made a quick detour at a 24/7 fast food chain nearby and ordered a ten-piece chicken nuggets along with some curly fries and rootbeer float. As soon as you got your order, you drove your way out of the city in a hurry.

Somewhere uphill, at an not-so abandoned lot that’s filled with nothing but tall trees and one singular flickering streetlight, awaits Jungwon who’s sitting at the hood of his car. He was already in his sleeping clothes too. A cotton pajamas set paired with his university jacket to warm him up. 

You arrived minutes later after him. After you parked your car beside him, you turned off the machine, grabbed your food and left the car.

You approached Jungwon who only gave you a smile before pointing out his order from a different foodplace. He helped you get on top of the hood of his car and in silence, the two of you sat there and stared at the view.

The night was cold yet serene. The view didn’t add to the tranquility. The dark, secluded forest that’s probably inhabited by wild animals and wandering ghosts was your view, and yet, you never found any reason to be scared of it because this was the only place that you and Jungwon could be together.

Not in your expensive suits and dress, nor with your sophisticated words and formal personality — this is a place wherein your body and soul only yearn for each other’s presence and comfort, not for pleasure and intimacy. 

It’s just you, Jungwon, your take-out orders, and probably any stray creatures at the forest, trying to enjoy the night under the dimmed, flickering streetlight, wearing your sleeping clothes. Somehow, something about the whole setup made you two feel so normal — as if the two of you are a young couple out for a late-night date away from the city.

You took a sip on your rootbeer float first. You noticed Jungwon winced at your choice of drink but you didn’t comment on how he ordered onion rings that’s already soggy and made his breath smell like onion. Both of you found comfort on the greasy, unhealthy food as silence devoured you for the following minutes.

“My parents have discovered about us,” Jungwon opened up. “I was about to confess it to you during our date, my parents are forcing me to end it.”

“Then my parents ruined it,” you complained.

“Our parents ruined it,” he heaved, sounding annoyed than ever which made you focus on your food instead.

The silence crept in for the next few minutes. You’re already on your sixth nuggets when a thought struck you. 

“That’s it?” you asked, confused.

Jungwon looked at you, confused with your reaction. “What?”

You shrugged, “that’s all you got to say?”

“They’ve been in contact with Kazuha ever since, they were planning to marry me off to her,” Jungwon added and that’s where hunches were right.

“My parents told me that,” you told him.

“I’m not going to marry her, don't worry, she’s completely useless to me,” Jungwon assured and though a bit harsh, you chuckled as the weight in your heart faded away.

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“I know, but you know me, I won’t marry anyone unless it’s you,” Jungwon proclaimed and that made you look at him with a bitter smile because despite his assurance, something still feels off.

“Do you think it’s going to be like this forever?” you asked instead before taking a bite on your nuggets.

“I…honestly don’t know either,” Jungwon admitted, tone full of regret. “For the first time in my life, I never thought about the future.”

“We’re a bunch of cowards, don’t you think?” you laughed but Jungwon remained quiet.

You stared at him before your hand reached for his. He squeezed it lightly, trying to convince you that he’s fine but his expressions give it away.

“I don’t like to keep it like this forever,” he said, feeling ashamed that you two have to hide it from the world. It felt like it was his fault that you two couldn’t be together in public.

But you only smiled at him. “Is this the part where we have to settle with our relationship?”

“No,” Jungwon sternly replied. “I don’t want to confront that topic right now.”

“Then what are we going to do?” you asked, tone desperate.

“Let’s just eat, your nuggets’s getting cold now,” he changed the topic instead and you rolled your eyes. His hand had left yours as he grabbed his box and grabbed another piece.

“Jungwon.”

“I love you, that’s the only thing that matters right now.” he stated before taking a bite.

You only stared at him. Appalled at his words that your heart skipped a beat. It should feel reassuring but there’s a small part of you that felt that it wasn’t enough.

Yet, you don’t want to acknowledge that emptiness because it’ll just make things hard for the both of you, that’s why you could only smile bitterly at him. “I love you too Won, and I wish that there’s a universe out there where our circumstances are different.”

“It could happen in this universe, you know?” Jungwon convinced.

You chuckled in disbelief. “You think so?”

“I hope so,” he said nonchalantly and that made you laugh.

“We’re so bad at giving hope, don’t you think?”

Jungwon laughed at your answer, he nudged you quietly before glancing at your food. “Just go finish your chicken babe.”

-

That was the last time you saw him.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Yang Jungwon. Your conversation that night should’ve left you assured and confident with Jungwon.

But why did he suddenly disappear like a ghost? The last time you heard about him was that he was leaving for Japan, for some business matters. You didn’t pry further but the communication started to slip away. No more calls nor texts. All of your text was left unread that made you wonder what’s going on with him.

You decided to spend your energy on your work instead. Time felt slow as your office became busy and overwhelming. It didn’t help that there’s a sudden change of plans in the upcoming years, hence completely ruining what you have visioned for Kingsmark. Your parents advised you to not rush yourself, but their words felt as if they’re holding you back instead.

You know that they still have control of the company, but what’s your purpose if they wouldn’t trust your decisions completely? You suddenly felt useless and burned out. A lot of things shifted for the past few weeks. Resignations of employees, changes in board of directors — and even partnered companies, were slowly disappearing week by week. 

You could’ve asked your parents to leave everything to you but at the same time, you couldn’t bear to disobey your parents. That’s why you suck it up, because you think that they’re doing what’s best for you and Kingsmark.

That’s why you found yourself driving towards a restaurant for a private meeting. A potential investor, your parents told you, and with this partnership, Kingsmark will rise up to the top, beating Eden, just like what they always want too. You didn’t bother arguing with their wish and just obliged with it, hoping that this could be a stepping stone for them to get what they always wanted.

As you arrived at the restaurant, you were led to a private room where your parents were. They greeted you with a hug before leading you towards a tall man who seemed foreign.

He was handsome, face sculpted like he was a model, and his outfit seemed informal for a business meeting. But you didn’t question it as he gave you a smile. 

“Y/n, this is Mr. Nishimura Riki,” your father introduced.

“Hello,” you greeted, giving him your hand which he accepted.

“He’s your future husband,” your mother said. 

That’s when you froze, tugging away your hands from his. He seemed offended as you looked at him with disgust before looking at your parents with confusion.

“Husband?” you muttered.

“She was just shocked Mr. Nishimura, give her time to process,” your mother insisted at the man who hasn’t said any word.

“No, I’m sorry, you must be mistaken,” you laughed before shaking your head. “There will be no wedding nor any arrangement, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Hastily, you left the room and ran your way out of the restaurant — ignoring your parents who followed you immediately.

“Y/n! Y/n come back here!” you ignored your mother’s voice and started running faster despite wearing stilettos.

But the crooked pavement didn’t help either. You were cursing under your breath as you almost trip while walking. That’s when you gave up, standing frozen at your place as you try to sink everything that happened inside the restaurant.

“Y/n —”

“I am not marrying a stranger ma — we don’t need them! Our company’s doing great,” you stated but your mother’s face shifted into disappointment as she shook her head.

“You’re failing Kingsmark, you’re not fit to take over and lead the company,” your mother argued and that made you raise an eyebrow. 

“I am doing everything for Kingsmark but you guys always have to interfere — I couldn’t even make decisions without you guys intervening in everything,” you insisted.

“We have to,” this time, it was your father who talked. His voice was authoritative and clearly, he was mad at you. “You’re not trustworthy enough y/n, especially ever since you started seeing that Yang Jungwon.”

Your world stopped. The revelation came crashing down like a meteorite. You gaze on both your parents, trying to articulate words. 

“H-how…how did you —”

“We know from the start. We knew y/n and we let you continue your foolish affair, we were just waiting for you to wake up,” your father explained, and you couldn’t believe everything he just said.

“Wake up? What are you talking about —”

“Jungwon is still a Yang, and he will always be, do you really think he loves you? He’ll do everything to make Eden group remain at its spot.” he insisted and that made you scoff.

“Jungwon’s not like that, he’s different.” you defended.

“How sure are you? Open your eyes y/n, he’s just using you, he knows you’re weak and kind-hearted, and that selfish bastard took advantage of you.” your mother argued. 

You became quiet for a moment. You recalled everything — everything you and Jungwon had.

It should be real. What you two had. You know and your heart is telling you that everything is real. You could see the way he looks at you, how he cared, and assure you. Everything was real. It should be. 

But everything made sense all of the sudden. Ever since you took over your family’s company. Something shifted with Jungwon. All the projects and plans you unknowingly spilled on him as you cry your stress out to him — it always ends up with Eden group having the same idea. He seemed to become more attentive with you leading Kingsmark, it was as if he wanted to know all the future plans that you have.

Then came Kazuha. He knew that you were planning to have her as an investor. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence that later on, he was supposed to marry her. What if everything he said that night was just a lie? Everything seemed to align — his absence, him being in Japan — everything makes sense and yet, you don’t want to accept the reality.

Your vision started to blur as tears formed on your eyes. You looked at your parents with nothing but mere denial on your face.

“But…I love him,” you confessed to them, almost a mumble as you felt embarrassed confessing to your parents that you have loved an enemy.

“You’ll learn to love Riki someday sweetheart,” your mother insisted but you shook your head. You can’t just love someone all of the sudden. You couldn’t — all your heart yearns for is Jungwon.

“No.” you stated loud and clear. “I’m going to fix Kingsmark on my own. Without your help, without Riki’s help, I am going to do this alone from now on.”

“You have proved to us that you’re incapable of handling Kingsmark,” your father rebutted. “The contracts have been signed. We’ll be merging with their company whether you like it or not.”

“Without consulting me?” you asked, feeling betrayed than ever. “If that was the case, then you shouldn’t have made me the heiress of the company.”

“You’re being rebellious, you knew from the start that you’ll inherit the company — that damn Yang Jungwon’s corrupting you!” your father accused.

That’s when you scoff, “if that was the case then I’d be happy to be corrupted by him.”

A slap. A sharp one stinged as your mother’s hand landed on your face. You were in total daze as realization hit you. 

“Wake up y/n, this isn’t a fairytale. You’re a l/n, you belong to Kingsmark the same way Jungwon belongs to Eden. You two aren’t just made for each other,” your mother coldly stated while you remained frozen, trying to process the slap your mother just gave you.

Even with your cheeks numb, it didn’t hurt more than the fact that trying to separate you from Jungwon.

“You and Jungwon are not meant to be y/n, he’s off there getting married to someone else.” your father said.

“He rejected the proposal, he wouldn’t be marrying anyone unless it’s me and I’ll do the same,” you objected.

“How sure are you about that y/n, there’s a reason why he’s in Japan, isn’t he?”

No. No way. It was the one thing that you dreaded to become a reality — Jungwon completely betraying you.

To add fuel to the fire, your father gave you his phone and with shaky hands, you grabbed it to see pictures of Jungwon and Kazuha together.

Different photos. In hotel lobbies, coffee shops, and restaurants. In public. Out loud compared to you and your hidden affair.

They were smiling, together, in public — it was your only dream with him and yet, reality hit you harder — that your dream will forever remain a dream.

“They’re getting married y/n, so stop this madness and accept the fact that you two will never be together.” your mother said, and from there, tears started to stream down from your eyes. 

“Next week, your official engagement party will be held. Be prepared, and make sure you’ve grown acquainted with Riki, we shouldn’t disappoint him.” your father explained. “Don’t disappoint us y/n. You don’t want us to be your enemy right?”

“Or what? You’d hurt me just like what mom did?” you mocked.

“You might never see Jungwon, ever again,” your father threatened and that’s when you didn’t argue anymore, knowing how capable your parents were to get rid of a threat to them.

-

The engagement party arrived a few days later. It felt rushed, but you knew that your parents were persistent to tie you down with someone else. 

It was a private event. Held in a well-known venue that has a beautiful grassfield on display, only a few people were invited, and by tomorrow — your engagement will be announced in public.

From the outside, you could hear the crowd already. Their murmurs and gossip while your heart tightened at the idea. You were concealing your emotions, hoping to put a good show for the crowd. 

“Let’s go?” Riki asked, holding out his arm which you accepted without any thought. Over the last few days, you got to know your fiance. He was cold and guarded, it seemed like he thinks of this marriage as purely out of business only.

You entered the reception hall with your hands resting on Riki’s arms. The crowd applauded at your entrance while your smile became faker as all eyes were on you two. Despite the cheers and claps, you could hear your heart drumming loudly, screaming for you to leave, run away, and never return.

But this is your world. This is how you were born and raised, you have to accept that the life of luxury and living in an empire was all you ever taught growing up. That included marriage too, everything is a matter of business, connection, and power.

That’s why, whatever your parents had arranged with Riki, you just hoped that it was worth everything. 

Just as you thought things could go worse, your eyes gazed at the corner and that’s when your heart bursted out of your chest. Eyes turned wide as at the corner, you see him.

Jungwon, holding a glass of wine. He raised the glass with a bitter expression on his face. You weren’t able to process everything, not when Riki tugged you closer to him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded immediately. Letting him guide you towards your parents who seemed to be pleased with the situation. Your mother hugged you tightly but you couldn’t even reciprocate her hug. You couldn’t believe that the next place you’d ever see Jungwon was in your engagement party.

Your parents invited him on purpose. They knew what they were doing, and you don't know why Jungwon entered their trap — a part of you wondered if he knew too and still went here.

As you broke out of the hug, you tried to glance at his place again but he’s not there anymore. Your eyes search for him, but it was too late when your parents pulled you to have you be introduced to some strangers.

The party started but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t get out of Riki’s hold either. It looks like your parents have informed him about Jungwon and to keep an eye on you. You couldn’t do anything but to go along with it, faking smiles and engaging in conversation with strangers and people you barely knew.

“You seem out of your head,” Riki commented as the hour passed by.

“Just tired,” you lied, even though your mind is still searching for Jungwon.

Riki nodded at your words. “Do you want to rest?”

“I would love that,” you replied shortly.

But before you could even move, the lights turned off all of the sudden. The room was filled with gasps and screams of surprise, everyone was trying to process everything that just happened — even you.

It wasn’t until an arm grabbed you out of nowhere, you weren’t able to let out a scream when the stranger’s hand covered your mouth before dragging you out of the venue.

The drag was long. Everything was pitch black until a gentle breeze welcomed you and from the dimmed lights on the venue’s garden, you saw the person behind the commotion — that’s when it hit you.

“You’re getting married!?” Jungwon asked furiously. His grip on you loosened as he looked at you like you’ve betrayed him.

“My parents have arranged this,” you explained.

“And you agreed with it?”

“I have no choice Jungwon, it’s for Kingsmark —”

But Jungwon laughed mockingly. “Really? You’re selling your soul for your company, for fuck’s sake y/n, marriage isn’t the solution to that!”

“I have no choice, Jungwon, you’ve stolen everything!” you argued back, startling Jungwon who looked at you confused.

“What?” he breathed.

“Our partnered companies, stockholders — even our suppliers and staff, they are all leaving us and moving to Eden group,” you explained.

“You think I’m behind all of this?” he asked, appalled by your accusation.

“Because there’s no other explanation other than that! Everything happened the moment I became Kingsmark’s head and something shifted on you Jungwon.” you pointed out.

“That’s it? You think I’d do that?”

“You’re a Yang, you’ll do everything to keep your company on top,” you accused and from there, Jungwon’s expression changed. He looked at you in disbelief, shocked that you’d say those words.

“I thought we passed through that?”

“I don’t know Jungwon, I don’t know if I should trust you ever since we — ever since we dated, Kingsmark has been slowly decreasing and failing.” you explained.

“You’re going to blame that on me? Maybe you’re just incompetent that’s why it’s failing,” he rebutted. 

That was a low blow. You were surprised that those words came out of his mouth. You convinced yourself that it was just Jungwon being frank and brutal, but something about what he said felt like a dagger to your heart.

What hurts most was that he doesn’t look sorry at all, and that’s when it hits you — that maybe, your parents are right all along.

“Right, maybe it’s me who’s incompetent, that’s why I am making things right,” you agreed. “And if this marriage is the solution, I’m going to do it —”

“What the fuck!? Are you serious? Do you even know who you’re marrying? Do you even know their background or maybe, you’re that desperate to beat Eden group?” he fumed.

You nodded to his words, even if it felt bitter. “Maybe I am that desperate, because I am not going to let Kingsmark end with me.”

“Nishimura Riki from the clan of the Nishimura yakuzas? A well-known yakuza clan in Okayama who later venture to different prefectures in Japan and made their name well-known, they sell illegal stuff. Drugs, weapons, and assasination — you’re marrying a dangerous man y/n,” Jungwon explained.

“I guess my parents think that it was better for me to be married to a dangerous man rather than to you Jungwon.” you said in disbelief, even laughing at your situation.

“You’re okay with that?”

“Because they left me no choice, Jungwon,” you heaved. Deep inside you wanted to tell him. The threat, your fear of what they might do to him.

You don’t know what your parents would do if you continue your relationship with Jungwon. You don’t want to put his life in danger too, that’s why in order to keep the person you love the most safe, you have to sacrifice yourself.

“What about us then?” he asked.

“There’s no us anymore Jungwon.”

“Suddenly? It’s so easy for you to throw everything that we had,” he scoffed.

“Do we really have something Jungwon? Who knows maybe you were just a goddamn good actor that everything was just an act just to infiltrate my company.” you accused. 

“You think low of me to think that I’d do that y/n.” 

“Then what’s the reason? Why did you love me Jungwon?” you questioned as your eyes started to get wet.

“It just happened.” Jungwon answered, short and simple. “Just like yours, it just happened, and our feelings don’t lie y/n, I know you love me, you’re just scared to disappoint your parents.”

“That’s right, I have disappointed them enough, failing Kingsmark, loving their rival’s son — it’s no use Jungwon, we are just not meant to be, we’re better with somebody else,” you told him.

“What do you mean?” Jungwon asked, confused.

“You’re marrying Kazuha.”

“I am not.”

“Then why are you together in Japan!?” you shouted. 

“I was helping her with her company! In that way the marriage won’t happen! I set her up with a friend! Why do you think that I’d marry her? If that was your breaking point to agree to the marriage, then you don’t trust me enough,” Jungwon argued. 

“Maybe I do, because I don’t know if everything about us is real,” you supposed.

Jungwon stared at you for a minute. Disbelief still evident on his face. “Were those real for you? Why are you doubting us suddenly? What did your parents planted in your mind that made you hesitate and doubt our love? We’ve been together for eight years, if I want to betray you, I would’ve done it earlier.” 

“Yeah, maybe I am doubting our love because if it’s love, why do we have to keep it a secret?” you pondered.

“You know the answer to that, we simply just couldn’t.” Jungwon reminded.

“Right, that’s why I am not going to keep this any longer,” you said in defeat.

“You’re just ending things just like that? Just because of a misunderstanding? You’re just going to give us up easily?” 

“Well, would you? Are you going to give up everything for us to happen?” you rebutted.

“You know I would y/n, because I love you and you know I’d risk everything if it means we get to be together forever,” Jungwon declared and yet, you remained unfazed. You only stood there, frozen and confused.

“How about you? Are you going to do the same? But seeing that fear got you first, I don’t think you love me the same way that I love you,” he pointed out.

“That’s not true Jungwon, I love you. I love you enough that I took the risk of meeting you, being with you, and everything —”

“But it’s not enough for you to fight for us. I also need you to fight for me. We’re in this together. I need you too y/n,” Jungwon explained, tone soft yet tired as he looked at you who couldn’t do anything.

“I’m sorry Jungwon.” you cried, tears streaming down your eyes. 

“Don’t do this.” he begged once again, sounding more desperate than ever. “We made a promise y/n, we…it’s us against the world, we could —”

“We couldn’t Jungwon,” you breathed. “We, we’re just not meant to be, you know that.”

Jungwon stared at you for a good minute.

“I’m sorry, I’m tired of our situation, I couldn’t do this anymore,” you said before turning around and starting to walk away — but he caught your arms immediately, making you stop.

“You’re giving up all of a sudden? We’ve been doing this for eight goddamn years, and you’re throwing it all in just a snap? I can’t believe you.” Jungwon spoke. He wasn’t angry anymore, his tone was more of a beg, and that just hurts you even more.

“To love is to let go, Jungwon,” you said to him before removing his hold on you. “I love you so much but I just know that you’ll meet someone better, someone — who you could love outloud, and I’m not that girl.”

“If you love someone, you’d fight for them y/n,” Jungwon rebutted. “Why do you think that letting go is the best choice when you could just fight for our love? This is much better because I am with you in this situation y/n, you’re not alone.”

“I can’t fight anymore Jungwon, I am tired,” you insisted before you faced and gently gave him a kiss. “I’m sorry.” 

Jungwon was frozen by your actions. Your eyes were already red and wet from your cries. He wasn’t able to do anything but to watch you mouth your apology to him one last time before you turned around and walked away from him again.

“You think I won’t fight for our love y/n!?” Jungwon shouted, making you stop. “I’d do it in a heartbeat but I wanted to ask, can you do the same thing to me?”

Instead of answering, you started walking again, slowly away from him as the tears from your eyes continued to pour.

-

Moving on wasn’t your best forte.

Sure, you had a fair share of past relationships before Jungwon happened but the problem is, they’re not Jungwon.

They weren’t Yang Jungwon who was supposed to be your enemy. They weren’t him who you meet in secret, in your own little world, away from the crowd and the empires that were built to become your hindrance. They weren’t him who loved you only for you, not as the golden spoon-borned heiress. Just you.

Eight years. Eight fucking years and you just ended it in just one night because you weren’t Jungwon who’s not afraid to fight for love. You’re just you, someone who’s lost and knows the only right thing to do is, do what’s best.

You’re your parents’ only daughter. The sole heiress of Kingsmark. You’re destined to continue your family lineage and build a stronger foundation of Kingsmark. Arranged marriages aren’t new in your world, so you just have to accept that this is the world you grew up to.

It’s been two weeks since you and Jungwon called it off. Two weeks and your engagement with Nishimura Riki had been publicized to the world.

True to Jungwon’s words, Riki was indeed a dangerous man, but he was still powerful nonetheless. You concluded that this marriage wasn’t just for you to be separated from Jungwon, but also to gain power outside your country.

Riki was a quiet man. Cold yet you could see that he has a protective side when it comes to you. He seemed to have warmed up to you while you’ve grown accustomed to his presence, it felt like a guard dog given to you.

Despite his presence and that expensive engagement ring on your fourth finger, you couldn’t find yourself moving on from your relationship with Jungwon. Not when it was abrupt, sudden — without any closure at all. You just left Jungwon there, wondering what went wrong.

You didn’t even try calling him or sending him any message. No amount of apologies and sorry could make up for the damage you have done to him. You have hurt him too much that you’re ashamed to face him. That’s why the only thing that you could do was hope for the best for him.

Then came the sudden news. You were in your office when you heard it.

Eden group of companies under fire for alleged embezzlement of 800 billion won.

Suddenly, your ears turned deaf and everything felt mute as Jungwon’s face was plastered on the television. You couldn’t make up the words the anchor was saying but your heart was screaming Jungwon.

Jungwon.

Is Jungwon okay?

What the hell is this? Is Jungwon involved in this?

You snapped out of your thoughts and hastily, your shaky hands grabbed your phone and dialed Jungwon’s phone — only for the number to be unregistered.

You tried once, twice — numerous times before you gave up. A curse and two escaped your lips before you scrolled through every contact you have with Jungwon but none. It’s as if Jungwon blocked you or disappeared.

You sat there clutching your phone tightly while your heart tightened even more. Everything hurts. Jungwon, you don’t know what’s going on with him right now and you badly wanted to know how he is.

But the guilt crept more to you as you recalled your last moments with Jungwon, remembering how you walked away from him. You wanted to curse yourself for giving up on him. Just when he needed you the most, you walked away from him.

Your trail of thoughts disappeared when your parents entered your office. They seem in a good mood, so you try to brush the news as you close your phone and try to plaster a smile.

“Dear, did you see the news?” your mother asked sweetly that it halted on to you.

Your heart hammered louder. They looked as if they’re anticipating your reaction, while you looked at them with eyes wide.

“Is this about Jungwon?” you asked them back.

“This is what we’re talking about,” your mother said softly, but to you, it felt mocking.

“I don’t understand,” you only said.

“Their truth is now exposed, thank goodness because they deserve what’s about to happen to them,” your father stated and from how they reacted, something felt off.

“You guys did that?” you asked, appalled.

“We did it for you,” your mother explained, and that’s when the truth hit you. “To show you how dirty Yang Jungwon is.”

You shook your head, “no, he’s not — he won’t do something like that. You set him up.”

“We didn’t, they just don’t know how to clean up their own mess.” your father answered.

That’s when you exploded, standing up with rage as you looked at them. “Why do you have to do that!? Was it enough for you to marry me off to Riki!? You told me you won’t do anything to Jungwon.”

“This is just a pure business kid,” your father answered and that made you stop. “You’d understand it someday.”

“I’ll never understand because you never ever tried to look at me as someone who’s capable of doing things on my own.” you mocked. “I had enough of this, I am tired of you controlling me, and I won’t let you control my life anymore.”

You stood up from your seat, grabbed your things and left your office, ignoring your parent’s shouts as your mind turned blank and spiralled. You were overwhelmed. Every emotion — anger, guilt, and anxiety mixed with your brain but you decided to just do what your heart is telling you to do.

You got into your car and drove towards the only person who knew about Jungwon. Giving your car keys to the valet, you immediately entered the lobby, and to your luck — he was there.

“Sunoo, I need to talk to Jungwon,” you stated the moment you approached the man.

But Sunoo only stared. He looked surprised to see you here, filled with desperation and yet, he didn’t budge. The man looked like he was thinking whether to tell you or not, which meant that Sunoo knows something. 

“He’s not here y/n,” Sunoo answered. “They’re investigating Eden group right now, and since he’s the head, he’s probably either hiding, or complying with the investigation. He’s in deep trouble right now.”

“I know, that’s why I need to talk to him.” you repeated.

Sunoo shrugged casually, “I don’t know about his whereabouts y/n. Jungwon disappeared.”

Your forehead creased to his answer. “Disappeared?”

The man nodded, “disappeared. He left. Vanished without any trace — I don’t know. I couldn’t reach him or anything.”

“He wouldn’t — I — I need to help him,” you said. “My parents — they’re behind this, and I need to help —”

“Breathe y/n, calm down please,” Sunoo said softly, holding your cold, sweaty hands as he helped you with your breathing. You couldn’t help but to worry further, especially when the only trail you have towards Jungwon doesn’t have a single clue about his presence.

“Sunoo, I need to help him,” you muttered and the man only nodded.

“If there’s someone who knows Jungwon the best between us, that’s you y/n,” Sunoo advised. “So calm down, and just let Jungwon do this. He knows how to handle this case.”

-

You were losing hope.

The scandal was all over the news for the past following days. It haunted you. You wondered about Jungwon’s whereabouts. You looked everywhere for him but nothing. 

He’s gone. 

Just gone in a glimpse, and you thought you couldn’t do anything about it anymore — not until your phone rang late at night and a message appeared to you. All your worries faded.

Nuggets?

That one word. That damn one word was all you needed to get your hopes high.

Jungwon’s alive, and he’s asking you to meet him. He’s alive — and he wanted to see you. The thought repeated in your mind numerous times before it sinked into you. The text made you hopeful. Your heart was filled with determination as you grabbed your phone, car keys, and jacket, and left your flat.

Driving towards that spot. You could feel your heart’s about to burst out of your chest anytime. You were nervous, scared of how to confront Jungwon but there’s a small hope in you that tries to ease you. It’s just Jungwon. He won’t do anything bad to you. 

You already noticed his car when you arrived at the empty lot. Parking your car and turning off the engine, you suddenly froze, seemingly scared to go out.

But there he was standing near his car. Hair messy and longer than usual, while his eyes looked tired, filled with dark circles underneath. It looks like the case took a toll on him but he spared his time to meet up.

He needs you. Your heart told you. There's no time for you to be scared, that’s why you got out of the car but stopped in front. Waiting for him to make a move.

Jungwon didn’t say anything and instead, he opened his arms wide — like he was asking for your hug and that was it.

You broke down.

You ran towards him who managed to catch you smoothly. His hug was tight and safe. Life suddenly felt safe and comforting to you as that familiar scent from your lover hit your nose.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. “I didn’t mean — for everything, I’m sorry —”

Your words were cut off when Jungwon crashed his lips against yours. Hungry, eager, and missing you like crazy. His hands that gripped your face were too tight but you couldn't do anything but to groan against his lips as you kissed him back with much intensity.

The kiss went for another minute and two until Jungwon broke out first, catching his breath as his stare on you lingered.

“It’s okay, I know you don’t mean it,” Jungwon said.

“I’m sorry Jungwon, I was just — just so scared of everything,” you apologized as your stare on him never left. “My parents — they, they told me that they’ll do something to you. That’s why I agreed.”

“We’ll talk about it for another day, but right now, I need you.” he replied and that made you look at him.

“Is it about your case?”

He nodded. “Your parents exposed it to the media,”

“They did, they confessed it to me,” you confirmed.

“Great, I owe them for that because my parents were planning on pining everything on me,” Jungwon stated and your ears rang at the confession.

“What? Why?”

“Because of us,” Jungwon answered, his thumb brushing onto your cheeks softly. “It wasn’t enough that I called it off, they wanted me to suffer.”

“Jungwon, what do you want me to do?” you asked.

“Testify with me.”

“For the case?”

“It’s about time that we tell everyone about us,” Jungwon decided. “But I need you to be there with me.”

“Can we do that? We’re talking about our parents, they could do more damage to us,” you asked, still filled with fear.

“We’re in this together y/n, we’ll get through this,” he assured.

But you weren’t able to say anything when you heard screeches of wheels driving towards your spot. You two separated from each other as both heads turned towards the direction of the sound.

Your eyes widened as you saw a familiar black maserati. Stopping in front of you, the door opened, and Riki went out of the vehicle, looking furious and mad.

“Jungwon —” Jungwon immediately pulled you behind him, shielding you from Riki who seemed to have every intention of taking you back.

Things went too fast for your sight. The next thing you knew, Riki landed a punch on Jungwon, making the man stumble upon the ground with a bloodied nose.

“Jungwon!” you shouted and screamed in terror as Riki pulled you away from Jungwon, you struggled against him as the tall man carried you away on his shoulders. 

You screamed Jungwon’s name as you tried to escape your way out of Riki’s grip, but all of your struggles were useless when he placed you down on the passenger seat before he moved towards the driver’s seat.

“Where’s your phone?” Riki asked as he started to pat down your clothes, you pushed Riki away but he was stronger, finally finding your phone and stealing it away from you.

“You didn’t have to do that!” you shouted at Riki.

“You listen to me,” the man ordered, cold and authoritative as he grabbed you by your face, facing him who had nothing but a predatory gaze that sent chills down your spine.

“You and I are getting married whether you like it or not. Your parents owe me billions, if you don’t compromise, it’ll be the end of them, do you understand?” he warned. 

“Billions?” you asked.

“How the fuck do you think your parents’ found the Yang’s dirt?” Riki shared and the revelation made your stomach churned.

“Are you serious?”

“Your parents made a deal with me, they knew what they’re doing,” Riki explained before he released his hold on you. “Unfortunate to you, you’re the product sold to me. So if you really love your parents, you shut the fuck up and don’t you ever meet up with Yang Jungwon ever again.”

“Is that a threat?” you asked, appalled.

“It’ll be if you disobey me once again,” he warned and that made you shut up.

“You’re lucky that it’s your parents’ life that’s at risk,” he glanced at Jungwon’s direction, a smirk becoming evident to his lips. “Or else, it’ll be his life.”

“Don’t you ever touch Jungwon,” you scowled at him but the man remained unfazed.

“If you want to keep him alive, you do everything I say,” he repeated once again and you were left with no choice. You watched as Riki turned off your phone and placed it in his jacket’s pocket. With nothing else you could do, you sinked into your chair as your cry started to become louder, wondering why everyone seemed so against you and Jungwon’s love.

-

The veil’s crown felt heavy on your head.

Your hair, filled with numerous extensions was tied into a bun, white flowers adorned around the bun along with a crown wherein your veil was extended.

You were glowing, all ethereal in your wedding gown and yet, the sorrow expression in your face couldn’t be erased. This was supposed to be a wonderful day for you, but this felt like a tragedy instead — knowing that the person who’s meeting you at the altar, wasn’t the one you love.

You watched in the mirror’s reflection how the stylist fixed your makeup with much precision. Your makeup was simple, and clean, keeping a pure image that complements your immaculate white wedding gown. While getting yourself prepared, your mind was spiraling, wondering about Jungwon’s whereabouts. You lost contact with him, and it didn’t help that Riki was guarding you 24/7.

You could only hope that he’s fine and that the case would be dissolved. You couldn’t meet him anymore, especially when there’s a threat waiting for him.

That’s why you had given up. Your loved ones are in danger and you don’t want to do any reckless acts anymore. If this wedding could give you a peace of mind that everyone you love will be safe, you’re willing to go on with it — even if it means marrying the man who has been nothing but a threat to you.

A knock on the door startled you. Turning around, you saw that it was just one of Riki’s men, informing you that the wedding car had arrived. You nodded to his words while you let the stylist do some last minute touch-ups before going. Eventually, she helped you get out of the hotel room, downwards the elevator, and enter the car.

With the door closing, the car drove away from the hotel. As you watch the hotel disappear in front of you, followed by the car entering the lane along with the hundred cars on the road, that’s when it sinked into you how sad and lonely your wedding day is.

The drive was smooth. It was quiet yet cold that you couldn’t help but to spiral. You missed Jungwon and his dimpled smile. You wished that it was him who’s at the altar, not some freaking yakuza.

That’s when you felt the tears forming on your eyelids and it didn’t help that you started to sob incoherently. You couldn’t even wipe the tears away due to your emotions, your cries became too much that the driver let out a deep sigh.

“All that crying will make you ugly,” you halted when you heard a familiar voice. You look up and that’s when you noticed who was driving the car.

“Sunoo!?” you shout in surprise as you see his face in the rearview mirror.

“You looked lovely bride-to-be,” he smiled. “But I am afraid that the wedding’s not going to happen”

“What?”

“Because you’re going to testify for Jungwon today. He’s holding a private conference today and he’s waiting for you.” he explained, and with that, he turned left, going in the opposite direction of the church.

Your eyes widened at his action, while Sunoo whistled happily before stepping on the gas pedal harder, almost making the car fly on the road.

“Sunoo — turn around please! I must go to the wedding,” you pleaded. “My parent’s in danger if I don't marry Riki.”

But Sunoo only scoffed, “Your parents? Your parents who're going to marry you off to a yakuza? Your parents who exposed and ruined Jungwon’s reputation?”

“Yes, my parents, now please Sunoo, I need to be at the wedding,” you begged but Sunoo remained unfazed.

“Y/n, listen, fuck your parents.” he stated and you were horrified to hear that from him.

“Don’t. Just don’t think about them. Think about yourself, are you seriously going to let yourself save your parents’ selfishness? They put Jungwon in danger, they’re the ones who forced you to marry a yakuza — y/n, you deserve more, you and Jungwon, you two deserve each other,” he lectured.

You became quiet for a moment.

“It’s time to show everyone what you’ve been hiding,” Sunoo added.

“I am scared Sunoo, what’s going to happen to me? To them?” you asked.

“If you love and trust Jungwon enough, you won’t be scared, he’ll be there for you, no matter what,” the man advised smoothly and yet, it didn’t lift the worry in your heart.

“Could I trust you with that?”

“Your parents must be a bunch of assholes for you to have trust issues,” Sunoo commented, “Whatever, just follow your heart or whatever corny shit you’ll do for love.”

The car stopped in front of a small court room. There were hundreds of reporters and photographers gathered outside as they continuously took photos of Jungwon who stood in front of them, holding a microphone pack while he had nothing but a blank expression on his face.

You stared at him, still appalled at the situation. He looked numbed and tired from everything, that your heart frailed in guilt. You remember the last time you two saw each other — he needed you to testify to him with the case.

It’s time for you two to show the world your love that you’ve been hiding for eight years.

“Go,” Sunoo said, making you look at him. The man only smiled at you as he gestured to you once again.

You hesitated for a moment before you opened the door, holding your wedding gown, you took off the veil and walked towards the crowd, stealing their attention from Jungwon who was speaking and now, went silent as he looked at you — surprised to see you here.

Jungwon always envisioned it. That someday, he’d see you walking towards him in your wedding gown, smiling at him as you carry a bouquet of your favorite flowers while he was standing at the end, heart filled with anticipation to marry the woman he had ever loved — Jungwon just didn’t expect that it’d happen earlier — and not during his wedding day.

You look beautiful of course. Breath-taking as your makeup enhanced your features and beauty. You held your head high like you were proud that you’re here, walking towards him without any hesitation — that’s when it struck him.

You’re here for him and for the whole world to know about you and him. You’re here to fight for your love for him.

“You’re here,” he whispered as you stood in front of him.

“I’m here, and I’m scared, but you’re here, so I’m less scared now,” you said to him, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you in this one,” he said before he handed you the microphone pack.

Without any thought, you grabbed the pack from him, before you faced the crowd. Cameras started flashing, and videos were being recorded. The whole world’s about to know about you and Jungwon, so you took a deep breath and spoke.

“I am l/n y/n of Kingsmark Corp. and I am here to stand as a witness for Yang Jungwon and the allegations surrounding him.” You started, trying your best not to break your voice. 

“The embezzlement was true, I can testify it because it was my parents who exposed it to the media about Eden groups’ mishandling of funds,” you explained. “This is in order to beat Eden group and make Kingsmark Corp the top company.”

“Is there any proof that it was your parents who did this?” one reporter asked.

“They confessed it to me, verbally,” you answered. “I have a recording of the said conversation with me. I am willing to submit it as evidence upon the court’s request.”

“Mr. & Mrs. l/n paid news outlets for the articles to be published, it was accumulated that they spent five billion won just to expose Eden group,” Jungwon added. “The same five million won they borrowed from Eastnight Inc., which all of you know, has ties with the Nishimura clan.”

That’s when you stopped, looking at Jungwon whose face remained serious. 

“In exchange for Eden’s downfall, they sold their only daughter to the Nishimura clan to pay the debt off.” Jungwon’s hands reached for yours and you weren’t able to do anything as you tried to process everything that Jungwon had said.

“Where did you learn that?” one of them asked.

“I will not reveal my resources, but I have documents and files that prove that all of my statements and testaments are true.” Jungwon explained before letting out a deep sigh. “This also proves that I don’t have any involvement in any mishandling of funds of Eden group. It was my parents — they did this behind my back, forging my signature to receive funds from different partners and investors.” 

“What about the allegations that you were seen in different places most of the time, this caused suspicion from the investigators, would you like to clarify this part?” another reporter asked.

“It is true, I am always at different places — sketchy places, hidden ones, and seemingly a place to do illegal trades but the truth is, I was just meeting miss y/n,” Jungwon admitted and there it was.

Your secret’s out now. Jungwon said it without any hesitation.

“Miss y/n and I have a relationship. We’ve been seeing each other for eight years now.” Jungwon confessed as he looked at you, who only smiled at his statement. 

“But your families are rivals.”

“Hence why they wanted to destroy us, they’re punishing us only because we have loved,” you answered instead. “But we’re here now, talking in front of everyone, to prove that we’re innocent. Our love was real, and it deserves to be known and be out loud. Everything that had happened to us were just schemes by our parents upon discovering our relationship. We’ve done nothing other than to love.”

Saying those words, you felt your chest becoming lighter. All your worries, thoughts, and anxiety disappeared as your hand that held Jungwon’s tightened. He looked at you and without any words, you smiled at him — and that eased his worries too.

“With that said, I am stepping down as the chief executive officer of the Eden group of companies. This is a matter of betrayal from the people I should trust the most. From now on, I don’t want to be involved with the mentioned company.” Jungwon declared

“So do I,” you stated. “I am stepping down as the chief executive officer of Kingsmark corporation. I don’t want to be involved with the mentioned company — and if my parents are watching this, I am not sorry for loving Yang Jungwon.”

Jungwon smirked at your remark. You looked at him with a smile when suddenly, he pulled you close to you before sealing a kiss on your lips.

Cameras started flashing. All you could hear was the continuous press of buttons as Jungwon’s kiss deepened on yours. You didn’t say anything but instead, you closed your eyes before kissing him back, arms wrapped around his shoulder, out loud in public to show everyone and the world that what you two have is real. 

As you two broke off the kiss, both smiles were wide as Jungwon grabbed you by your hand and pulled you away from the scene. Reporters tried to get more of your statement but the moment you two  had entered the car, Sunoo drove away from the place.

“That was quite a scene you two did there,” Sunoo whistled, glancing at the rearview mirror where you and Jungwon were laughing like idiots on the backseat.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” Jungwon asked and you only smiled.

“Of course,” you quipped. “But what now?”

“We’ll start anew, but not here, somewhere — somewhere where we could act normal, love each other without hiding from the world.” he answered. 

“I love that,” you said with bliss.

Jungwon smiled before leaning on you for another kiss, you placed a hand on his face as you kissed him back with the same intensity. It would’ve been longer if it wasn’t for Sunoo who cleared his throat, glaring at the two of you through his rearview mirror.

“I’m still here,” he reminded, making you two separate from each other.

“You know my offer for you to join us still stands,” Jungwon teased and he watched how his best friend visibly gagged.

“Ew, no thanks.”

Your next destination was the airport. You didn’t ask any question and instead placed your trust on Jungwon. You watched as Sunoo casually stirred the wheel, going towards an unfamiliar path which you immediately noticed was a restricted area.

He rolled down his window before he fished out a thick envelope and handed it to the guard who accepted it without any thought. You didn’t pry further and instead, waited for the gates to be open for the car to go inside.

Away from the domestic flights, the car went to a farther area — a place you never thought had existed. The road seemed to be endless until you noticed a jet parked nearby and a few people standing.

Sunoo stopped the car in front of them. Jungwon opened the car and reached for his hands.

“Let’s go,” he said and you don’t know why you hesitated for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Jungwon asked, worried.

“I still feel scared,” you said with all honesty.

Jungwon cupped your cheeks, gentle as he looked at you softly. “I know, but sometimes we have to do something while scared.”

“We’re really going to be free right?” you asked him who only smiled at your simple question.

“Of course, don’t worry about us, I’ve planned everything out, I’m not going to abandon you and the life you’ve lived.” Jungwon assured

You nodded at his words before accepting his hands. He guided you towards the private jet wherein a few men greeted Jungwon with formal handshakes and greetings.

“Is everything set Taki?” Jungwon asked.

“Yeah, Yudai-san and Euijoo hyung’s flying the plane, you should probably go now or it’ll start getting suspicious,” the man, named Taki, replied.

“Good — wait, before we go,” Jungwon said before he looked at you with a smirk.

“What?” you asked.

“Sunoo, can you officiate our wedding?” he asked his best friend suddenly.

“What!?” you shrieked.

“The fuck?” Sunoo cursed as he looked at Jungwon in horror. 

“What? It’ll be a waste for your wedding gown, come on, we already have some witnesses here.” Jungwon casually stated, even pointing at the men standing nearby, who seemed entertained at the sudden ceremony.

“We don’t even have a ring.” you rebutted.

“That’s what you thought,” Jungwon chuckled as he grabbed something from his pocket — a velvet box which made your eyes widen.

“What the fuck —” you breathed. 

“Will you marry me? Right here, right now?” Jungwon asked as he immediately went onto his knees making you pull him out of the place.

“Seriously?” you exhaled as he stood up from his place, but the smile on his face never faded. Jungwon looked so determined with his request.

“I am serious, come on, everyone’s waiting for you,” Jungwon insisted but you were caught off-guard completely. You stared at him dazed, not knowing what to do especially after everything that just happened today.

“Stop being so dramatic, we’ll leave in ten minutes by the way!” someone shouted from the entrance of the jet, while the rest followed by urging you to agree, making you groan in annoyance.

“Fine, yes Jungwon, of course it’s a yes!” you shouted and Jungwon’s smile only widened.

“Great, now Sunoo, do the honor,.” Jungwon said in a hurry as Sunoo approached you two while muttering curses under his breath.

“Does he even have a license?” you asked.

“I did, I got my license in Vegas,” Sunoo bragged.

“Las fucking vegas, great, just fucking great,” you cursed under your breath, finding the situation funny and unserious.

“Come on y/n, stop being dramatic, you two are going to get married either way. Now, stand in front of me, and wait — I need to find the script — whatever, do you Yang Jungwon, take l/n y/n as your lawfully wedded wife?” Sunoo started.

With that question, Jungwon grabbed the gold band from the box and with ease, slid it on your ring finger, fitting perfectly like it was meant for you.

“I do, in every universe,” he answered, giving you a smile that made your heart feel at ease in the midst of the mess you two are involved in right now.

“Wow cool, okay, do you l/n y/n, take Yang Jungwon as your lawfully wedded husband?” Sunoo asked, looking at you who held her breath throughout.

“For better, for worse, I do,” you answered without any hesitation. You grabbed the ring and copied Jungwon’s action. Seeing the ring fit on his finger, that’s when you realized that he had planned everything all along.

The only thing you should do is trust and be with him.

“By the power vested upon me, I may now announce you husband and wife, you may now kiss your bride and go board the fucking plane,” Sunoo announced and with that, the cheers erupted from the small crowd making you two laugh at the situation.

Jungwon didn’t waste any second. He pulled you close to him and sealed the marriage with a kiss. The kiss felt different, not because you two just got ‘married’ but because it felt light and affirming after conquering every obstacle your love faced.

As you two broke it off, you couldn’t help but to cry in joy as you looked at Jungwon. He’s here with you, alive, breathing, and you two may have ruined both your family’s empire, but it didn’t matter to you anymore especially when all you could think of was your future ahead with Jungwon. 

“Let’s go?” He asked and you nodded, letting him lead you towards the staircase up to the jet. 

“All set?” Yudai asked from the cockpit.

“Yup, we’re all good here,” Jungwon said as he put on your seatbelt before his.

“Where to?” Yudai asked while Euijoo closed the door.

“Iceland,” Jungwon answered and you were confused.

“Why there?”

“For our honeymoon?” he replied like it was a matter of fact.

You laughed at his answer. “Oh my god, you’re really convinced that we got married.”

“Our rings say otherwise.” Jungwon rebutted.

“Are we serious about Iceland?” Eujioo interrupted.

“Dead serious,” Jungwon answered before glancing at you. “Don’t worry, we have a lot of time in this world to get married, for real this time.”

You hummed, looking at him with your heart swelling with anticipation. “I would very much love that Jungwon.”

A few minutes later, the jet had taken off. You watched from your window seat how Seoul slowly became smaller and smaller until the only thing you could see was the sea of clouds under the blue sky.

That’s when you felt Jungwon’s hands intertwined around yours. He gave you a smile before giving your hand — the one with a ring on it, a kiss. You didn’t say anything but your heart and soul knows that you’re flying towards the future you were dreaming for with Jungwon.

No more hiding, no more hotel room meetups, and hushed conversations — starting from today, it’ll be you, Jungwon, and the whole world who'll witness your love. 

[lac4ygal]

ᝰ.ᐟNUMBER ONE RULE

Freshman center Yang Jungwon arrives at Blackwood University with one goal: play hockey at the highest level he can. Then he breaks the one rule his captain ever gave him — don’t touch my sister — and falls completely in love anyway. When the secret hookups turn into something real, and the team becomes accomplices, it’s only a matter of time before Jay finds out. And when he finally does, it blows up the team, the house, and the bond twins have shared their entire lives. On top of this it’s right before the biggest game of their season. Jay and Jungwon have to fight their way back to each other — on and off the ice — before the championship, and before it costs Jungwon the brother he never expected to gain.

pairings: brothersfriend!jungwon x sister!reader

word count… 36.6k (I’m so sorry)

CONTENT WARNINGS! explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, praise kink, multiple orgasms, LOTS of sexual tension, secret relationship, betrayal of trust, family conflict (brief), emotional distance, alcohol use, arguing, brief physical altercation (not with reader), emotional angst, angst with happy ending ┃ PLAYLIST… Delicate by Taylor Swift , Fade Into You by Mazzy Star , Somebody Else by The 1975 , u + me = <3 by Olivia Rodrigo , Beaches by beabadoobee , Back in Love by Suki Waterhouse , Love Hangover by Jennie , Take Me Home by Cailin Russo

⋆。˚ lacey speaks!! so… this somehow went from the planned 25k to 36.6k words 😭 i genuinely have no idea how that happened but i got a little too attached to these idiots. thank you so much to everyone who reads, comments, leaves little reactions, or even just opens the fic. genuinely, it means more than you know. i read every comment and they always make my day. as always, please let me know your favourite scenes, your favourite lines because i LOVE hearing them. anyway… enjoy 36.6k words of hockey, mutual pining, denial, and two people making increasingly questionable life choices. happy reading <3

“IF I THROW UP ON THE ICE, YOU HAVE TO TELL PEOPLE I HAD FOOD POISONING.”

“You’re not going to throw up.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know my body, Jungwon. You don’t know what it’s capable of.” Jungwon didn’t look up from his skate laces. He’d learned in the four days since they’d moved into the Den that Riki narrated his anxiety the way other people breathed — constantly, without much say in the matter — and that the correct response was usually no response at all. “Tie your laces.”

“I am tying my laces. I’m tying them and panicking. Multitasking.” Riki yanked the lace tight enough that the eyelets groaned, then immediately loosened it again, frowning down at his own skate like it had personally wronged him. The locker room around them was already half full — upperclassmen moving with the unhurried, proprietary ease of guys who’d done this a hundred times, freshmen moving like they were trying not to be noticed taking up space. Jungwon recognized the difference in himself too. He was sitting very still. Still felt safer than fidgeting.

“You made first line at your old club team,” Jungwon said. “Twice.”

“That’s youth hockey. This is — “ Riki gestured vaguely at the room, at the Blackwood crest stenciled above the doorway, at the rows of stalls with nameplates that weren’t theirs yet. “This is the actual NCAA. This is Park Jongseong’s team. You know what happens to freshmen who embarrass themselves in front of Park Jongseong?”

“What happens?”

“I don’t know, that’s the scary part. Nobody’s ever told me. It’s implied.”

Jungwon almost smiled. He didn’t, because smiling felt like it would let some of the pressure out of his chest that he was using, very deliberately, to keep himself focused. He’d wanted this — wanted it the specific, single-minded way he wanted most things, which was to say completely, with no real plan for what to do with himself if it didn’t happen. Three years of juniors hockey, two recruiting visits, one decision that had felt less like a choice and more like the only door that had ever made sense to walk through. And now here he was, lacing up in a locker room three thousand miles from anywhere that had ever felt like home, next to a guy who’d been his roommate for four days and already felt like the only stable thing in the building. “You’re quiet,” Riki said, which was rich, coming from him.

“I’m always quiet.”

“You’re quiet like you’re thinking too hard about something. There’s a difference.” Riki finally got both skates tied to his satisfaction and straightened up, rolling his shoulders. He’d filled out over the summer — they both had, the strength program had made sure of that — but he still moved like someone who hadn’t quite caught up to his own height yet, all elbows and momentum. “What are you thinking about?”

“Not throwing up.”

“Liar. You’ve never thrown up in your life. You’re, like, constitutionally incapable of it. It’s annoying, actually, now that I say it out loud.”

The door to the locker room swung open before Jungwon could answer, and the easy noise of the room dropped by half — not silence, just a recalibration, the particular hush that happens when the person who matters most walks in. Jungwon knew who it was before he turned his head. He’d watched enough Blackwood game tape over the summer to recognize the walk alone.

Park Jongseong didn’t look like he was trying to be intimidating. That was, Jungwon would come to understand, exactly what made him intimidating. He had a stick bag over one shoulder and a coffee in his other hand and he said “morning” to about six people on his way to his stall, easy, unbothered, like a guy who already knew exactly how good he was and had stopped needing to perform it. “That’s him,” Riki whispered, entirely unnecessarily.

“I know who it is.”

“I’m just saying. That’s him.”

Jay — Jungwon had heard it a dozen times already, never once heard anyone call him Jongseong outside of a coach’s clipboard — dropped his bag at the stall with his name already on it, the one with three years of tape residue on the nameplate, and finally let his eyes drift over the room. Cataloguing. Jungwon recognized the look because it was one he used himself, the assessment of who was solid and who was nervous and who might be a problem. His eyes landed on Jungwon and Riki for a second longer than anyone else. “You two. Yang and Nishimura?”

“Yes, captain,” Riki said, too fast.

Something flickered at the corner of Jay’s mouth — not quite a smile, the suggestion of one filed away for later use. “Heard a lot about you both this summer. Coach won’t stop talking about the center from the Japan program.” A nod at Jungwon. “We’ll see if it’s true on the ice.”

“It’s true,” Riki said, before Jungwon could decide whether to say anything at all. “He’s annoying about it. He’s, like, suspiciously good.”

“Suspiciously good freshmen are my favorite kind.” Jay’s gaze held on Jungwon another beat — not unkind, just thorough, the way you’d look at a piece of equipment you were deciding whether to trust. “Don’t let me down out there.”

“I won’t,” Jungwon said, and meant it more than he’d meant almost anything in his life. Jay moved on, already greeting someone else by name across the room, and Riki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for the entire exchange. “Okay. Okay, that was — he seems normal. Chill, even. I was told there’d be a speech.”

“There will be,” said a voice from the next row of stalls, and a guy Jungwon recognized from the roster as Jake leaned around the partition, grinning. Sunghoon, beside him, didn’t look up from where he was meticulously taping his stick, but he was clearly listening. “The speech isn’t till tonight. Initiation.”

“What speech?”

“You’ll see.” Jake’s grin widened in a way that should have been more reassuring than it was. “It’s a Blackwood tradition. Captain gives the rookies the rules. Most of it’s normal stuff — don’t skip lifts, don’t talk to the football team unless you’re trying to start something, don’t be the reason we lose the Founders Cup.” He paused, and Jungwon had the distinct sense that the pause was load-bearing. “And then there’s the other rule.”

“What other rule?”

Sunghoon spoke without looking up. “You’ll see.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s funnier this way,” Jake said, and went back to his own laces, whistling something tuneless, leaving Riki staring after him with the look of a man who’d just been told there was a trapdoor somewhere in the room and no further information.

Tryouts were, in the most literal sense, just hockey. Jungwon had played enough of it in enough rinks across enough countries that the ice itself never scared him — the cold air in his lungs, the particular silence of a puck gliding before the slap of someone’s stick broke it, the geometry of a give-and-go executed clean. That part of him was calm. Had always been calm. It was the only part of him that ever fully was. What he hadn’t expected was how fast Coach Anders moved them through drills clearly designed to see who flinched. Full-ice give-and-gos at speed, odd-man rushes with no warning who was getting the puck, a three-on-two read where half the freshmen visibly hesitated at the blue line and got benched for the rest of the rep without a word of explanation.

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He’d decided somewhere over the summer — quietly, the way he decided most things — that hesitation was the one thing he could not afford to bring to this ice, because everyone here had a reason to think a freshman center didn’t belong on the top unit, and the only argument he had against that was the one he could make with his stick.

By the third hour, he’d noticed Jay watching him specifically. Not constantly. Just at the moments that mattered — the give-and-go where Jungwon held the puck a half-second longer than the drill called for, reading the lane instead of dumping it the way the play sheet suggested, and put it through a gap that hadn’t technically been there until he made it be there. Jay didn’t say anything. He just watched, and then skated to center ice for the next rep, and Jungwon understood that the watching was its own kind of conversation.

Riki, for his part, was finding his footing the louder way — a highlight-reel one-timer in the third drill that got a few sticks tapping the ice in approval, then immediately undercut by tripping over the blue line in the very next rep and going down hard enough that the whole rink heard it. “I’m fine,” he announced to no one, from the ice, before anyone asked.

“Nobody asked,” Jake called from the bench.

“I could feel the concern radiating off this rink and I wanted to address it.”

By the time Coach blew the final whistle, Jungwon’s legs were a kind of tired that felt less like exhaustion and more like proof of something. He skated to the bench beside Riki, who collapsed onto it like his skeleton had personally given up on him, and only then let himself look toward center ice, where Jay was talking to Coach with the easy, low-voiced confidence of someone who’d be reporting the freshman roster’s worth in about four sentences. “You. Center.” Coach’s voice cut across the rink, and Jungwon’s head came up before he’d even registered being addressed. “Yang. Get over here.”

Riki nudged him so hard he nearly went face-first into the boards. “Go, go, go—” Jungwon skated over, suddenly aware of his own pulse in a way he hadn’t been for three hours of actual hockey. Coach Anders had a clipboard he wasn’t looking at and an expression Jungwon couldn’t read, and Jay stood beside him with his arms crossed, unreadable in a different, more deliberate way.

“First line,” Coach said. “Center. You’ll be playing with Jongseong on your wing.” For a second the words didn’t fully land — not because Jungwon didn’t understand them, but because some part of him had been so braced for a different sentence that this one needed a moment to be believed. First line. As a freshman. He knew, distantly, the way you know a fact rather than feel it, that this didn’t happen. Not at a program like this. Not in week one. “Thank you, Coach,” he managed.

“Don’t thank me. Earn it every single day or I’ll pull you so fast you won’t see it coming.” Anders said it without heat, like a fact of weather, and walked off toward the next conversation he had to have. Which left Jungwon standing on the ice across from Jay, alone, in the particular quiet of a rink emptying out around them. Jay studied him for a second. “You know what this means.”

“That I don’t get to be bad at this.”

“That you don’t get to be bad at this,” Jay agreed, something almost like approval moving across his face. “I don’t care that you’re a freshman. I care that you’re good, and I think you’re about to be the best center this program’s had in four years, and I need to know if I can build a line around you that doesn’t fall apart in November.” He held out a glove. “Can I?” Jungwon looked at it for half a second longer than the gesture probably warranted, and then knocked his own glove against it. “Yeah. You can.”

“Good.” Jay’s mouth did the almost-smile thing again, fuller this time. “Welcome to the Wolves, Yang. Don’t make me regret this.” He skated off toward the tunnel, and Jungwon stood there a moment longer than he needed to, letting it settle — the ice under his skates, the weight of the line Jay had just put on him, the particular feeling of being trusted by someone whose trust clearly didn’t come cheap. He thought, with the small, private satisfaction of a goal he’d set for himself and quietly hit: I want him to keep thinking that about me.

The Den (the ice hockey frat) at seven that evening was unrecognizable from the version Jungwon had toured during his recruiting visit — that one had been clean, staged, every surface wiped down for parents. This one had thirty hockey players packed into a living room that smelled like body spray and old pizza, somebody’s portable speaker playing something with too much bass, and a framed photo on the wall by the staircase that Jungwon’s eyes kept catching on without quite knowing why. Two kids, maybe ten years old, matching gap-toothed grins, one of them holding a hockey stick taller than he was and the other holding nothing, hands on her hips like she was supervising. He recognized Jay immediately even at that age — something about the set of the jaw hadn’t changed at all. He didn’t know who the girl was. Didn’t think about it past a beat of mild curiosity before Riki elbowed him in the ribs and the room’s energy shifted, everyone finding a seat or a wall to lean against, because Jay had walked to the front of the room with the specific posture of a man about to give a speech he’d given many times before.

“Alright. Rookies, eyes up. Everyone else, you’ve heard this, shut up and let me say it anyway.” A ripple of laughter from the upperclassmen, like the joke was older than Jungwon’s time at Blackwood. Jay waited it out, unbothered, then continued. “Rule one. You do not skip lifts. I don’t care what your high school strength coach told you, you skip lifts here and you will feel it in February when you’re getting run over by a sophomore from BC who didn’t.”

“Rule two.” A few guys mouthed it along with him, clearly by memory. “You do not embarrass this program. Not at parties, not on campus, not on Twitter, God help you if it’s Twitter. What you do reflects on all of us, whether you like that or not.”

“Rule three. You do not start anything with the football team. I don’t care who started it actually, I don’t care who’s right, you walk away, because Coach has had that exact conversation with their coach four times already and I am tired of being there for it.”

The room had loosened by now, a low murmur of guys who’d heard this annually finishing his sentences under their breath, Jake outright mouthing along with theatrical solemnity like he was reciting a pledge. Jay let it happen for a second, something almost fond in it, before his expression shifted — not harder, exactly, but more deliberate. He turned, and Jungwon watched him look at the framed photo on the wall, then back at the room. “And the last one.” His voice didn’t get louder. If anything it got quieter, which made the whole room quiet down to match it. “You do not touch my sister.”

A groan went up from at least eight different directions, good-natured, well-worn. “Bro, we know,” Jake called out, not unkindly. “You say this every single year.”

“And I’ll keep saying it every single year,” Jay said, “until one of you proves me wrong by not needing to hear it.”

“It’s literally tattooed into our brains at this point,” Heeseung put in from somewhere near the back. “We could say it for you.”

“Then say it with me.” A few scattered, half-joking voices did, off-rhythm, and Jay let himself almost-smile at the chaos of it before his gaze swept the room one more time and landed, with what felt to Jungwon like unmistakable precision, on the freshmen. On him. On Riki.

“I mean it,” Jay said, and there was no joke left in his voice at all. “I don’t care how funny you think it is. I don’t care if you think it’s a bit. She’s not a joke, and she’s not available, and any of you who think you’re the exception are going to find out real fast that I am not.” Nobody laughed at that part.

Jungwon nodded along with the rest of the rookies, the universal gesture of understood, no problem, why would this ever be an issue — and meant it. He filed it next to the lifts and the football team and the Twitter rule. A reasonable ask from a captain who’d clearly built his entire program on trust, and Jungwon had just shaken that man’s hand on the ice four hours ago and told him he could be trusted with it.

—

The thing nobody told Jungwon about Blackwood — not the recruiters, not the campus tour, not the glossy athletics brochure with its drone shots of the rink at sunset — was how much of actual freshman life happened in the gaps between hockey. He’d pictured it, vaguely, as practice and class and sleep, in that order, on a loop. Nobody mentioned the part where the Den ran on its own gravity, where Tuesday afternoons meant six guys sprawled across two couches watching game tape with the volume too low to actually hear, where Heeseung had apparently appointed himself the unofficial keeper of a coffee machine he guarded like a dragon, and where Jake’s primary personality trait, three days in, appeared to be finding new and increasingly elaborate ways to make Riki regret saying anything out loud, ever. “I’m just saying,” Jake said, sprawled upside down across the arm of the couch in a way that looked actively bad for his spine, “if Coach moves you to second line because you keep tripping over blue lines, that’s not bullying. That’s documentation.”

“It happened once.”

“It’s happened twice. I have a list.”

“You don’t have a list.”

“I have a mental list. Mentally, it’s very organized.” Jungwon sat at the kitchen table with his economics textbook open to a page he’d read four times without absorbing a single word of, partly because the syllabus had assigned something genuinely dense for week one, and partly because he was distracted by the particular ease of the room around him — the way nobody here had to perform anything. He’d grown up around hockey locker rooms his whole life and they were rarely this loose this early. The Den had three years of inside jokes baked into its walls already and he and Riki were still learning the language, but nobody seemed to mind teaching it to them. “You’re doing the econ reading,” Heeseung observed, dropping into the chair across from him with his own mug. “On a Wednesday. Before it’s due.”

“Is that not normal?”

“It’s very not normal. Sunghoon hasn’t opened a textbook since orientation and he has a 3.7.”

“That’s a lie I haven’t fact-checked because it’s funnier to let it stand,” came Sunghoon’s voice from the doorway, where he’d appeared with the specific quiet menace of someone who could apparently materialize without anyone noticing the approach — Jungwon was starting to learn that about him, three days in. He had a bag of equipment over one shoulder, clearly back from a gear fitting, and he dropped it by the door without much ceremony. “Captain back yet?” Heeseung asked him.

“Nope. Said he’d be back for dinner. Something about—” The front door opened before Sunghoon finished the sentence, and for a second Jungwon assumed it was Jay, the way the whole kitchen’s attention shifted toward the sound the way it had in the locker room three days ago — that same recalibration. But the voice that came through wasn’t Jay’s.

“Whoever ate my leftovers from the fridge, I want you to know I saw the container in the recycling and I am not currently choosing violence, but I reserve the right to change my mind.” Jake, upside-down on the couch arm, didn’t even look over. “That was Heeseung.”

“It was not me—”

“It was absolutely you, you had pad thai breath for an hour.” You walked into the kitchen mid-argument with the easy, unbothered air of someone who’d clearly been doing this — walking into rooms full of hockey players bickering — for years, long enough that it had stopped registering as anything except background noise. You had a tote bag over one shoulder that looked like it weighed more than it should, your hair pulled back in a way that suggested you’d come straight from somewhere academic rather than anywhere that required effort, and you dropped the bag onto the counter with the same casual proprietary ease Jay had dropped his stick bag in the locker room three days before. Like this kitchen belonged to you too. Jungwon would learn, eventually, that it basically did.

Jake was off the couch before you’d even finished setting the bag down, crossing the kitchen in three long strides to throw an arm around your shoulders and steer you half a step sideways like you were a piece of furniture he was rearranging. “There she is. The menace. The legend.”

“Get off me, you’re sweaty.”

“I showered.”

“You did not shower, I can smell the rink on you from here.” You ducked out from under his arm without much real effort, swatting at his side, but there was no real heat behind it — just the specific, well-worn ease of two people who’d clearly done this exact bit more times than either of them could count. Jungwon filed the whole exchange away without quite meaning to: the easy physical familiarity, the way Jake could throw an arm around you without either of you thinking twice about it, the way you were so plainly, completely unbothered by him. The kid-sister treatment. He understood it the second he saw it, and understood, with slightly less clarity but no less certainty, that he did not want to be filed under the same category as Jake. “Rude. I carry that smell with pride. It’s eau de championship.”

“It’s eau de you skipped the showers because Sunghoon was hogging the good one.”

“That is also true.” Jake didn’t even pretend to be offended, dropping back onto the couch with the satisfied air of a man who’d gotten exactly the interaction he wanted. “Anyway. Heeseung ate your leftovers.”

“I did not—”

“You’re new,” you said, cutting clean through Heeseung’s protest, not turning around yet, like you’d clocked Jungwon in your peripheral vision the second you walked in and simply hadn’t gotten to him yet on your list of priorities. You opened the fridge, presumably to assess the damage to whatever container had survived the day. “I — yeah.” Smooth, Jungwon thought, distantly, unimpressed with himself. “Jungwon. Yang Jungwon.”

“The freshman center Coach won’t stop talking about.” You shut the fridge, finally turning fully, and Jungwon had approximately one second to decide what to do with his face before you were looking directly at him, and the decision he landed on was: nothing. Stay still. Don’t give anything away that you haven’t earned the right to see yet. “Jongseong mentioned you.”

“He did?”

“Mentioned might be generous. He said, and I’m quoting, ‘there’s a freshman who might actually be good,’ which from him is basically a sonnet.” You said it with the specific dry affection of someone who clearly adored your brother and found him slightly ridiculous in equal measure, and something about the way you talked about him — easy, unguarded, like there was no universe where loyalty to him was even a question — made Jungwon’s read on the whole Den click a little further into place. This wasn’t just the captain’s sister stopping by. This was someone who’d grown up in these rooms the way the rest of them had grown up on the ice. He noted, too, distantly, that you’d called him Jongseong. Nobody else in this house had used that name once in three days. To everyone here he was Jay, or Captain, or — on a bad day — Jongseong said with theatrical dread before someone got benched. You said it like it was just his name. Maybe, Jungwon thought, to you, it just was.

“I’ll try to live up to the sonnet.” That got something out of you — not quite a laugh, but the version of one that exists right before it, a flicker at the corner of your mouth that you seemed to decide not to fully commit to. “You’re better off not trying. He’ll find a new thing to be insufferable about within a week.” You looked past him, toward Riki, who’d gone very quiet on the couch in a way that suggested he was taking detailed mental notes for later interrogation. “You’re the other one. Nishimura.”

“Riki. You can call me Riki. Everyone does. It’s — yeah, Riki’s fine.” Riki, Jungwon noted with some private amusement, had apparently lost several IQ points in real time.

“Riki,” you repeated, like you were filing it. “Heads up — if Jongseong catches you eating my leftovers too, he’ll actually do something about it. I’ve made peace with these guys being lost causes.” A gesture at Jake and Heeseung, who both made identical offended noises. “Freshmen still have a chance at redemption.”

“Noted,” Riki managed. You grabbed something from the cabinet — crackers, Jungwon registered without really meaning to register it, the kind in the blue box, which felt like a stupidly specific detail to be cataloguing about someone he’d known for ninety seconds — and headed for the doorway, pausing there the way people do when they’re about to leave a room but haven’t quite committed to it yet. “Anyway. Welcome to the circus.” You said it to the room generally, but your eyes caught Jungwon’s for one more half-second on the way out, not lingering, not anything, just a normal goodbye glance that any of these guys would have gotten in your place. “Try not to let them ruin you too fast.”

And then you were gone, down the hall, the sound of a door somewhere upstairs — Jay’s room, Jungwon would learn — clicking shut behind you, and the kitchen exhaled back into its normal noise like nothing had happened at all. Nothing had happened. Jungwon was aware of that with total clarity. A girl had walked into a kitchen, made a joke about leftovers, learned his name, and left. This was, by any reasonable measure, the least significant interaction he’d had all week, several orders of magnitude less significant than making first line. He looked back down at his econ textbook. Read the same paragraph a fifth time. Still didn’t absorb a word of it. “Well,” Riki said, from the couch, in a voice pitched for exactly one listener. “That’s unfortunate.”

“What is.”

“Don’t.” Riki sat up properly for the first time in twenty minutes, fixing Jungwon with the specific look of someone who had just watched something happen and intended to make sure Jungwon knew he’d watched it. “I watched your whole face do a thing just now.”

“My face didn’t do anything.”

“Your face did several things. I counted at least three things.” Riki lowered his voice further, glancing toward the doorway like the danger might still be listening. “Jungwon. Buddy. My friend. My roommate, who I have grown to care about in four short days. That’s Jongseong’s sister.”

“I know whose sister she is.”

“You know whose sister she is and your face still did the thing.”

“There was no thing.”

“Heeseung,” Riki called out, not breaking eye contact with Jungwon, “did his face do a thing just now?”

“Absolutely it did,” Heeseung said, without looking up from his coffee, with the weary tone of a man who’d apparently already seen this exact movie play out at the Den before and knew exactly how it ended. “I give it two weeks before he’s carrying her bags.”

“I’m not carrying anyone’s bags.”

“Three days,” Jake corrected, from the couch, finally rolling himself upright. “I give it three days.” Jungwon closed his textbook with more force than the moment strictly required, ignoring all three of them with the particular dignity of a man who knew, somewhere underneath the irritation, that they weren’t wrong about anything, and that the worst part — the part he had absolutely no intention of admitting to a room that would never let him hear the end of it — was that some quiet, certain part of him had already decided three days wasn’t going to be nearly long enough to talk himself out of it.

He’d shaken Jay’s hand on the ice. Told him he could be trusted. He thought about the blue crackers. The flicker at the corner of your mouth. The door clicking shut down the hall. That’s unfortunate, he thought again, and didn’t disagree with himself even once.

—

“—and then he just left. Didn’t say bye, didn’t say see you later, nothing. Just picked up his gear bag like a man fleeing a crime scene and walked out of the gym.”

“Sunoo.”

“I’m not done.”

“You’ve been not-done for four blocks.”

“Because it’s a four-block story, Y/N, I don’t control the geography.” Sunoo hopped over a crack in the sidewalk without breaking stride, somehow managing to keep his energy at a near-constant boil despite the fact that they’d left your dorm twenty minutes ago and he hadn’t paused for breath since. The two of you had shared a floor since orientation week freshman year — adjacent rooms, actually, close enough that you’d learned to recognize each other’s footsteps in the hallway — and in that time you’d discovered that Sunoo processed his entire emotional life out loud, in real time, usually at a volume better suited to indoor voices. “So I’m in the gym. Minding my business. Doing my little cooldown stretches because I’m a responsible adult who stretches—”

“You stretch for ninety seconds and call it a cooldown.”

“It’s quality over quantity. And Sunghoon’s there finishing his lift, and he’s got his shirt half off because he’s toweling down, and I make eye contact with him for one — one — completely normal, completely platonic second, and the man turns the color of a fire alarm and leaves the building.”

“Maybe he had somewhere to be.”

“Y/N. He works out at the same gym at the same time every single day. He had nowhere to be. He had somewhere to flee.”

You laughed — you couldn’t help it, you’d been laughing on and off for four blocks — and adjusted the strap of your bag, the night air doing that early-fall thing where it hadn’t decided yet whether it wanted to be warm or cold, which meant you’d both left your jackets at the dorm and were now regretting it in real time, walking faster than necessary partly to get there and partly to generate body heat. The Den was eight minutes from campus if you cut through the quad, less if you didn’t care about getting grass stains on your shoes, which tonight, you decided, you didn’t. “Maybe,” you said, “and I’m just spitballing here, he likes you, and that’s why he ran away.”

“That tracks with literally zero of his behavior.”

“It tracks with all of his behavior. You just don’t want to hear it because then you’d have to do something about it instead of getting to complain to me for four blocks.” Sunoo opened his mouth to argue, visibly reconsidered, and closed it again, which from him was basically a confession. “Okay, fine, hypothetically, if that were true, what would I even — no. Don’t answer that. I don’t want strategy tonight. Tonight I want to dance and forget Sunghoon exists for at least ninety minutes, and you’re going to help me do that.”

“Deal.”

“What’s your goal for tonight?”

“My goal,” you said, with the specific, deliberate casualness of someone who had absolutely thought about this on the walk over, “is to get laid. That’s it. That’s the whole goal. Low bar, very achievable, I’m not trying to overcomplicate my life.”

“A woman with priorities. I respect it.” Sunoo glanced sideways at you, taking in — properly, for what felt like the first time since you’d left your room — what you were actually wearing, like the conversation had only just given him a reason to look. “Okay, and might I say, dressed for the occasion.” You’d put actual thought into it, more than you’d admit to him directly: a dress that hit exactly the right amount of effortless while having taken twenty-five minutes of very much not effortless decision-making in front of your mirror, dark and fitted in the way that did the most work with the least amount of obvious trying, paired with the kind of confidence that came from knowing you looked good and choosing not to make a big deal out of it. You weren’t dressing for anyone specific. You were dressing for the version of tonight where something interesting happened, which felt like a reasonable thing to dress for on a Friday. “I clean up alright.”

“You clean up like a public health hazard, is what I’m saying, someone’s going to need medical attention.” Sunoo bumped his shoulder against yours, grinning. “Jongseong’s gonna take one look at that dress and have an aneurysm.”

“Jongseong is not going to see this dress, because Jongseong is going to be busy being captain and yelling at freshmen about beer pong etiquette, and if he does see it, I will simply lie and say I’ve been wearing a cardigan all night.”

“Bold strategy.”

“It’s worked for four years.”

You could hear the party before you could see it — bass thudding low and steady through the walls of the Den a full block out, the specific texture of a hundred-plus people’s noise blending into one continuous hum, punctuated occasionally by something sharper, a shout, a laugh, the unmistakable crash of something glass that nobody seemed to care about. The porch light was on. Somebody had strung up actual string lights along the railing at some point this week, which felt like a Heeseung touch, the kind of small unnecessary effort he’d deny making if you asked him directly.

The front door was propped open with somebody’s shoe — a genuinely upsetting choice of doorstop that you chose not to think too hard about — and you and Sunoo stepped into the wall of heat and noise that was the Den at full party capacity, the living room packed wall to wall, the kitchen counter doing actual structural duty as a makeshift bar, someone’s questionable music choices blaring from the speaker Jake had clearly hooked his phone up to because nobody else picked songs this aggressively. “Y/N! Sunoo!” Jake’s voice cut through the noise before you’d even gotten three steps in, and he appeared out of the crowd with a red cup in each hand, already holding one out toward you like he’d been anticipating your arrival. “You look — okay, wow, you look like you’re trying to put me in an early grave, what is this.”

“It’s a dress, Jake.”

“It’s a weapon, is what it is. Does Jongseong know you own this?”

“Jongseong does not get a vote on my wardrobe.”

“Jongseong would absolutely like a vote on your wardrobe, that’s the whole — “ Jake gestured vaguely, encompassing, you assumed, the entire premise of his existence as Jay’s friend and teammate. “You know what, never mind, not my fight. Drink.” He pressed the cup into your hand without further ceremony, the same easy, brotherly overfamiliarity you’d gotten from him since you were eighteen, no different than if you were one of his actual sisters. “Sunoo, you too, don’t make this weird by refusing.”

“I wasn’t going to refuse, I was going to say thank you, but go off.”

“Where is he then?” you asked, scanning the crowd out of habit more than real interest — you didn’t actually need to find Jongseong, you knew he’d find you eventually, the way he always did at these things, materializing at your elbow within the first twenty minutes like a smoke detector going off. “Tell me he’s not doing the thing where he stands by the door checking IDs like he personally runs a liquor board.”

“He was doing that an hour ago, yes,” Jake confirmed, entirely too pleased about it. “Sunghoon talked him down. Mostly. He’s somewhere being captain at people. You’ll find him or he’ll find you, you know how it goes.”

“Tragically, I do.” You took a sip of whatever was in the cup — something fruity and far too strong, exactly the kind of drink this house specialized in and refused to ever improve upon — and let Sunoo tug you further into the crowd, already scanning for Sunghoon with the specific, badly-disguised intensity of someone who’d claimed thirty seconds ago that he didn’t want to think about him at all tonight.

That was when you felt it. The look. You’d grown up around enough hockey players to have a very specific radar for being looked at — the difference between the guys who’d known you since you were twelve and treated you like furniture and literally anyone else — and this one didn’t register as either. It wasn’t loud about it. It wasn’t a guy elbowing his friend to point you out. It was just — there, steady, from somewhere across the room, and when you turned your head to actually find it, you already half-knew, with the strange certainty of a feeling you hadn’t quite earned the right to yet, exactly whose eyes you were going to find.

Jungwon was leaning against the wall near the kitchen doorway with a cup he didn’t seem especially interested in drinking, half a conversation happening beside him that he clearly wasn’t fully present for, and when your eyes landed on his, he didn’t look away first. Didn’t do the thing most guys did — caught looking, quick recovery, pretend it never happened. He just held it, calm, unhurried, like he’d already decided there was no version of tonight where pretending made sense. You looked away first. You weren’t entirely sure why. “Okay,” Sunoo said, very close to your ear, having apparently clocked the entire exchange in the two seconds it took, “that’s new.”

“What’s new.”

“You know exactly what’s new. Freshman center, eleven o’clock, doing the eye thing.”

“There’s no eye thing.”

“There is extensive eye thing, I watched it happen, I have a front row seat to eye things, it’s basically my major.” Sunoo’s grin was doing something genuinely unholy now. “Go talk to him.”

“I came here to find a hookup, not start a whole — situation.”

“Maybe the hookup is the situation. Have you considered that the universe is just handing you a gift and you’re standing here arguing with the delivery guy.” You didn’t answer that, mostly because you didn’t have a good one ready, and let yourself get pulled deeper into the party instead — toward the dancing, toward whatever Heeseung and a sophomore defenseman were arguing about near the speaker, toward the specific chaos of a Friday at the Den that you’d witnessed probably two hundred times across four years and never once gotten tired of. You were aware, the entire time, of exactly where in the room he was standing.

“Absolutely not.” Jungwon said.

“Jungwon. Buddy. Best friend. Light of my life.” Riki had a hand wrapped around his wrist and was hauling him bodily toward the makeshift beer pong table set up at the end of the kitchen counter, where a sophomore defenseman Jungwon vaguely recognized from tape was loudly defending his table’s undefeated record to anyone who’d listen. “You cannot stand against this wall for the entire night doing your broody freshman thing. People will start asking questions.”

“I’m not doing a broody freshman thing.”

“You are doing the broodiest possible version of a freshman thing, you’ve had the same face on for forty minutes.” Riki deposited him at the end of the table with the satisfaction of a man completing a difficult task. “Play. Socialize. Be a person.” He played. He was, infuriatingly, good at beer pong too — some part of his brain that processed angles and trajectories for a living refused to turn off just because the stakes had dropped to a plastic cup — which meant by the fourth round he’d had more to drink than he’d planned on, that loose, warm, slightly-too-honest feeling starting to settle in behind his eyes, the kind where his usual careful filter on his own face got a little less reliable.

Which was, in retrospect, bad timing for the exact moment he looked up and found you across the room, talking to some guy he didn’t recognize — not a hockey player, built wrong for it, probably someone’s friend from another house — who’d planted himself directly in your space with the specific posture of a guy who thought he was being charming. You had your arms crossed, half-smiling in a way Jungwon was already learning to read as entertained, not interested, but the guy didn’t seem to be picking up on the distinction, leaning in another inch, saying something that made you roll your eyes.

Something hot and entirely unreasonable moved through Jungwon’s chest. He had no claim to that reaction. He knew that, even loose and warm and three cups in, some clear-eyed part of him filing the feeling under not yours to have even as it refused to go away. “Oh, this is good,” Riki said, following his line of sight, delighted. “Your face is doing the thing again. The thing’s back.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not even mad, I just want to document it for later—”

“Sink it or pass the ball, Nishimura.”

Across the room, Jay had clocked the same conversation about four seconds before Jungwon had, and unlike Jungwon, Jay had absolutely zero hesitation about what to do with that information. He crossed the room with the unbothered, unhurried walk of a man who knew exactly how much weight his presence carried in this house, and inserted himself into the conversation with a hand clapped flat on the guy’s shoulder. “Hey, man. You go to Whitfield?” Jay’s voice was friendly. Jungwon, even from a distance, did not trust it for a single second.

“Uh — yeah, I’m here with—”

“Cool, cool. Hey, quick question, completely unrelated.” Jay’s hand was still on the guy’s shoulder, steering him a polite half-step back from you, the whole motion smooth enough to look almost accidental. “You know whose house this is?”

“…Yours?”

“Mine. And that’s my sister. So I’m gonna need you to go find your friends now, and I’m gonna need you to do it real fast, and we’re gonna both pretend this was a totally normal interaction. Sound good?” The guy looked between Jay and you for one confused second, visibly recalibrated his entire night, and excused himself with considerably less charm than he’d arrived with. “Jongseong.” You said it with the specific, long-suffering exhaustion of someone who’d watched this exact scene play out roughly forty times. “I was handling it.”

“You were handling it. I helped it get handled faster.”

“I didn’t need help.”

“Noted, for the record, and ignored, also for the record.” Jay dropped a kiss on the top of your head, entirely brotherly, entirely unbothered by your glare, and was gone again within seconds, already absorbed back into some conversation near the door, leaving you standing there with your arms still crossed, visibly debating whether being annoyed was worth the energy.

Jungwon watched the whole thing happen from the beer pong table with what he hoped looked like idle interest and definitely was not. He set his cup down. Told himself, with the particular conviction of a guy three drinks deep, that he was simply going to go say hello. Nothing more than that. A normal, low-stakes hello, the kind any teammate’s family member deserved. He was lying to himself and he knew it the entire walk across the room. “Your brother’s very committed to his bit,” he said, by way of greeting, and you turned, and something in your face shifted — not surprise exactly, more like you’d half-expected this, had maybe been tracking the same distance between you that he had.

“He’s been doing that since I was sixteen. I used to think it’d get old. It has not gotten old.” You studied him for a second, something assessing in it. “You’re not as drunk as Riki, but you’re not sober either.”

“Accurate.”

“Confident, though. Most freshmen don’t walk over here unprompted.” A small, deliberate pause. “Most freshmen don’t walk over here at all, actually. Jongseong’s speech tends to be memorable.”

“I remember the speech.” He held her gaze, steady, the warmth in his chest from earlier rearranging itself into something calmer and more certain now that he was actually standing in front of you. “I’m not doing anything the speech covers. We’re talking.”

“Just talking.”

“Just talking,” he agreed, and let the silence after that sit a beat longer than strictly comfortable, watching you decide what to do with it. You didn’t walk away. That, more than anything he’d noticed all night, told him something.

The conversation that followed wasn’t long — a few minutes, maybe, threaded between the noise of the party, you asking where he was from, him asking how long you’d lived in this exact chaos, the easy rhythm of two people figuring out they liked talking to each other more than either had planned on. But something underneath it had already shifted register, the air between you gone thick and obvious in the way that doesn’t need words to confirm it, and when you finally tipped your head toward the back hallway — toward the stairs, toward somewhere quieter — he didn’t hesitate even half a second before following.

The door to his room had barely clicked shut behind you before his hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to his, and he kissed you like he’d been thinking about it considerably longer than the twenty minutes you’d actually been talking — slow at first, testing, and then deeper when you made a small sound against his mouth that undid something careful in him. His tongue traced yours, unhurried despite the want clearly humming under his skin, like he had every intention of taking his time even though some other part of him was screaming to do anything but. “You sure about this?” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw, down the line of your throat.

“Jungwon.” Half a laugh, breathless already. “I dragged you up the stairs.”

“I know. Wanted to hear you say it anyway.”

He walked you back toward the bed with a hand splayed warm against the small of your back, and when the back of your knees hit the mattress he followed you down, settling his weight over you with a kind of deliberate control that made it very clear nothing about tonight was going to be rushed unless you wanted it to be. He kissed down the column of your throat, lingering at the spot where your pulse jumped under his mouth, and you felt the low sound that pulled out of you before you’d consciously decided to make it. “Pretty,” he said, against your skin, low, certain. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

Clothes came off between kisses, unhurried despite the heat building under both your skins — his shirt first, then yours, his mouth finding your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, lower, until his lips closed around one nipple and you arched up into him with a gasp that made him hum, pleased, against your chest. “There you go,” he murmured, glancing up at you through dark lashes, taking in the way your breath had gone shallow. “That’s it.” Your hands come up to him without thinking, sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, and that’s all it takes for the control he’s holding onto to slip just slightly. His mouth moves again, up your neck, along your jaw, back to your lips, kissing you deeper this time, less careful, more intent.His hands come up to your tits without hesitation, cupping them fully, thumbs dragging over your nipples, slow at first, like he’s testing, like he’s figuring out what you’ll do. You arch into him immediately. That’s all he needs. “There you go,” he says, softer now, watching your face. His mouth follows his hands, closing around one nipple, his tongue circling before he sucks, harder than you expect, and you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. He hums against you pleased. “That’s it,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes darker now, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah— keep doing that—”

His hand slid down the length of your body, slow, deliberate, mapping you like he intended to remember every inch of it, until his fingers found your folds, already slick, and the broken little sound you made at the first slow drag of his fingers through your heat seemed to do something to him — his own breath catching, jaw tight. “Fuck,” he breathed, almost reverent, watching your face. “You’re so wet already.”

He worked you open slow, one finger and then a second, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls drawing soft, breathy moans out of you that he seemed determined to collect one by one, his thumb finding your clit and circling it in slow, deliberate pressure that had your hips rolling up against his hand before you could stop them. “Good girl,” he murmured, watching you fall apart under his hand with open, undisguised satisfaction. “Just like that. Let me hear you.” His fingers moving inside, not fast or rough — just steady, curling slightly inside you, hitting deeper and deeper, his thumb keeping that same pressure on your clit that makes your whole body tighten.

When he finally settled between your thighs, cock thick and aching, he paused at your entrance just long enough to catch your eyes, checking, certain even now. You nodded, breathless, and he sank into you slow, inch by inch, a low groan tearing out of his throat at the way your walls stretched tight and slick around him as he bottoms out. “Christ — “ His forehead dropped to your shoulder for a second, composure visibly fraying. “You feel — fuck, you feel so good.” His hand tightens on your hip. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “Keep going—” He started slow, deep, grinding his hips into yours with a kind of controlled, deliberate rhythm that had you gasping his name within minutes, his lips finding your neck again, sucking a mark into the skin there like he wanted proof of tonight to last past morning. His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together against the sheets, and the gesture was somehow more intimate than anything else he’d done so far. “Look at me,” he said, voice rough, and when you did, his rhythm picked up, the tip of him dragging against that spot inside you that made your back arch off the mattress, his name falling out of you again, broken this time.

“That’s it,” he breathed, watching your face with a hunger that had nothing detached about it. “You’re doing so good. So good for me.” The praise undid you faster than anything else he’d done, your moans coming quicker, breathier, his own breathing gone ragged above you as he chased the same building heat, until you tipped over the edge with a cry muffled against his shoulder, your walls clenching tight around him. He groans against your neck when he feels it, his rhythm breaking, then turning rougher for a second, chasing it, hips stuttering as he spills into you, slow and shaking through the last of it.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you moved — his weight braced over you, both your chests heaving, his thumb tracing absent, unhurried circles against your hip like he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching you yet. “Okay,” you managed, eventually, into the quiet. “That was — “

“Yeah,” he said, and even breathless, even wrecked, there was something steady in his voice that you didn’t examine too closely. “Yeah. That was.”

You woke up in your own bed the next morning, which felt important somehow — you’d made a point of it, pulling your dress back on at some indecent hour and walking the eight minutes back to your dorm rather than staying the night, because staying the night implied something you weren’t ready to imply, even to yourself, even in the privacy of your own head. Sunoo had texted you four times between 1 AM and 8 AM, the last one just reading wake up I need details with three eyes emojis, and you lay there for a solid ten minutes staring at your ceiling before you worked up the nerve to open the thread.

sunoo: WAKE UP

sunoo: I saw you disappear with him

sunoo: Y/N I need details or I will actually die

You typed nothing happened and deleted it, because Sunoo had literally watched you walk up the stairs together and would know immediately you were lying, which somehow felt worse than just telling him the truth. you: ok don’t be weird about this

sunoo: I’m always weird about things. specify.

you: jungwon and I hooked up

sunoo: I KNEW IT I CALLED IT LAST NIGHT

you: it was a one time thing

sunoo: sure…

you: I’m serious. it doesn’t mean anything. he’s jongseong’s freshman, it literally cannot happen again

sunoo: ok but did he?? was he??

you: I’m not doing this with you over text

sunoo: COFFEE. TEN MINUTES. I NEED TO LOOK AT YOUR FACE WHEN YOU TELL ME

You did, eventually, tell him — over coffee, in the dining hall, with Sunoo leaning so far across the table that he nearly knocked over both your cups twice — and true to form, he listened to the entire thing with his chin in his hands and his eyes getting progressively wider, and at the end of it, instead of the appropriately scandalized reaction you’d been braced for, he just said, “okay, but you’re going to see him again.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally going to see him constantly, Y/N, he lives in the house you’re at four times a week. This isn’t a guy you can ghost. This is a guy who’s going to be physically present in your life on a near-daily basis.” You hadn’t fully thought that part through, if you were being honest. “It can just be normal. It happened, it was — fine, it was good, it was really good, actually, but it happened, and now we move on like adults.”

“Sure,” Sunoo said, in the tone of someone who did not believe a single word of that sentence but had decided it would be more fun to watch it fail than to argue with it now.

It took exactly four days for the first text to arrive, and you spent an embarrassing amount of those four days checking your phone more than you’d ever admit out loud, which you told yourself was just curiosity and nothing else.

jungwon: hope the exam went okay

You stared at the message for a solid thirty seconds before you fully placed what he meant — you’d mentioned, in passing, during some entirely unrelated moment that night at the party, something about a stats midterm you’d been stressed about, a single throwaway sentence buried in twenty minutes of conversation that had ended in considerably less conversation. You hadn’t expected him to remember it. You definitely hadn’t expected him to remember the date of it well enough to text four days later asking how it went.

you: it was fine. how did you remember that?

jungwon: you mentioned it

you: I mentioned it once. for like a second.

jungwon: I have a good memory

You looked at that for longer than it deserved, turning it over, trying to decide what it actually meant, before landing — deliberately, with the specific effort of someone building a case — on the explanation that required the least amount of feeling anything. He’s probably like this with everyone. Some guys are just attentive. It doesn’t mean anything specific about you. You’d seen guys remember small details about people they were trying to sleep with before; it was, in your admittedly limited experience, a fairly standard move. You typed back something easy, noncommittal, and didn’t think about it again. You thought about it again almost immediately.

The second time you saw him wasn’t planned, exactly, though you’d go on to realize much later that very little involving Jungwon ever was as unplanned as it looked in the moment. You’d come by the Den on a Tuesday to drop off a textbook Heeseung had borrowed weeks ago and conveniently never returned, and you found Jungwon at the kitchen table again, same spot as your first meeting, a laptop open in front of him and the specific glazed look of someone three hours into a problem set he hated. “Stats?” you asked, dropping into the chair across from him out of habit before you’d consciously decided to stay.

“Econ. Worse.” He didn’t look up right away, but something in his posture shifted, settled, like your presence had registered before he’d even confirmed it with his eyes. “How’d the exam actually go? You gave me a one-word answer over text and I don’t trust one-word answers.”

“It was fine. Genuinely. I got a 91.”

“That’s not fine, that’s good.” He finally looked up, and something about his face doing that — actual interest, actual attention, like your stats midterm was a real piece of information he wanted rather than small talk he was performing — made you feel exposed in a way you weren’t prepared for at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday. “What was the part you were stressed about?”

“The regression stuff. I always mess up the regression stuff.”

“Did you mess it up?”

“No, actually.”

“See.” Something flickered at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, the same controlled almost-version of one you were starting to recognize as just how he looked when he was pleased about something he didn’t feel like performing loudly. “Told you you’d be fine.”

“You didn’t tell me anything, you texted me a four-word message four days after the fact.”

“I thought about it before that. I just didn’t text you about it before that.” You didn’t have an immediate response to that, which annoyed you more than the comment itself did, and you covered the gap by pulling Heeseung’s textbook out of your bag and setting it on the table with more force than necessary. “Anyway. This is Heeseung’s. Tell him I want it back faster next time, or I’m telling Coach he’s been using my notes to pass his sports psych class.”

“He’s been using your notes?”

“For two years. It’s our arrangement. I write good notes, he owes me eternal favors he never actually does.”

“I could text him for you. Tell him you stopped by.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to.” Jungwon said it simply, like the distinction mattered to him — not obligation, just preference — and went back to his laptop like the conversation had cost him nothing at all, which was somehow the part that unsettled you most as you let yourself back out the front door a few minutes later. He’s just like that, you told yourself, walking back across the quad. Considerate. It’s probably just a personality thing. You almost believed it.

It kept happening. That was the part you hadn’t planned for — not one specific moment you could point to and say this is when it became something, but an accumulation of small things that individually meant nothing and collectively meant something you weren’t ready to name. He started showing up. Not obviously, not in a way anyone could call out directly — he was just, increasingly, there, in the places you already were. You mentioned, once, in passing, that you liked the coffee place two blocks off campus better than the one on it, and the next time you walked into the campus one out of habit, you found him already in line, and when you raised an eyebrow he just said, “needed caffeine,” like that fully explained why a freshman hockey player with a packed practice schedule had wandered three blocks out of his way to a coffee shop you’d mentioned exactly once.

You came out of your Thursday lecture one week to find him leaning against the building’s brick exterior, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unbothered, like this was a totally normal place for him to be standing. “What are you doing here?”

“Was in the area.”

“Jungwon. This building is nowhere near the rink, nowhere near the Den, and nowhere near anything you have a reasonable excuse to be near. You don’t even have classes on this side of campus.”

“I have a class two buildings over.”

“At what time?”

“…Later.”

“How much later.”

“An hour and a half.” You’d laughed at that, properly laughed, the kind that surprised you because you hadn’t planned on finding it as funny as you did, and he’d just shrugged, unbothered by being caught, and walked you back toward the Den anyway like the ninety minutes he didn’t need to spend doing it were nothing at all to him.

You built explanations for every single one of these. He was nice. He was thoughtful with everyone — you’d seen him carry Riki’s gear bag without being asked, seen him remember Heeseung’s coffee order, seen him hold doors and notice things and generally exist as the kind of person who paid attention because that was simply who he was, not because of anything specific to you. He’s just like that, you told Sunoo, more than once, with increasing defensiveness each time. He’d do this for anyone. “Would he,” Sunoo said, unconvinced, the third time you tried the line on him. “Yes.”

“Has he stood outside any other girl’s lecture hall for ninety minutes?”

“I don’t know his entire schedule, Sunoo, I’m not his — I don’t track that.”

“You’re tracking it right now. You just told me it was a Thursday lecture and gave me a building name.” You hadn’t had a good answer for that one. You hadn’t really had a good answer for any of it, if you were honest, but being honest about it felt like opening a door you weren’t sure you’d be able to close again, so instead you kept doing the thing you’d apparently decided was easier: cataloguing every kind, attentive, specific thing Jungwon did, filing it carefully under that’s just him, and trying very hard not to notice how thin that file was getting to support the weight of what was actually piling up inside it.

—

The locker room before a game had a different texture than the locker room before practice, and Jungwon had learned the difference inside his first two weeks at Blackwood — practice was loose, chatter, somebody’s bad playlist. Game day was quiet in a way that wasn’t tense exactly, more like everyone in the room had individually decided to go somewhere internal for twenty minutes and would be back shortly. Jay sat at his stall with his eyes closed, headphones in, doing the same pregame ritual Jungwon had already watched him do four times now — three slow breaths, a fist against his own chest twice, then up and moving like a switch had been flipped. “You good?” Riki asked, low, from the next stall over, taping his stick with more focus than the task strictly required.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look good. You look like you’re about to throw up, which is hilarious, because you’ve told me multiple times you’re constitutionally incapable of that.”

“I’m not going to throw up.”

“Your face is doing a concerning thing.” Jungwon didn’t answer that, because Riki wasn’t entirely wrong — there was a specific, low-grade hum under his skin that hadn’t been there during any of the scrimmages or exhibition games, and he understood, finally and completely, the difference between playing well and playing well in front of a packed home arena on opening night with your name on the first line for the first time in program history as a true freshman. Coach had confirmed the lines an hour ago. Jungwon centering Jay and a senior winger named Sunoo’s roommate situation he hadn’t fully sorted out yet — no, that wasn’t right, he corrected himself, shaking the thought loose, focus — centering Jay. First line. Opening night.

He looked up once, scanning the stands through the tunnel as the team filed out for warmups, and found you almost immediately, three rows up behind the glass, exactly where you always sat — he’d clocked that without meaning to, the specific seat you and Sunoo claimed for every home game, close enough to see faces, far enough back to avoid getting hit by anything errant. You weren’t looking at him. You were looking at Jay, the way you always did first, tracking your brother onto the ice with the specific, unconscious attention of someone who’d been doing it your whole life. Then your eyes moved, found Jungwon’s, and something in your face did a small, private thing that he was almost certain nobody else in that stadium would have caught.

He scored his first collegiate goal eleven minutes into the second period — a give-and-go off Jay’s stick that he buried top shelf before the goalie had finished moving — and the arena went up around him in a wall of sound that he barely registered, because the only thing he was actually aware of, skating back toward the bench with his gloves up and his teammates slamming into him in celebration, was the specific spot three rows up where you were on your feet, both hands pressed over your mouth, looking at him like you’d forgotten, for one unguarded second, to look like you weren’t supposed to be looking at him like that at all. Jay slammed into him on the bench a second later, helmet knocking his, grinning wide and unrestrained in a way Jungwon hadn’t seen off him yet. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Lucky bounce.”

“That was not a lucky bounce, that was you reading a play I didn’t even know was there yet.” Jay clapped him hard on the shoulder, something genuinely proud in it that Jungwon felt land somewhere uncomfortable in his chest, given everything else currently happening in his life that Jay had absolutely no idea about. “Coach was right about you. I’m gonna hate saying that out loud as often as I’m clearly about to have to.”

Blackwood won 4–1. The Den that night was its own kind of chaos — a post-win party that started before half the team had even fully showered, Jake commandeering the speaker again, somebody’s questionable decision to bring home a literal cardboard cutout of the team mascot from God knows where. Jungwon found himself in the middle of it, still riding the particular high of a first goal in a packed building, fielding congratulations from upperclassmen who’d barely spoken to him three weeks ago and now seemed entirely willing to consider him a real part of the program.

You found him near midnight, in the kitchen, away from the worst of the noise, where he’d retreated with a water bottle and the specific overstimulated quiet of someone whose adrenaline had finally started to crash. “Hey, scorer.” You leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that he could smell whatever you were wearing, something warm underneath the general party smell of the house. “Good game.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. I’ve watched Jongseong play with a lot of centers. You two looked like you’d been playing together for years, not weeks.”

“It helped that he kept finding me.”

“He doesn’t do that for just anyone.” You said it simply, like a fact, and something about the specific weight you put on it — he doesn’t do that for just anyone, echoing right back at the same private logic you’d been using to talk yourself out of every single thing Jungwon had done for weeks — made you go quiet for a second too long, like you’d heard yourself say it and immediately regretted the implication. Jungwon didn’t push it. He’d learned, in three weeks of watching you build and rebuild the same careful argument, that pushing only ever made you retreat faster. “You disappeared fast after the game,” you said instead, recovering. “I thought you’d stick around for the chaos longer.”

“Needed air.”

“You’re standing in a kitchen.”

“It’s quieter air than the living room.” A small, almost-smile. “You found me, though.”

“I was looking for water. This is incidental.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away, and the space between you had gone thin and obvious in the same way it had three weeks ago at the party — except this time there was no excuse of being drunk, no Sunoo dragging you anywhere, just the two of you standing in a kitchen at midnight with three weeks of careful, deniable, he’s just like that tension sitting heavy in the air between you. You were the one who closed the distance this time. You’d think about that later — the fact that you’d made the decision, hadn’t waited for him to make the first move the way he had at the party — and you’d wonder what that meant about how far gone you already were without having admitted it to yourself yet.

You kissed him first, one hand fisting lightly in the front of his shirt, and he made a low, surprised sound against your mouth before his hands found your waist, steadying, like he needed a second to confirm this was actually happening before he let himself fully lean into it. “Thought this was a one-time thing,” he murmured, lips barely leaving yours.

“Shut up.”

“Just confirming the terms.”

“Jungwon.”

“Right. Shutting up.” He didn’t, not entirely — he kissed you again, slower this time, deliberate, walking you back until you hit the counter’s edge, hands braced either side of you like he had every intention of keeping you exactly there. “Upstairs,” he said, against your jaw, somewhere between a question and a statement. “If you want.” You did.

His room was darker this time, the party noise muffled down to a low thrum through the floor, and there was something different in the way he undressed you now — less the controlled, deliberate unhurriedness of someone proving a point, more the quiet hunger of someone who’d spent three weeks pretending he hadn’t been thinking about exactly this. “You moved first,” he said, mouth at your throat, hands sliding the strap of your top down your shoulder. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Not making it weird. Just noticing.” He pulled back far enough to look at you properly, something steady and a little too searching in his eyes for a hookup either of you was still insisting this was. “I like that you did.” You didn’t have a response for that that wouldn’t have meant admitting something, so you kissed him again instead, and let that be the answer.

He laid you back against the sheets with the same deliberate care as the first time, mouth trailing down your throat, your collarbone, lower, his hands mapping you like he was confirming something he already knew rather than learning it fresh. When his fingers finally find your folds, already slick, he exhales sharply at the feel of you, his head dipping, his forehead briefly pressing to your stomach like he needs a second.“Every time,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re like this every time.”

“Don’t get smug about it.”

“Wasn’t being smug. Was being honest.” His thumb found your clit, slow, deliberate circles that pull your breath out of you almost immediately, your hips shifting up into his hand before you can stop them. He notices. Of course he does. His eyes flick back to your face and stay there, watching everything — the way your mouth parts, the way your breathing changes, the way your body responds to him.“You gonna let me hear you tonight, or are you still trying to be quiet for the house.”

You let out a breath that turns into something softer, more broken as his thumb presses a little firmer. “The house is currently hosting forty drunk hockey players, Jungwon, nobody’s listening.”

“Good.” Something low and pleased in his voice. “Then don’t hold back.” His fingers slide through you again, slower this time, spreading the slickness, feeling you properly before he presses one finger into you, easing it in without rushing, letting you feel the stretch. You gasp. Your hands find his shoulders. He doesn’t stop, instead adds a second finger, deeper this time, the drag of them against your walls slow and deliberate, pulling soft sounds out of you that start low, breathy, and only get louder the longer he keeps going.Your breath breaks, your thighs tightening around his arm, your body reacting faster, harder.“Good,” he says softly. “You look so good like this—” His fingers curl slightly inside you, hitting deeper, and the sound you make this time is louder, less controlled.

When he finally settled over you, lining himself up, he paused just long enough to press his forehead to yours. “Look at me,” he said, the same thing he’d said the first time, like it mattered to him every time, and when you did, he sank into you slow, a rough exhale tearing out of his throat at the tight, slick give of your walls around him. “Fuck — there you go.” His hips found a slow, grinding rhythm almost immediately, deep, deliberate, his mouth finding your neck, sucking another mark into skin that hadn’t quite finished healing from the last one.

“You take me so well. Every damn time.” The praise pulled a moan out of you that you didn’t bother muffling this time, and he made a rough, satisfied sound at the back of his throat in response, picking up the pace, the tip of him dragging against that spot that had your hips rolling up to meet his own. “That’s it,” he breathed, voice fraying at the edges. “That’s it, just like that — you sound so good.” Your hand found his, lacing fingers against the sheet the way it had the first time, and something about the repetition of that small gesture — the fact that he’d done it again, unprompted, like it was simply part of how he touched you now — undid you faster than anything else, your moans climbing breathless and unguarded until you tipped over with his name broken on your lips, walls clenching tight around him. He followed seconds later, groaning into your hair, hips stuttering through the last of it.

Neither of you moved for a long minute afterward, his weight braced careful above you, both of you breathing hard. “Okay,” you managed eventually, the exact same word you’d used the first time, like your brain hadn’t come up with anything new in three weeks. “That was — “

“Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, unhurried, lingering half a second longer than a one-time thing required. “That was.”

You walked back to your dorm alone again that night, the same as before, and lay awake afterward turning over the same tired argument — he’s just like that, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just convenient, you’re both just convenient for each other — except this time, for the first time, the argument didn’t quite hold its shape all the way through to morning. Good note — this is exactly the right instinct, you want the “everyone notices” chapter to land on a foundation that’s actually been built, not implied. A montage of small, accumulating moments before the bigger social-fallout chapter. Building that now.

It became a pattern made entirely of small things, none of which felt significant on their own and all of which, stacked together, were starting to feel like a life you hadn’t quite agreed to but weren’t fighting either. He texted first more often now. Not every day — Jungwon wasn’t a constant-texter, never had been, but the texts that did come were specific in a way that always undid your he’s just like that theory a little further.

jungwon: what time’s your lecture end today

you: 2:15 why

jungwon: no reason

There was always a reason. You walked out of your 2:15 that Thursday and found him sitting on the low wall outside the building, gear bag at his feet like he’d come straight from the gym, scrolling his phone with the studied casualness of someone who’d been there longer than “no reason” implied.

“You weren’t even supposed to have a free period right now.”

“I moved my lift.”

“You moved your lift.”

“Coach lets me have some flexibility.” He stood, falling into step beside you without asking if that was the plan, like it had simply stopped being a question between you. “How was the lecture.”

“Boring. You moved your lift for a boring lecture you weren’t even in.”

“I moved my lift to walk you back. The lecture being boring is just a fact you told me, unrelated.” You didn’t have a comeback for that, mostly because you didn’t want one — you wanted to keep walking next to him in the cold with his shoulder bumping yours every few steps, which was its own small, uncomfortable piece of evidence you kept choosing not to look at directly.

You started going to more practices than you used to. You told yourself it was because the season was getting good, because Jongseong’s line was clicking in a way that made it genuinely fun to watch, and that was even mostly true — but you also couldn’t deny, standing at the glass with your arms crossed against the cold of the rink, that your eyes found a specific number on the ice before they found your own brother’s. After one particular Thursday practice — closed to the public, technically, but the rink doors were never actually locked and you’d been sneaking in to watch since before you could legally drive — you waited until most of the team had filtered toward the locker room tunnel, until it was just a few stragglers and Coach Anders gathering up cones at center ice, and caught Jungwon’s eye across the rink with a small tilt of your head toward the narrow service corridor that ran behind the home bench.

He peeled off from the group without a word, gear bag over one shoulder, and found you in the dim, concrete-smelling hallway two minutes later, still in his practice jersey, hair damp with sweat, breathing a little hard from the skate. “That’s disgusting, by the way,” you said, wrinkling your nose as he got close. “You smell like a locker room.”

“You wanted me back here.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to be close to the smell.” He laughed, low, and backed you gently against the cool concrete wall anyway, one hand braced beside your head, and you let him, because apparently you’d stopped pretending the smell was actually a deterrent somewhere around hookup number one. “Well done today,” you murmured, against his mouth, an echo of the thing you said after every good game, except this was just a Thursday practice nobody else was watching, and you’d said it anyway, like it mattered to you whether he heard it. “It was just a drill.”

“You still looked good doing it.”

“Yeah?” Something pleased and a little smug crept into his voice, and you kissed him before he could lean too hard into it, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, the kiss going slower, deeper, his tongue tracing yours unhurried even though you both knew Coach was thirty feet away and any one of the team could walk down this corridor in the next ninety seconds. “We’re going to get caught one of these days,” you said, when you finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.

“Not today.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know nobody comes down this hallway. I checked.” He said it so simply, so practically, like he’d actually scouted the corridor in advance for exactly this purpose, that you laughed again, helpless, and he caught the sound with another kiss before you could finish it.

You let him walk you back out a side door a few minutes later, his hoodie — Blackwood Hockey, his last name on the back, YANG in block lettering you definitely hadn’t memorized the shape of — somehow ending up over your shoulders, because you’d complained once about the cold and he’d simply taken it off and handed it to you without making it a whole thing, the same easy, unbothered way he did most things for you now. You meant to give it back. You told yourself that every single time. The pile of his hoodies steadily accumulating at the back of your closet would suggest otherwise, if anyone had thought to look. Sunoo noticed the hoodies before he noticed almost anything else, mostly because he had unrestricted access to your closet and the world’s least subtle eye for detail. “Okay, why do you own four of the same hoodie.”

“I don’t own four of the same hoodie.”

“You own four hoodies that all say YANG on the back, Y/N, I’m not colorblind, I can see the consistent theme.” Sunoo held one up by the shoulders, inspecting it like evidence at a trial. “This is not subtle. This is, in fact, the opposite of subtle. This is a paper trail.”

“They’re comfortable.”

“I’m sure they are. I’m sure that’s the only reason.” He folded it back into the pile with exaggerated care, like he was handling something fragile and emotionally significant, which, you supposed, it currently was. “You know I’m rooting for you. I just think you should know that your closet has officially ratted you out, in case you were under the impression you were being subtle about any of this.”

“I never said I was being subtle.”

“You implied it heavily by insisting nothing’s going on, repeatedly, for over a month.” You didn’t have a defense for that one either. You were running out of defenses generally, you’d noticed — the file you’d been keeping, he’s just like that, it doesn’t mean anything, had gotten so thin and so unconvincing that you’d basically stopped pulling it out except as a reflex, a thing you said because you’d been saying it so long it had become muscle memory rather than something you actually believed.

The one bright spot in all of it, weirdly, was Sunoo’s own slow-motion disaster running in parallel — because somewhere in the same stretch of weeks, Sunghoon had apparently decided that ignoring Sunoo at the gym wasn’t a sustainable long-term strategy, and had started, with the same painful, visible effort it took him to do anything emotionally honest, showing up around him on purpose. “He asked me to get food,” Sunoo reported one night, vibrating with it, sprawled dramatically across your bed while you tried to study. “Just the two of us. No team. No excuse. He said, and I’m going to quote this exactly because I’ve already memorized it, ‘do you want to get food sometime, just us, like, as a thing, if you want it to be a thing, no pressure if not.’”

“That’s so awkward.”

“It’s the most romantic sentence anyone’s ever said to me, don’t ruin this for me.”

“I’m not ruining it, I think it’s sweet that he’s bad at it.”

“He’s so bad at it. He practiced that sentence, Y/N, I could tell, there was a cadence to it like he’d said it in his bathroom mirror forty times.” Sunoo rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands, grinning at you with the specific delight of someone who’d finally gotten what he wanted and couldn’t quite believe it. “Anyway. We’re getting food Friday. As a thing. I said yes so fast I think I scared him a little.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for you too, even though you keep insisting there’s nothing to be happy about, which, by the way, four identical hoodies.”

“Drop the hoodies.”

“I will never drop the hoodies.” Underneath all of it — the texts, the corridor, the hoodies steadily migrating into your closet, Sunoo’s slow, awkward, delighted thing with Sunghoon humming along beside yours like a quieter mirror of the same feeling — there was a song you’d started playing on repeat without quite noticing you’d started doing it, something low and aching and a little too on the nose, the kind of song that made you feel caught out by your own playlist. You didn’t examine that too closely either. You’d gotten good, lately, at not examining things too closely. It wasn’t sustainable. You knew that, somewhere underneath the part of you still insisting otherwise. You just weren’t ready yet to be the one who said it out loud first.

Riki had a theory, and the problem with Riki’s theories was that he refused to keep them to himself until he’d fully confirmed them, which meant Jungwon spent most of a Tuesday afternoon practice getting side-eyed across the locker room like he was a crime scene Riki hadn’t finished processing yet. “You smell like her perfume,” Riki said, apropos of nothing, while they were both lacing up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do laundry next to you, Jungwon. I know what your detergent smells like. I also now know what her perfume smells like, because it’s been showing up on your hoodies for three weeks, and those are two very different smells, and you are currently covered in the second one.”

“That’s not — “ Jungwon stopped, recalibrated, decided the better strategy was not engaging at all. “Tie your skates.”

“I’m just saying. For a guy who insists nothing’s going on, you sure do smell like a specific person an awful lot.” He wasn’t wrong, which was the most annoying part. Jungwon had gotten careless — not about the actual secret, he was still careful about that, still made sure nobody saw anything that would actually confirm it — but about the smaller tells. He’d started checking his phone faster than he used to. Started angling his laptop screen away from the kitchen table on instinct whenever someone walked by, even when all he was looking at was a stats reading. Riki, sharing a room with him for six weeks now, had apparently built up a working database of Jungwon’s baseline behavior and was running constant diffs against it. “You also disappear,” Riki added, undeterred by the silence. “At parties. You’re there, then you’re not there, and then forty minutes later you’re back like nothing happened, except your hair’s different and you’ve got this look.”

“What look.”

“The look. The one you’re doing right now, where you’re trying very hard to have no look at all, which is itself a look.” Jungwon gave up entirely on the laces and just stared at him. “What do you actually think is happening, Riki.”

“Honestly?” Riki considered it, head tilted, with the specific seriousness of a man about to deliver a verdict. “I think you’ve got a hookup situation going with someone you really, really don’t want anyone to know about, and I think it’s someone close enough to this house that the secrecy isn’t paranoia, it’s necessary.” That was, Jungwon thought, uncomfortably close to the actual truth for someone who didn’t have the full picture. “And I think,” Riki continued, clearly enjoying himself now, “that if I had to bet money on exactly one specific person, I would bet on—”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not gonna say it. I respect the game too much to just say it out loud. I’m gonna let you have this.” Riki finally bent down to actually tie his skates, infuriatingly satisfied with himself. “I just want it on record that I noticed first. When this eventually comes out — and it will, things like this always come out — I want full credit for calling it in week three.”

“There’s nothing to call.”

“Sure, buddy.”

Jake noticed differently, and later, and by accident — which was, in retrospect, the way most of the house ended up noticing things, because Jake’s primary skill was being in the wrong room at the right time and immediately understanding the significance of whatever he’d walked into. It happened on a Thursday, three weeks after the home opener, when you’d come by the Den to return Heeseung’s textbook for the second time — a running bit at this point, since Heeseung kept “forgetting” to give it back specifically so you’d keep coming by, a fact you had not yet clocked and that the rest of the house found hilarious — and Jungwon had intercepted you in the front hallway before you’d even made it to the kitchen. “He’s not even here,” Jungwon said, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been waiting, which — Jake would think later, replaying it — he absolutely had been. “Practice ran late for the d-men. You can just leave it.”

“I know I can just leave it, I was going to leave it on the kitchen table—”

“I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to.” The same line he’d used weeks ago, delivered with the same easy certainty, and something about the rhythm of it — the fact that you both seemed to already know this bit, already had a shorthand for it — was what actually caught Jake’s attention as he came down the stairs, gear bag over one shoulder, mid-text to someone else entirely.

He stopped on the landing. Didn’t say anything yet. Just watched for a second longer than either of you noticed him watching, taking in the specific quality of the space between you — not friendly-easy, not stranger-polite, something with more weight in it, the kind of familiarity that took longer than six weeks to build unless something had sped the process up considerably. You handed Jungwon the textbook. Your fingers brushed his on the handoff, the kind of accidental contact two people lingered on a half-second longer than accidental contact usually got, and neither of you seemed to register that you’d done it at all. “I’ll see you around,” you said, already turning for the door.

“Yeah.” Jungwon’s voice did something on that one syllable that Jake had genuinely never heard out of him before — not at practice, not at games, not in six weeks of living down the hall from the guy. Something soft. Something that had no business being attached to a sentence that short. Jake waited until the front door clicked shut behind you before he came the rest of the way down the stairs, eyebrows already halfway up his forehead. “So,” he said.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You were about to say something.”

“I was about to say so, and then I was going to let the so do a lot of heavy lifting, and you just confirmed everything the so was going to imply by getting defensive about it before I finished.” Jake dropped his gear bag by the stairs, grinning now, delighted in the specific way he got delighted about things that promised future entertainment value. “Bro.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You said ‘yeah’ to her like it cost you something to say it. I’ve known you six weeks and I’ve genuinely never heard your voice do that.” Jungwon didn’t have a response that wasn’t a lie, and Jake — to his credit, Jungwon would think later — didn’t push for one. Just clapped him once on the shoulder, the universal gesture of a man choosing not to make something someone else’s problem yet, and headed for the kitchen. “I’m not gonna say anything,” Jake said, over his shoulder. “Mostly because I don’t actually know anything, I just watched a vibe happen. But for the record? If I’m right about what that vibe was — and I think I’m right — you’ve picked the single most complicated person on this entire campus to have feelings about.”

“I don’t—”

“Jungwon.” Jake stopped in the kitchen doorway, looking back at him with something almost gentle underneath the usual bit. “I’ve watched Jongseong run off guys at parties for less than what I just saw happen in that hallway. I’m not saying don’t. I’m saying be careful. That’s all. That’s the whole speech.” He disappeared into the kitchen, already calling out to Heeseung about something unrelated, and Jungwon stood alone in the hallway for a long moment, the textbook still in his hands, thinking that be careful was advice he’d needed about six weeks ago, and was currently far too late to actually take.

Heeseung found out the most boring way possible, which fit him — he was the kind of person who noticed things quietly and decided what to do with the information later, rather than announcing his discoveries the way Jake did. He’d simply started noticing that you knew things about Jungwon’s schedule that you had no obvious way of knowing — texting Sunghoon once to ask if practice was running over because Jungwon mentioned it might, a detail that hadn’t come from anyone but Jungwon himself.

He didn’t say anything about it. He just started covering, automatically, the way he’d cover for any of his teammates without needing to be asked — vague answers when Jay asked where Jungwon was, a deliberate slowness in mentioning that you’d stopped by when you clearly hadn’t wanted it mentioned. He never confirmed anything out loud to anyone. He just quietly became part of the machinery keeping the secret intact, the same unbothered, low-key way he did most things, and never once brought it up to Jungwon directly. Jungwon noticed the covering before he ever figured out Heeseung had clocked anything. By the time he put it together — weeks later, in the middle of an entirely unrelated conversation, when Heeseung said something that only made sense if he already knew — it didn’t even feel like a confrontation. Just a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment between two people who’d both decided silence was easier than the alternative.

Sunghoon noticed last, mostly because Sunghoon’s attention was almost entirely occupied that semester by his own slow-motion crisis regarding a specific person on the other side of campus, and he genuinely had very little processing power left over for anyone else’s romantic developments. When he finally did clock it — weeks later, watching Jungwon hover a half-second too long near the door whenever you were expected — his only reaction was a flat, “oh, that’s happening too?” like the house had simply hit its quota for secret entanglements and he was mildly annoyed there’d be two simultaneous storylines to keep track of.

By the time the home stretch of the semester hit, the entire house knew something — not the full shape of it, not how far back it went or how much it had already become, but enough to start quietly rearranging themselves around it. Cover stories appeared without being requested. Jay’s questions about Jungwon’s whereabouts got answered just vaguely enough to be technically true. Nobody said anything to Jay directly, because nobody wanted to be the one to set off whatever they all correctly suspected would be a genuinely bad reaction, and because — if anyone had asked them, which nobody did — most of them had quietly decided, somewhere along the way, that they liked watching Jungwon be like this. Soft. Distracted. Obviously, hopelessly gone for someone, in a way none of them had ever seen out of him before. It was, Jake said once, to Heeseung, the two of them watching Jungwon check his phone for the fourth time in ten minutes during a film session, “honestly kind of nice. Watching the guy be a disaster for once. Makes him feel human.”

“Jay’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out.”

“Yeah.” Jake didn’t sound especially worried about it, in the moment, in the specific way nobody in that house was worried about anything yet, because the bad part hadn’t happened. “But that’s a future problem.”

—

It was Sunghoon who spotted the hickey, and he didn’t even mean to — it was just there, dark and obvious, riding the curve of Jungwon’s neck above his collar when he peeled his shirt off before practice, and Sunghoon, mid-conversation with Heeseung about something entirely unrelated, simply stopped talking and stared. “Okay, what.”

“What?” Jungwon, lacing his skates, didn’t look up.

“Your neck.”

“What about it.”

“It’s got a — “ Sunghoon gestured, vaguely, at the general vicinity of his own throat, like the word itself was too much effort. “There’s a whole situation happening there.” Heeseung leaned over to look, and to his credit, didn’t say anything immediately — just took it in with the resigned, weary calm of a man who already had a working theory about its origins and didn’t need it confirmed out loud. Jake, three stalls down, had no such restraint. “OH my god.” He was up and crossing the room before Jungwon could even reach for his collar to cover it, grabbing his jaw and tilting his head sideways with zero regard for personal space. “That is not subtle. That is genuinely the least subtle hickey I have ever seen on a human neck, who did this to you, I need a name—”

“Get off.” Jungwon shoved him away, yanking his collar up with more force than the gesture required, ears going faintly red in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the locker room. “You’re blushing! He’s blushing, everyone look, Yang Jungwon is blushing—”

“I will end you, Jake.”

“You can’t end me, I’m a senior, I have seniority over your blushing.” Jake was delighted in a way that was going to make the entire practice session unbearable, Jungwon could already tell, and the fact that Riki had gone suspiciously, deliberately quiet in the corner — not even looking up, very pointedly minding his own business in a way that screamed I know exactly whose mouth did that and I am choosing not to say it out loud right now — only made it worse.

“Coach is gonna notice,” Heeseung said, mildly, like he was doing Jungwon a genuine favor by flagging it rather than just enjoying the chaos. “Coach notices everything,” Sunghoon added. “He noticed I changed deodorant brands once. Mid-practice. Pulled me aside specifically to ask if I was sick.”

“It’s a hickey, not a medical emergency, can we move on—”

“We absolutely cannot move on, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in this locker room all semester.” Jay walked in midway through, gear bag over his shoulder, and the entire room — Jake included, for once — went quiet fast enough that it was almost funnier than the joke itself. Jay glanced around at the sudden silence, mildly suspicious, the universal expression of a captain who’d clearly walked into the middle of something and didn’t yet know what. “What.”

“Nothing,” six people said, at almost exactly the same time, in a unison so synchronized it was its own kind of confession. Jay’s eyes narrowed, scanning the room, landing — inevitably, because Jungwon still had his hand half-cupped over his own neck like that wasn’t going to draw more attention than just leaving it alone — directly on him. “You good, Yang?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just — cold. In here. Cold room.”

“It’s not cold in here.” Jay frowned, looking around at the room generally, like he was trying to locate whatever joke he’d clearly missed, and then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the time, the way captains learn to triage which mysteries are actually worth solving. “Whatever. Get your skates on, Coach wants us on the ice in five.” The second he turned away, Jake mouthed “cold room” at Jungwon with such exaggerated disbelief that Jungwon had to physically look away to keep from laughing, which, in retrospect, was its own kind of tell, but at least Jay had already left the room.

Jay, for his part, had started noticing something else entirely — not the hickey, he genuinely never clocked that one, too distracted by practice logistics to connect dots that weren’t directly in front of him — but the simple, accumulating fact that you’d been at the Den constantly lately. More than usual, and his version of usual was already pretty high, since you’d basically grown up treating the place like a second home. “You’re here a lot,” he said one evening, finding you on the couch with your laptop, a half-finished essay open and very obviously not being worked on. “I’m always here.”

“You’re here more. I counted. You’ve been here five out of the last seven days.”

“Wow. Tracking my movements. Very normal brother behavior.”

“I’m not tracking your movements, I just notice things, it’s a captain instinct, it doesn’t turn off.” He dropped onto the couch beside you, stealing a chip from the bag balanced on the armrest without asking, the same easy, thoughtless intimacy you’d had your whole lives. “Is everything okay? With you? Is this an avoiding-your-dorm thing, or a missing-your-favorite-brother thing?”

“You’re my only brother.”

“Which makes me the favorite by default. Don’t dodge the question.”

“Everything’s fine, Jongseong. I just like it here.” You said it lightly, easily, and it wasn’t even technically a lie, which made it easier to say without flinching — you did like it here, more than you’d let yourself examine the actual reasons for lately. “Can’t a girl enjoy her brother’s questionable life choices in frat-house form without it being a whole investigation?”

“I guess.” He didn’t look fully convinced, but he let it go, the way he generally let things go when you used that exact tone — easy, unbothered, nothing here worth the energy of pushing — and went back to stealing your chips instead, and you let yourself exhale, slow and quiet, grateful that the version of you he’d known your whole life was apparently still convincing enough to hold up under a few extra questions. You weren’t sure how much longer that was going to keep being true. You didn’t let yourself think about it too hard.

The “team bonding” thing happened on a Friday Jay had scheduled weeks in advance — mandatory, his words, no exceptions, an entire evening at some axe-throwing place across town that he’d decided the team needed for “chemistry,” which had become a running joke all week because nobody fully believed Jay actually thought axe-throwing built chemistry so much as he just wanted an excuse to make everyone do something together that wasn’t hockey. Jungwon went. Obviously. Mandatory was mandatory, and he was still new enough to the program that skipping a captain’s event wasn’t a card he could play yet. He lasted two hours — long enough to throw a genuinely embarrassing number of axes into the wall instead of the target, long enough for Jake to declare him “tragically bad at exactly one physical activity, finally, some humility” — before he found a moment between rounds, phone in hand, thumb already moving before he’d fully decided to send it.

jungwon: team bonding. axe throwing. I’m terrible at it you: send proof jungwon: no you: that bad? jungwon: jake has been narrating my failures for forty minutes. it’s a whole bit now. you: I want to see it jungwon: absolutely not jungwon: what are you doing tonight you: nothing. sunoo’s out with sunghoon. apparently it’s becoming an actual thing thing. jungwon: good for them you: you’re going to be at this for hours, jongseong’s not letting anyone leave early jungwon: probably jungwon: unless I’m not. You’d read that last text three times before you fully understood what he was implying, and by the time you’d typed back don’t you dare get in trouble for this, he’d already left it on read, which — you’d learn, later, watching him recount it with a kind of sheepish pride — meant he’d already made the decision somewhere around the second eyeroll Jake gave him for missing yet another axe throw, and had simply waited for the right moment to slip out the side door while Jay was mid-story about last season’s playoff run.

He didn’t call an Uber to your dorm. He texted you instead, come open your window, which felt like an unnecessarily dramatic instruction until you actually looked outside and found him three stories down, standing in the grass below your window with his hands in his pockets like climbing buildings was a totally normal Friday activity for him. “You cannot be serious.”

“There’s a drainpipe. It’s very stable.”

“It is not — Jungwon, that is not a stable anything, that is a liability, get away from it—” He was already climbing by the time you finished the sentence, infuriatingly competent at it in a way that suggested either an athletic background doing something useful for once or a genuinely concerning lack of risk assessment, and you spent the entire ascent with your heart somewhere in your throat, half ready to call campus security and half ready to laugh, until he finally hauled himself up onto your windowsill and dropped into your room with significantly less grace than the climb itself had suggested, nearly taking out your desk lamp on the way down. “You’re insane.”

“I missed you.” He said it so simply, breathless from the climb, hair messed up, grinning in a way you rarely got to see fully unguarded, that you didn’t even have a comeback ready. “Jongseong’s gonna do the speech about attendance tomorrow. Worth it.”

“You’re going to get in actual trouble.”

“Probably.” He didn’t seem remotely concerned about that, already crossing the small space of your dorm room toward you, hands finding your waist. “Worth that too.” You kissed him before you could think better of it, and it had a different texture than usual — none of the unhurried, deliberate pacing of the first two times, something hungrier in it, both of you a little reckless off the adrenaline of him literally having climbed a building to get here. “You climbed three stories,” you murmured against his mouth, “to do this.”

“Wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow.”

“You could’ve just waited.”

“Didn’t want to.” He walked you back toward your bed, mouth at your jaw, your throat, hands already working at the hem of your shirt with considerably less patience than usual. “Wanted you tonight.” Clothes came off faster this time, less ceremony, more want, and when he finally got you under him, bare skin against bare skin, his mouth found yours again, deep, insistent, tongue sliding against yours with none of the careful restraint from before. “You’re in a hurry,” you breathed, when he finally pulled back enough to look at you.

“I am not in a hurry.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone, lower, his hand sliding between your thighs to find you already slick, and the rough sound he made at that told you exactly how much restraint he currently had left. “I’m just very motivated.” His fingers worked you open quick, sure, two fingers curling against your walls in a way that had your back arching off the mattress almost immediately, his thumb finding your clit and pressing tight, deliberate circles that pulled a breathy moan out of you before you could think to muffle it against anything. “That’s it,” he murmured, low, watching your face with the same hungry attention he always gave you. “God, you’re so wet for me already.”

“Jungwon—”

“I know. I know, I’ve got you.” He kissed you again, hard, swallowing the next sound you made, and when he finally settled between your thighs and pushed into you, there was nothing slow about it this time — a long, rough slide that had you both groaning at once, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck — “ His hips found a rhythm fast, deep, grinding into you with a kind of urgency that had your nails dragging down his back. “You feel so good, every single time, I swear—” The pace built quick, his mouth at your neck sucking another mark into skin that already had a fading one from days before, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together against the sheets the same way it always did, like even rushed, even reckless, that small piece of tenderness was non-negotiable to him.

“Look at me,” he said, rough, and when your eyes met his, something in his rhythm shifted, deepened, the tip of him dragging against that spot inside you that had your moans climbing breathless and unguarded. “You’re so good,” he breathed, voice fraying. “So good, taking me like this — gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name.” The praise tipped you faster than usual, your walls clenching tight around him as you came apart with a cry you pressed into his shoulder to muffle, and he followed almost immediately after, a rough groan torn out of him as he spilled into you, hips stuttering through the last of it before he collapsed half his weight onto you, both of you breathing hard in the quiet of your dorm room.

“Worth the drainpipe?” you managed, eventually, into the dark. “Worth the drainpipe.” He pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, still catching his breath. “Worth Jongseong’s speech tomorrow too, honestly.”

“He’s actually going to kill you.”

“He’s gonna yell about attendance. He’s not gonna kill me.” Jungwon settled beside you, pulling you in against his chest with an easy, unthinking familiarity that you both noticed and didn’t comment on — the fact that he hadn’t left yet, hadn’t started the usual post-hookup routine of finding his clothes in the dark. “Can I stay a while?” You should have said no. You’d been saying no to exactly this for weeks, the staying, the parts that made it feel like something with a future instead of something contained. “Yeah,” you said instead, quiet, already half-asleep against him. “Yeah, you can stay.” Neither of you said anything else about what that meant. You didn’t have to. You both already knew.

—

The qualifier had been circled on the team calendar since August — win, and Blackwood was through to the regional bracket that fed straight into the Founders Cup; lose, and the season’s best version of itself ended in a building three hours from campus with nothing to show for it. Coach Anders had been quieter than usual all week, which everyone had learned meant he was more nervous than usual, and Jay had been running pregame meetings with the specific intensity of a captain who’d been to this exact game twice before and lost it. “Eyes up,” he said, in the locker room, voice pitched low and even in the way it got before something mattered. “We’ve done the work. We know this team. We know their power play, we know their breakout, we know their goalie cheats low on his glove side.” A pause, scanning the room, landing — same as always — on the freshmen for half a second longer than anyone else. “Tonight’s not about being perfect. It’s about being the team that wants it more for sixty minutes straight. I need that from everyone. Especially my first line.” His eyes found Jungwon’s. Held there. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon said, and meant it the way he meant most things — completely, with no real plan for what came after if it didn’t go his way. It went his way. It went the whole team’s way, in the end, but it was close enough for most of the third period that the entire arena had been on its feet for the last six minutes of regulation, the score knotted at two, both benches screaming themselves hoarse at every faceoff. Jungwon won the draw with ninety seconds left, fed it back to the point, and when the rebound came loose in the slot it was Jay who buried it — top corner, glove side, exactly where Jungwon had told him all week the goalie wouldn’t expect it — and the arena came apart at the seams.

Jay found him first in the pile, both of them screaming something at each other that wasn’t even words anymore, helmets knocking, the whole bench spilling over the boards to bury them both. Riki got there a half-second later, half-sobbing with the specific delirious exhaustion of a freshman who’d just played the biggest sixty minutes of his life, and for a long, loud, glorious minute none of it had anything to do with secrets or rules or anyone’s sister. It was just hockey, the purest version of it, the kind Jungwon had signed up for in the first place. “THAT’S MY CENTER,” Jay was shouting, at no one, at everyone, dragging Jungwon into a headlock that was technically a celebration and technically also just Jay needing somewhere to put the sheer volume of feeling currently moving through him. “That’s my guy! I called it week one, I told Coach, I told him—”

“You told him nothing, you were terrified of me in week one—”

“I was never terrified, I was strategic—”

The bus ride home was loud the whole way, somebody’s phone playing the win highlight on a loop until everyone had watched Jay’s goal from six different angles, and by the time they pulled up outside the Den, the entire street already had cars parked along it that didn’t belong to anyone in the house — word traveled fast on a qualifier night, and half the campus seemed to already know there’d be a party going by the time the team actually walked in the door.

Riki covered for him for the first time that night, and it happened almost by accident, in the sense that Riki didn’t plan the lie in advance so much as produce it instantly, under pressure, with the specific improvisational skill of someone who’d apparently been quietly preparing for this exact moment without telling anyone, including himself. It was maybe forty minutes into the party, the living room already a wall of noise, when Jay turned around mid-conversation and said, to no one in particular, “where’d Jungwon go?” Riki, standing two feet away with a cup in his hand, didn’t even blink. “Bathroom.”

“He’s been gone a while.”

“Stomach thing. Pregame nerves, probably hit him late.” Riki said it with such total, unbothered conviction that even he seemed mildly impressed with himself afterward, recounting it later to Jungwon like he’d just pulled off a heist. “Should probably give him some privacy, honestly. Not a great scene in there right now, I’d imagine.” Jay made a face. “Gross. Okay. Tell him to drink water.”

“Will do, Captain.” The second Jay turned away, Riki allowed himself exactly one slow exhale of relief before pulling his phone out and typing, with the gravity of a man reporting from the field: covered for you. stomach thing. you owe me forever. Jungwon — who was, in fact, not in the bathroom at all, but in the kitchen with you, half-hidden behind the open refrigerator door under the thin cover story of getting a drink — read the text and laughed out loud, which made you ask what was funny, which made him show you, which made you laugh too, the two of you ducking further behind the fridge door like that added any real concealment at all. “He’s never going to let this go,” Jungwon said. “He’s never going to let what go specifically — the lie, or the leverage?”

“Both. Definitely both.”

Near midnight a freshman approached and flirted with Jungwon, a girl from his econ discussion section who’d apparently decided that a qualifier win was the right occasion to finally act on whatever interest she’d been nursing since week one, and she found him by the drinks table with a confidence that suggested she had no idea — none at all — what she was walking into. “You were so good tonight,” she said, hand finding his forearm, easy and familiar in a way that made something in your chest go tight and hot the second you spotted it from across the room. “Like, genuinely incredible. I didn’t know freshmen could even play like that.”

“Thanks.” Jungwon’s voice was polite, a little distant, the specific tone of someone being friendly without encouraging anything, but he wasn’t pulling his arm away either, too caught up in the general adrenaline of the night to fully register what was happening. You watched for exactly eleven seconds before you decided you’d watched enough. “Hey.” You inserted yourself into the conversation with more edge than you meant to, hooking a hand into Jungwon’s other arm like it was the most natural thing in the world, which — to anyone watching, you reminded yourself, it absolutely had to look like, since nobody here knew. “Jongseong’s looking for you. Something about the highlight reel.”

“Oh — yeah, I should—” Jungwon, to his credit, picked up on the temperature shift immediately, even half a beer in, and extracted himself from the girl’s hand with an easy, “good game tonight, good luck on the econ midterm,” before letting you steer him away by the arm without any real resistance. The second you’d put enough distance between yourselves and the drinks table, he was already grinning. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re a little mad.”

“I am not — Jongseong does not actually want you, that was a lie, I made that up.” You let go of his arm like you’d only just realized you were still holding it, crossing your own instead, which did nothing to disguise how transparent you currently were. “I just didn’t feel like watching that.”

“Watching what.”

“You know what.”

“I genuinely don’t, you’re going to have to use words.” He was enjoying this far too much, falling into step beside you toward the stairs, something delighted and a little smug working at the corner of his mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Say it or I go back and ask her what the econ midterm’s actually about, since you brought it up.”

“Fine.” You stopped on the stairs, turning to face him, irritated mostly at yourself now for how easily he’d gotten this out of you. “I didn’t like watching some girl touch your arm and call you incredible. There. Happy?”

“Very happy.” He said it so simply, so plainly delighted, that some of your irritation softened into something else despite your best efforts. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m — annoyed. On principle.”

“That’s jealous with extra steps.” He caught your hand, tugging you the rest of the way up the stairs toward his room, the party noise dropping away behind the closing door. “I like it, for the record. Watching your whole face do that.”

“Don’t make this a thing.”

“Too late,” he said, against your mouth, already kissing you. “It’s already a thing.” You shoved him back onto the bed with more force than the moment strictly required, and he went easily, laughing low under his breath, hands finding your waist as you climbed over him, straddling his hips before either of you had bothered with much in the way of preamble. “Still jealous?” he murmured, hands sliding up your sides under your shirt.

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Jungwon.” You pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere you didn’t bother tracking, and the sight of him underneath you — flushed, win-high, looking at you like you were the only thing that had happened all night that actually mattered — undid the last of your patience. “Less talking.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You worked his belt open with quick, certain hands, and he watched you do it with his jaw tight, breath already gone uneven, hands gripping your hips like he was holding himself back from taking over entirely. When you finally freed him, hard and already aching, he let out a low, rough groan that you felt all the way down. “Tell me you want this,” he breathed, even now, even like this, the same checking he always did. “I’m on top of you right now. What does it look like.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I want this. I want you.” The honesty of it surprised you a little, coming out unguarded, but you didn’t take it back. You sank down onto him slow, both of you groaning at the slick, tight slide of it, and for a second you just stayed there, adjusting, his hands flexing against your hips like he was fighting every instinct to thrust up into you before you were ready. “Fuck — you feel — “ He cut himself off with a sharp exhale as you started to move, slow at first, finding a rhythm, his head tipping back against the pillow, throat working.

“This okay?” you asked, breathless, already rolling your hips again. “More than okay. God, look at you.” His hands slid up to your tits, thumbs brushing your nipples until you gasped, your rhythm faltering for a second before you found it again, faster now, chasing the building heat low in your stomach. “That’s it,” he groaned, hips finally rising to meet yours, the drag of him inside you hitting deeper at this angle, dragging a moan out of you that you didn’t bother muffling. “Ride me just like that — fuck, you’re so good, you have no idea—”

“Jungwon—”

“I know. I’ve got you.” His hand found your clit, thumb pressing tight, deliberate circles in time with your movement, and the combination had your moans climbing fast, breathless, your nails dragging down his chest. “You looked so good tonight,” you breathed, barely coherent, rolling your hips faster. “On the ice. I couldn’t stop watching you.”

“Yeah?” Something in his voice cracked open at that, rougher, more desperate. “Tell me again.”

“You were incredible.” You said it again, deliberately, watching the way it undid him, hips snapping up harder to meet yours. “Best on the ice. Better than anyone.”

“Fuck — “ His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your pace faster, deeper, the tip of him dragging against that spot inside you that had your vision sparking white at the edges. “Say it again—”

“Best player out there,” you gasped, close now, every word coming apart at the edges. “Mine — “ That seemed to do something to him entirely, a rough, broken sound tearing out of his throat as his thrusts turned faster, less controlled, chasing the same edge you were chasing, and when you finally tipped over it was with his name breaking out of you, walls clenching tight around him as he followed seconds later, spilling into you with a groan he pressed into your collarbone, hips stuttering through the last of it.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing hard, his arms coming up around you loose and unhurried, like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. “Hey,” you said, eventually, into the quiet, your cheek still pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow back down. “I’m proud of you. For tonight. For real, not just — “ you gestured vaguely at the bed, the obvious aftermath of it. “For the game. You were really, genuinely incredible out there.” Jungwon went quiet for a second, his hand stilling where it had been tracing slow, idle patterns against your back, and when he finally spoke, his voice had lost all of its earlier teasing. “Nobody’s said that to me tonight. Not like that.” A pause. “Jongseong said it loud, in front of everyone. Riki said it because he’s my best friend and he has to. You’re the first person who said it just to me. Quiet. Like you meant it specifically.”

“I did mean it specifically.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, settling you further into his chest, his fingers finding yours and lacing them together against his stomach, slow and easy, the most unhurried, domestic gesture either of you had managed yet. “I like this part. After. Just this.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, quiet, letting yourself mean it without flinching for once. “Me too.” Neither of you said the word that was sitting in the room with you, obvious and unspoken, but you both heard it anyway, in the silence, in the way his heartbeat hadn’t gone all the way back to normal yet, in the way you’d stopped pretending, even to yourself, that this was still just convenient.

The team’s covering operation had, by this point in the season, developed an almost professional structure to it, and Jake — somewhat to his own surprise — had ended up running point on the version of it that covered for you specifically, rather than Jungwon, in a way that felt less like keeping a secret and more like something closer to actual brotherly instinct kicking in where Jay’s couldn’t. It started small. Jay would ask, casually, where you’d gotten to after a party, and Jake would have an answer ready before the question had even fully landed — “she left with Sunoo,” or “she said she was tired, headed back to the dorm early,” delivered with such easy, bored conviction that Jay never once thought to push further. It wasn’t even really lying, most of the time, just a careful management of which true things got said out loud and which got quietly left out, and Jake did it with the same instinctive ease he’d cover for any of his actual teammates, except this time the teammate he was protecting was you. “You don’t have to do that,” you told him once, catching him right after he’d smoothly redirected Jay away from asking why you’d been at the Den three nights running. “I know I don’t have to.” Jake shrugged, like it cost him nothing, which — Jake being Jake — it probably genuinely didn’t. “I’ve watched you get treated like property by every guy who’s ever looked at you twice on this campus, Y/N. Watching Jungwon actually be good to you, and good for you, is the first time I’ve actually wanted to help one of these situations instead of running it off.” He bumped your shoulder, easy, the same brotherly affection he’d had for you since you were sixteen. “Plus he climbed a drainpipe for you. I respect the commitment.”

“You heard about the drainpipe?”

“Everyone heard about the drainpipe. Riki couldn’t keep that one to himself for more than six hours.”

The sloppiness crept in gradually, the way it always does — not one specific reckless decision but a slow accumulation of smaller ones, each individually defensible, collectively a problem. You stopped checking the hallway before leaving Jungwon’s room. He stopped waiting the full ten minutes before following you down to a party. You held his hand under the kitchen table once during a group dinner and didn’t notice you’d done it until Heeseung’s eyes flicked down and back up again, saying nothing, filing it away with the same quiet discretion he applied to everything.

Riki, increasingly, found himself in the position of full-time alibi generator, a role he’d apparently decided to take seriously enough to develop a rotating cast of excuses so he wouldn’t repeat himself in front of Jay. “Stomach thing again?” Jungwon asked once, amused, after overhearing Riki deploy it for the third time that month. “I can’t keep using stomach thing, Jay’s gonna think you have a chronic illness.” Riki looked genuinely affronted at the suggestion. “I’ve diversified. Library. Equipment fitting. One time I said you were ‘processing the loss emotionally’ after a game we won, which in retrospect was a mistake, because Jay actually came to check on you and I had to improvise an entire secondary lie on the spot.”

“You told him I was sad after a win?”

“I panicked! You were not in the building, Jungwon, I needed something fast!”

It was Heeseung, in the end, with his usual quiet bluntness, who said the thing that pushed you both toward an actual conversation about what exactly you were doing. “You two are being sloppy,” he said, apropos of nothing, while you were both in the kitchen at the same time for once without any real cover story prepared, his voice pitched low enough that it wasn’t a public confrontation, just an observation meant for the two of you. “Not in a ‘someone definitely knows’ way yet. In a ‘it’s only a matter of time’ way.”

“We’re being careful,” Jungwon said, automatically, though even he didn’t sound especially convinced. “You held her hand under the table on Tuesday. I watched it happen. Jay was four feet away.” Heeseung took a sip of his coffee, unbothered, delivering the rest like a weather report rather than an accusation. “I’m not telling you to stop. I’m telling you that whatever you’re doing right now isn’t a secret thing anymore, it’s a secret-shaped thing that everyone already knows the shape of. The only person who doesn’t know is Jay, and that’s getting harder to maintain every single week.” Neither of you had a response to that. Heeseung, satisfied he’d made his point, simply finished his coffee and left the room, and the silence he left behind sat heavy enough that you finally looked at each other and both understood, without saying it yet, that something needed to actually be decided.

It happened that same night, quieter than either of you expected — no big declaration, no dramatic setup, just the two of you lying in his bed in the dark, his fingers tracing slow shapes against your bare shoulder, the kind of stillness that made honesty easier than it usually was. “Can I ask you something,” Jungwon said, into the quiet. “Mm.”

“What are we doing.” You didn’t answer right away, not because you didn’t have one, but because you’d been avoiding the question so deliberately for so long that actually hearing it out loud felt strange, like a word you’d practiced saying in private finally being spoken in front of someone else. “I don’t know what we’re calling it.”

“I know what I want to call it.” He said it simply, no hesitation in it at all, the same steady certainty he’d had since the very first night, since before you’d even properly known his name. “I haven’t been seeing anyone else. I haven’t wanted to. I don’t want some random freshman from your econ section thinking she has a shot, and I really don’t want some guy at a party thinking he does either.” A small pause. “I want this to actually be something. Not just — convenient. Not just a secret. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, even if nobody else gets to know that yet.” You let that sit for a second, feeling the actual weight of it land somewhere real in your chest, and then you turned to face him fully in the dark. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Exclusive. Just us.” You felt something loosen in your chest as you said it, like a held breath finally let go. “I haven’t wanted anyone else either, if that wasn’t obvious from the jealousy thing.”

“It was very obvious.” He was smiling, you could hear it even without seeing it clearly. “I liked the jealousy thing a lot, for the record.”

“I know you did. You’re insufferable about it.”

“I’m allowed to be insufferable. My girlfriend’s jealous over me. That’s a good day.” He tried the word out like he was testing the weight of it, girlfriend, and something about the easy way he landed on it — like he’d been holding it ready for weeks, waiting for permission to use it — made you press closer into him, burying the small, helpless smile against his chest before he could see the full shape of it. “Don’t get used to saying that out loud,” you murmured. “Not yet. Not where anyone can hear.”

“I know.” Some of the lightness faded out of his voice, the reality of the actual logistics settling back in. “Soon, though. Right? We’re not doing this forever.”

“Soon,” you agreed, and didn’t let yourself think too hard about how soon soon actually needed to be, or what it would cost when it finally happened.

Sunghoon came out to the team on an entirely unrelated Tuesday, with none of the ceremony he’d apparently been bracing for, during a postpractice stretch session that had devolved, as most of them did, into nonsense. “I’m gonna say something and I need everyone to not make it weird,” he announced, to the room generally, mid-stretch, with the specific tension of someone who’d clearly rehearsed the moment and chosen the most low-stakes possible setting to finally do it. “Oh god, are you quitting hockey,” Jake said immediately. “Don’t quit hockey, we need you for the power play—”

“I’m not quitting hockey. I’m gay.” The room went quiet for exactly one second. “Okay,” Heeseung said, easily, already going back to his own stretch like Sunghoon had just announced the weather. “Cool.”

“That’s — that’s it? That’s the reaction?”

“What reaction did you want?” Jake looked genuinely confused. “Bro, we know. We’ve known. You’ve been weird about Sunoo for two months, you think we didn’t clock that?”

“I — okay, I knew you guys clocked the Sunoo thing, but I meant, like, generally—”

“We know generally too,” Riki put in, helpfully unhelpful. “I think Heeseung called it back in like September.”

“I called it the first week,” Heeseung corrected, mildly offended at the underselling of his own detective work. “It’s not, like, a thing, man,” Jake said, more gently now, sitting up properly to actually look at Sunghoon instead of just talking past him. “You’re still you. You’re still the guy who’s weirdly competitive about stretching and once cried during a dog food commercial—”

“That was one time and the dog was sick in the commercial, that’s a valid reaction—”

“You’re still our guy. That’s the whole thing. Nothing about that changes because you said the actual words out loud instead of us just all politely knowing.” Jake grinned, the tension fully gone from the room now. “Although I will say, the Sunoo thing makes a lot more sense now in terms of timeline. I thought you were just developing a coffee addiction for a while there.”

“I don’t even like coffee.”

“I KNOW, that’s what tipped me off, you kept buying it and not drinking it, it was clearly a Sunoo-adjacent purchase—” Sunghoon, somewhere in the middle of the room’s easy, immediate, unbothered acceptance, looked like a man who’d spent considerably longer bracing for this moment than the actual moment had required, and Jungwon — watching from across the room, his own secret still folded carefully out of sight — felt something complicated move through his chest. Relief, for Sunghoon, that this house was exactly the kind of place where something like that could land soft. And underneath it, quieter, a feeling he didn’t examine too closely: the knowledge that his own reveal, whenever it finally came, was not going to land anywhere near this gently. He thought about you, across the room and thought, not for the first time, that soon was a word doing a lot of work to put off something that was eventually going to come due no matter how careful you both stayed.

—

The quarterfinal landed on October 12th, which Jay had been complaining about since the schedule first dropped over the summer — “of course it’s on our actual birthday, of course the conference hates me specifically” — though the complaining had always had a performative edge to it, since everyone in the house knew Jay would rather play a quarterfinal on his birthday than not play one at all. You’d been planning the surprise party for two weeks, in increments small enough that nobody outside the inner circle had noticed: a quiet text chain with Heeseung about decorations, a grocery run with Riki that he’d disguised as “team snacks” when Jay asked, a cake order picked up that morning and hidden in the trunk of Sunoo’s car like contraband. The whole house had folded into the conspiracy with an enthusiasm that surprised even you — Sunghoon handling the lights, Jake in charge of the playlist, Heeseung quietly making sure there was enough food to feed forty hockey players without it looking suspicious in the fridge beforehand.

Jungwon’s job was the hardest one, and you’d given it to him on purpose: keep Jay distracted enough after the game that nobody had to rush the setup. “You’re sure he won’t notice anything’s off,” Jungwon asked, the night before, lying beside you with his chin propped on his hand. “He’s terrible at noticing things that aren’t directly related to hockey or me. You’ve watched him miss four separate hints about his own surprise party already. He thinks we’re doing dinner. A small dinner. That’s it.”

“And the call thing?”

“My job. I’ll handle my job. You handle yours — keep him in the locker room long enough, talk hockey at him, whatever it takes.”

“I can talk hockey at him for hours. That part’s not hard.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, easy, settling further into the pillow. “Happy almost-birthday, by the way. Twenty-one’s a big one.”

“Don’t remind me. I feel ancient.”

“You’re the same age as your brother, you’ve always been this age relative to him, nothing’s changing.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

Blackwood won the quarterfinal 5–2, Jay scoring twice and assisting on a third, playing like a man who’d decided his birthday came with an obligation to be the best version of himself on the ice, and the locker room afterward was loud with the specific giddy exhaustion of a team that knew it was one step closer to the Cup. Jungwon found Jay by his stall, still half in his gear, and did exactly what he’d promised — kept him there, breaking down the third goal frame by frame, asking deliberately long questions about reads and lane choices that he already understood perfectly well, buying every minute he could.

Across the room, you were on the phone, your voice pitched loud enough to carry. “Mom wants to FaceTime him the second he’s out of the shower, she’s been texting me nonstop, she says happy birthday like four times already and wants to actually see his face—” It worked exactly as planned. By the time Jay finally extracted himself from Jungwon’s increasingly elaborate hockey questions and took the call from your parents in the hallway outside the locker room — your mother’s voice audible even through the phone, your father in the background insisting on singing the first two lines of happy birthday badly, on purpose, the way he had every year since you were both kids — the entire team had already loaded into cars and beaten you both back to the Den, where Heeseung’s lights were up, Jake’s playlist was queued, and Sunoo had the cake set up on the kitchen counter with twenty-one candles that had taken Riki three attempts to actually light because the lighter kept giving out.

You walked Jay through the front door fifteen minutes later, phone call wrapped up, still mid-sentence about something your mom had said, and the entire house erupted at once — lights up, music starting, a chorus of “SURPRISE” loud enough that Jay actually flinched, one hand flying to his chest like his heart had genuinely stopped for a second. “You—” He turned on you immediately, half-laughing, half-betrayed. “The FaceTime was a setup.”

“The FaceTime was real, Mom does want to call you later, I just needed you distracted for twenty minutes.”

“I can’t believe you used our parents as a smokescreen—”

“I can’t believe it worked this well, honestly, you’re shockingly easy to fool.” He pulled you into a hug before you’d finished the sentence, the kind that lifted you half off your feet, laughing into your hair. “Happy birthday to you too, by the way. We’re the same age, idiot, this is also your party.”

“I know. Co-birthday king and queen. I expect a toast.”

“You’ll get several toasts. Jake’s already written something, I can see it on his face, he’s been holding it in all night.” He had, in fact, written something, and it was exactly as unhinged as advertised — a toast that started sincere, devolved into a list of increasingly embarrassing stories about Jay from freshman year, and ended with Jake actually getting a little emotional about “the best captain and the most tolerant sister a team’s ever been lucky enough to share a house with,” which got a genuine cheer from the room and a swat to the back of the head from Jay, who was visibly moved and trying very hard not to show it.

The party ran late, the good kind of late, the kind where nobody’s watching the clock because nobody wants the night to end — cake, then dancing, then somebody’s questionable decision to bring out the karaoke machine that lived in the Den’s basement for occasions exactly like this one, Jay and Jake butchering a duet so badly that Heeseung had to leave the room to compose himself. You danced with your brother for one whole song, the two of you doing the same ridiculous, half-choreographed bit you’d been doing at every birthday since you were fourteen, and across the room you caught Jungwon watching, something soft and unguarded on his face that he didn’t bother hiding for once, since nobody was paying close enough attention to notice. By two in the morning, the house had finally gone quiet — bodies passed out across couches, Jay asleep sitting up in an armchair with cake frosting still on his collar, Riki face-down on the floor for reasons nobody had bothered to investigate, Sunoo and Sunghoon curled into each other on the porch swing outside, low voices and easy laughter drifting in through the screen door. The kind of ending a good party earns. “Come on,” Jungwon said quietly, finding you in the kitchen surveying the wreckage of cake and cups. “I’ll walk you back.”

The campus at two in the morning had a particular hush to it, streetlights doing most of the work, your footsteps the loudest sound for blocks. Jungwon had his hands in his pockets, walking close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every few steps, neither of you in any real hurry to get where you were going. “Good birthday?” he asked. “Best one in years, honestly. Jongseong cried a little during Jake’s toast and he’s going to deny it forever, so that alone made the whole night worth it.”

“I have something for you. For your actual birthday, not the team thing.” He pulled a small, carefully wrapped box out of his jacket pocket — he’d clearly been carrying it all night, waiting for a quiet moment that wasn’t surrounded by forty other people — and held it out, a little sheepish in a way you rarely got to see on him. “It’s not much. I wanted to give it to you without an audience.” You unwrapped it slowly, under the streetlight outside your dorm, and found a thin silver chain inside, a small charm hanging from it shaped like a tiny hockey puck, and on the back, when you turned it over, your birthday engraved in careful, small lettering alongside a single date you recognized immediately — the night of the party, three months ago, when this whole impossible thing had started. “Jungwon.”

“I know it’s a weird thing to commemorate. I just—” He rubbed the back of his neck, the first genuinely nervous gesture you’d seen out of him in weeks. “I wanted something that was just ours. Something nobody else would know the meaning of if they saw it. You could wear it and nobody would ever know what it actually means, except you. Except us.” You didn’t say anything for a second, just looked at it, the weight of how much thought had clearly gone into something this small landing somewhere soft and unguarded in your chest, and when you looked back up at him, he was watching you with the specific, quiet hope of someone who genuinely wasn’t sure how the gift would be received. “I love it,” you said, finally. “I love it so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You let him fasten it around your neck right there under the streetlight, his fingers careful at the clasp, and when he was done you turned and kissed him — slow, unhurried, none of the urgency from earlier in the semester, just the easy, settled kind of kiss that came from three months of knowing exactly how this felt and not being in any rush to stop feeling it. “Best birthday gift I’ve gotten in years,” you murmured, against his mouth. “Good. That was the goal.” He kissed you again, lingering, his hand coming up to rest against the curve of your jaw. “Happy birthday.”

“Hey,” you said, pulling back just far enough to look at him properly, an idea you’d been sitting on for a week finally finding its moment. “There’s a festival next weekend. Off campus, like an hour out — Sunoo’s been talking about it for weeks, lights and music and the whole thing. I want you to come with me.”

“An hour off campus.” Something in his face shifted, considering it properly. “That’s far enough that nobody from the team would just stumble into us.”

“That’s the point.”

“You’re asking me on an actual date. A real one. Outside the Den, outside parties, outside all of this.” He said it slowly, like he was turning the idea over, savoring it a little. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me something like that since September.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s the easiest yes I’ve ever given anyone.” He pulled you back in, forehead resting against yours, both of you smiling too wide for the hour, for how tired you should have been, for how much you still had left to figure out about the rest of this. “I’d go anywhere with you. An hour’s nothing.” You stood there a while longer under the streetlight, in no hurry at all, the small silver puck resting warm against your collarbone, neither of you saying out loud the thing you were both clearly thinking — that a real date, an hour off campus, away from anyone who might recognize either of you, felt like the first real crack of daylight after months spent entirely in the dark. Like maybe, soon, you wouldn’t have to keep choosing between him and the rest of your life.

The week leading up to the festival passed in a way that felt almost suspiciously easy, and Jungwon noticed it more than once — the specific, unguarded lightness of just being happy, without the usual undercurrent of calculation running underneath it. He caught himself smiling at nothing during an econ lecture. Caught Riki noticing him do it. “You’ve been weird all week,” Riki said, eyeing him over a stats problem set neither of them were actually working on. “Weird good, though. Like, suspiciously content. It’s unsettling, honestly, I’m used to you having at least one low-grade crisis going at all times.”

“I don’t have crises.”

“You have constant crises, you just hide them well. This week you’ve had zero. I noticed.” Riki narrowed his eyes. “Something’s happening this weekend. You’ve got a bag packed already and it’s Tuesday.”

“We’re going to a festival.”

“You’re going somewhere overnight with a bag packed four days early for a day festival. Those numbers don’t add up, my friend.”

Jungwon didn’t dignify that with an answer, mostly because Riki wasn’t wrong, and the not-answering was its own kind of confirmation that Riki accepted with a satisfied, knowing nod and went back to his problem set, humming something annoyingly pleased with himself under his breath.

You’d booked the hotel two weeks in advance, a small, unfussy place near the festival grounds that you’d found mostly because it was far enough out that nobody from Blackwood would plausibly be staying there too, and you’d told Jungwon all of it with the same deliberate, slightly nervous energy of someone planning something that mattered more to her than she wanted to admit out loud.

“Friday to Sunday,” you’d said, showing him the booking on your phone. “Festival’s Friday, but I figured — we never get an actual weekend. Just us. No covering for anyone, no checking the hallway first.”

“Friday to Sunday,” he’d repeated, something settling and pleased moving across his face. “I like that math a lot.”

Sunoo and Sunghoon were going too — officially, publicly, the easiest couple in the entire group now that Sunghoon’s coming out had cleared whatever quiet tension used to sit underneath their dynamic — and the four of you drove out together Friday afternoon, windows down, Sunoo controlling the music with the same merciless authority he applied to most things, Sunghoon driving with one hand permanently finding Sunoo’s knee whenever a song he liked came on. “This is so much better than sneaking around,” Sunoo announced, from the front seat, twisting around to grin at the two of you in the back. “You two get to have, like, a real weekend. With us. As an actual couple thing. Double date energy. I’ve been waiting for this since September.”

“We’re not technically a public couple yet,” you reminded him.

“You’re public to us. That’s basically the same thing, just smaller scale.”

The festival itself was everything Sunoo had promised — string lights strung between food trucks, a stage at the far end of the field playing through a lineup of bands neither of you fully recognized, the whole grounds lit gold as the sun went down. And for the first time since the party back in September, you got to just be a couple in public — Jungwon’s hand finding yours without either of you checking who might be watching first, his arm slung easy around your shoulders while you waited in line for festival food, both of you laughing at something stupid Sunoo said without the automatic, practiced half-second of distance you usually kept in case anyone from the Den happened to be nearby. “This is so weird,” you admitted, leaning into his side as the two of you watched some local band finish their set. “Good weird. I keep waiting for the part where I have to let go of your hand.”

“You don’t have to let go of my hand.” He squeezed it, like he was making the point physically as well as out loud. “Not here. Not this weekend.”

“I know. It’s just — new. Being normal about it.”

“I could get used to normal.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, easy, unhurried, the kind of casual public affection that would’ve sent your heart into your throat back at the Den and here just felt like exhaling. “We should do this more.”

“We will. Eventually. Just — not yet.” He didn’t push on the not yet, the way he’d stopped pushing on it weeks ago, content for now with the version of normal a weekend an hour outside of everyone’s orbit could actually offer. Sunghoon bought Sunoo a ridiculous oversized stuffed animal from one of the carnival games after missing the target six times and finally landing it on the seventh, to a level of triumphant celebration that drew the attention of half the surrounding crowd, and Sunoo carried it around for the rest of the night like a trophy, occasionally hitting Sunghoon with it when he said something he found insufficiently romantic.

You got back to the hotel late, well past midnight, festival dust still on your shoes, and the second the door clicked shut behind you, Jungwon had you pressed gently back against it, his mouth finding yours unhurried but certain. “Good night?” he murmured, against your lips. “Best one in a while.” You let your hands slide up under his shirt, the festival heat and the long day and months of careful waiting all collapsing into one slow, building want. “Come to bed.”

He undressed you slow, the same deliberate care he’d had since the very first night, like the weekend stretching ahead of you had taken away any reason to rush. He laid you back against the hotel sheets, mouth tracing the same patient path down your throat, your chest, lower, and when his fingers finally found your folds, already slick from the whole night of anticipation, he groaned low against your skin. “We’ve got all weekend,” he said, glancing up at you, something dark and unhurried in his eyes. “No reason to rush any of it.”

He took his time proving that, working you open with slow, deliberate fingers until you were gasping his name into the quiet of the room, and when he finally settled over you and pushed in, the rhythm he found was slow and grinding, deep, drawing soft, breathy moans out of you that built steadily rather than rushing toward anything. “Look at you,” he breathed, watching your face with open, unguarded want. “We’ve got two more nights of this. I’m not in a hurry tonight.” He kept that promise. The first time was slow, drawn-out, both of you trading low praise and his name and yours back and forth until you came apart around him with a soft, broken sound, his own release following unhurried moments later. The second time, near dawn, was slower still, lazier, half-asleep limbs and unhurried kisses until neither of you could tell anymore where the festival ended and the rest of the weekend began.

Saturday morning arrived late, neither of you bothering to leave the bed until room service knocked, and you spent a solid hour tangled in the sheets eating pancakes off the same plate, his fingers occasionally stealing bites off your fork just to watch you swat at him. “This is what I want,” you said at one point, syrup-sticky and entirely unguarded, watching him steal another piece of bacon. “Just this. Mornings like this, except not just on a weekend an hour from campus.”

“Soon,” he said, the word that had become something like a promise between you over the last few weeks, and this time it landed differently — closer, more real, like the gap between soon and now had finally started to close.

You spent Saturday afternoon wandering the small downtown near the hotel, ducking into shops mostly for the fun of it, Jungwon buying you a ridiculous pair of sunglasses you’d tried on as a joke and then genuinely loved, you talking him into a soft, oversized sweater he swore he’d never wear outside this trip and absolutely would, in fact, wear constantly once you got back. Sunoo texted updates from his and Sunghoon’s parallel afternoon — we got matching bracelets I’m going to cry — and you sent back a photo of Jungwon in his new sweater with the caption we’re matching in spirit. By Saturday night you were both too sun-tired and festival-worn to do much more than order room service again and fall asleep tangled together by ten, and Sunday morning came too fast, the drive back to campus quieter than the drive out had been, all four of you a little subdued at the idea of stepping back into a world where this version of things — easy, public, unguarded — had to fold itself small again.

“I don’t want to go back to hiding it,” you said quietly, somewhere on the drive, your head against Jungwon’s shoulder, watching the festival grounds disappear behind you through the back window. “I know.” His arm tightened around you, his voice low enough that it was just for you, even with Sunoo and Sunghoon talking quietly up front. “We won’t have to. Not forever.”

The drive back from the festival had the particular quiet of a good weekend ending — not sad, exactly, just settling, everyone a little sun-worn and content, Sunoo’s playlist gone soft and slow for the last hour of the trip in a way that matched the mood better than anything from Friday’s drive out. Sunghoon dropped you and Sunoo off first, your dorm closer to the highway exit than the Den, and the goodbye had its own small chaos — Sunoo hugging you so hard you nearly lost your footing, already texting in the group chat about “the best weekend of my entire life, I’m emotional, don’t talk to me,” Sunghoon leaning out the driver’s window to tell Jungwon something about practice schedules that was really just an excuse to keep the car parked a few extra minutes.

You climbed out last, your bag over one shoulder, and Jungwon got out too, rounding the car to walk you the short distance to the dorm entrance even though it was barely twenty feet, because apparently three days of being an actual couple in public had made him reluctant to let the smallest goodbye go un-marked. “This was the best weekend I’ve had in years,” you told him, under the dorm’s overhead light, voice still a little rough with the particular exhaustion that comes from too much sun and too little sleep and exactly the right amount of everything else. “Best one I’ve ever had.” He said it simply, with no exaggeration in it at all, like he’d actually run the comparison in his head and landed on the truth of it. “I don’t want to go back to checking hallways.”

“I know. We won’t, soon.”

“Soon,” he agreed, and pulled you in for a last kiss right there under the light, slow and unhurried despite Sunghoon’s car idling at the curb, his hand coming up to cup your jaw the same way it had the very first night, except nothing about this kiss carried any of that night’s uncertainty. This one knew exactly what it was. “Go,” you murmured, eventually, laughing against his mouth. “Sunghoon’s going to start honking.”

“Let him.”

“Jungwon.”

“Fine. Going.” He kissed you once more, quick, like he couldn’t quite help himself, then backed away toward the car with obvious reluctance, already calling over his shoulder, “text me when you’re inside.”

“I’m twenty feet from the door.”

“Text me anyway.” You watched the car pull away before you went in, and true to his word, your phone buzzed before you’d even gotten your key in the lock.

jungwon: best weekend of my life. thank you for asking me.

you: thank you for climbing through my window in september. none of this happens without that.

jungwon: worth every inch of that drainpipe

The car ride to the Den was quieter, Sunghoon driving, Jungwon in the passenger seat with his phone still warm in his hand, the particular loose, contented quiet of someone who’d spent three days being exactly who he wanted to be without having to manage it. “You good?” Sunghoon asked, eyes on the road. “You’ve got a face.”

“What face.”

“The face you’ve had all weekend. The one where you look like someone hit you with a happiness truck and you haven’t fully recovered.” Sunghoon said it without judgment, mostly amused. “It’s a good look on you. Different from the usual broody thing.”

“I don’t do a broody thing.”

“You do an extensive broody thing, it’s just been on pause for three days.” Sunghoon pulled up outside the Den, cutting the engine. “You ready for the readjustment? Back to hallway-checking and stomach-thing alibis?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah. Figured.”

Jay was in the kitchen when they walked in, mid-conversation with Heeseung about something on his laptop, and he looked up the second the door opened with the easy, automatic attention of a captain checking who’d come home. “There he is. Where’ve you been all weekend? Riki said something about a festival, but he was being weird and cagey about it, which usually means he’s covering for somebody.” Jungwon felt the question land exactly where he’d known it would eventually land, and answered it the way he’d practiced in his head somewhere around hour two of the drive home, voice easy, unbothered, the specific calm he’d built a habit of deploying for exactly this purpose. “Went with Sunghoon. Sunoo wanted to go to that festival thing out near the lake, dragged us both along, figured it’d be good to get off campus for a weekend before the semester gets worse.” A small shrug, casual, nothing in it worth a second look. “Needed the break, honestly. Been a heavy few weeks.”

“Yeah, you’ve earned a weekend off.” Jay nodded, easy, already moving past it, no reason in his world yet to ask a follow-up question, because nothing about the answer had given him one. “Glad you went. You’ve looked tired lately, this is the first time in weeks you’ve looked like you actually slept.”

“I slept a lot.”

“Good. Need you sharp, we’ve got the semifinal in two weeks, I’m not losing my center to burnout right before that.” Jay clapped him once on the shoulder on his way past, the same easy, trusting gesture he’d been giving Jungwon since week one, completely unaware of how much weight that trust was currently carrying without his knowledge. “Go unpack. We’ll talk lines tomorrow.” Jungwon watched him go, the lie sitting easy and practiced in his chest, and felt — not for the first time, but more sharply than usual, the festival’s three days of honesty still warm in his memory — exactly how much it cost him to do this so smoothly. He was good at it. That had stopped feeling like something to be proud of weeks ago.

Sunghoon, beside him, didn’t say anything, just exhaled slow through his nose, the universal sound of someone watching a friend get better and better at something that was eventually going to catch up to him. “You’re really good at that,” Sunghoon said, finally, quiet, once Jay was out of earshot. “Yeah,” Jungwon said, and didn’t sound proud of it at all. “I know.”

Coach Anders had decided, with the semifinal now exactly two weeks out, that the only acceptable response to that fact was to make practice considerably worse for everyone involved, and Jay had taken to that decision with the specific zeal of a captain who agreed with it completely and intended to make sure the rest of the team did too. “Again,” Jay called, for what had to be the eighth time, as the line reset at the blue line. “We’re not running this drill again because it was bad. We’re running it again because it needs to be automatic. You shouldn’t have to think about this read by week fourteen of the season.”

“My legs are gone,” Jake announced, from somewhere near the bench, draped over the boards like a man who’d given up on dignity entirely.

“Good. That means it’s working.” Jay didn’t even look over, already skating back to center ice. “Yang, Riki, line up. Same read, full speed this time.”

Practice ran nearly forty minutes long that day, and longer the day after that, Coach standing at the bench with his arms crossed and his expression unreadable in the particular way that meant he was satisfied without wanting anyone to know it yet. Jungwon’s legs felt like they belonged to someone else by the time they finally got let off the ice, the good kind of exhausted, the kind that meant the work was actually sinking in.

Jay gathered them at center ice before letting anyone head for the showers, voice pitched in the low, even register he used when he meant something seriously. “Two weeks,” he said. “I know everyone’s tired. I’m tired. I don’t care. We’ve worked too hard this season to lose in the semis because we got comfortable in October.” His eyes moved across the group, the same way they always did, landing for half a second longer on his first line. “I need everyone locked in. No distractions. No slipping. We’ve got one shot at this and I’m not watching it fall apart over something stupid.” Jungwon felt that land somewhere uncomfortable in his chest, the word slipping hitting closer than Jay could possibly know he meant it.

You came by the Den that evening with a folder of notes Jay had texted you about twenty times asking for — something he’d left at your apartment after a study session weeks ago that he apparently needed for a presentation he’d been putting off — and you found the house in its usual post-practice wind-down, the smell of someone’s attempt at dinner drifting from the kitchen, the low murmur of a TV nobody was actually watching. “Finally,” Jay said, intercepting you in the front hallway before you’d even made it past the framed photo on the wall, snatching the folder out of your hands with the particular gracelessness of an exhausted older brother. “You’re a lifesaver. I would’ve actually failed this presentation.”

“You’re welcome. Next time, don’t leave your stuff at my place for three weeks before remembering you need it.”

“Noted. Ignored, probably, but noted.” He flipped through the folder to confirm everything was there, and in the process of doing so, his eyes caught on something at your collarbone, the small silver chain that had become such a constant fixture you’d genuinely forgotten, in this exact moment, that it was something worth noticing. “That’s new,” Jay said, tilting his head, studying the little charm hanging from it. “The necklace. I haven’t seen that before.” Your stomach did a slow, cold drop, the kind that came from being caught flat-footed by a question you should have seen coming and hadn’t prepared an answer for. “Oh — yeah. Just something I picked up.”

“Where? It’s cute. Looks expensive for a ‘picked up’ kind of thing.” He leaned in slightly, squinting at the small engraved charm without actually reaching for it, which was the only mercy currently available to you. “Is that a date on the back?”

“It’s — just a birthday thing. From myself. Treated myself.” The lie came out faster than you’d planned it, stacking itself on top of the truth so quickly you almost believed it yourself for a second. “You know. Twenty-one. Felt like an occasion.”

“Huh.” Jay studied it a beat longer, and for one suspended second you were certain he was going to ask the obvious next question — why would you buy yourself a hockey puck charm, you don’t even like hockey jewelry, you’ve made fun of mine for years — but exhaustion and a folder full of overdue coursework apparently won out over curiosity, and he just shrugged, already turning back toward the stairs. “Cute, though. Looks good on you.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell Sunoo I said hi. And tell Sunghoon he owes me ten bucks from the bet last week.”

“What bet?”

“Doesn’t matter, just tell him.” Jay was already halfway up the stairs, folder under his arm, the conversation closed in his mind as completely as it had opened.

You stood there for a long moment after he disappeared, your hand coming up unconsciously to touch the small charm at your collarbone, feeling the particular vertigo of having walked right up to the edge of something and stepped back from it by pure luck rather than any actual skill. Across the room, in the kitchen doorway, Jungwon had gone very still, having caught the entire exchange from a few feet away, and when your eyes finally met his, you both understood, without saying anything, exactly how close that had just been. “That was too close,” you said quietly, once you’d both retreated to the relative privacy of the back porch. “I know.” Jungwon’s jaw was tight, his eyes still on the doorway like Jay might reappear any second. “He was right there. One more second of looking at it and he would’ve asked the question that actually matters.”

“He didn’t, though.”

“This time.” Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, something frayed at the edges of his usual calm. “We’ve been doing this for four months. We just got lucky in there. That’s not the same as being careful.” You didn’t have a good response to that, mostly because he was right, and the two of you stood there in the cold evening air, the necklace warm and suddenly heavy against your skin, both quietly aware that the margin you’d been operating in had just gotten visibly thinner, and that luck, eventually, the way it always does, was going to run out.

—

You went to Jungwons to study and the studying had been real, at first — that was the part that would seem darkly funny to Jungwon later, in the version of this night he’d replay for weeks afterward, the fact that the thing that finally got them caught had started as something genuinely, boringly innocent. You’d come over with your laptop and a stack of flashcards for a psych exam, and Jungwon had his own econ readings spread across the bed because his desk was buried under hockey equipment he kept forgetting to put away, and the two of you had actually studied, properly, for almost an hour — quizzing each other, him stealing glances at your flashcards and making fun of your handwriting, you threatening to revoke his snack privileges if he kept distracting you.

The studying had stopped being the point somewhere around the time he’d leaned over to correct an answer on your flashcard and you’d turned your head at exactly the wrong — or right — moment, and what started as a normal, domestic kind of closeness had tipped, slow and easy and entirely without either of you deciding it on purpose, into something else. Flashcards forgotten on the floor. His laptop pushed aside. The particular unhurried quiet of two people who’d done this enough times now that there was no nervousness left in it at all, just familiarity, comfort, the specific ease of being completely known by someone.

Neither of you heard the door.

Jay had knocked — he’d insist on that later, loudly, repeatedly, as if it mattered — but the knock had landed in a gap between two things that weren’t paying attention to anything outside the room, and when nobody answered, he’d done what he always did at the Den, what he’d done a hundred times before without a second thought, because it was his team’s house and these were his guys and there had never, not once in three years, been a reason to think twice about opening a door that wasn’t locked.

“Hey, Jungwon, I need to ask you something about the line rush tomorrow—” The sentence didn’t finish. It just stopped, mid-air, the way a record stops when someone lifts the needle, and the silence that replaced it was the loudest sound Jungwon had ever heard in his life.

For one full second nobody moved. Jay stood frozen in the doorway, hand still on the handle, his expression doing something complicated and fast — confusion first, the brain’s split-second refusal to process what it was looking at, and then, almost instantly, the confusion burning off into something else entirely, something that didn’t have a soft landing anywhere underneath it.

Jungwon didn’t scramble. That would come a second later, the reflexive grab for a shirt, the half-formed motion of putting himself between you and the door, but in that very first second he just froze too, eye to eye with Jay across the room, and some old, certain part of him understood with total clarity that there was no version of the next ten seconds that ended anywhere good. “Get out,” Jay said. Flat. Quiet. Worse than yelling. He wasn’t talking to you. He couldn’t look at you.

His eyes were locked on Jungwon, and his voice, when it came again, had dropped even lower, which somehow made it land harder than volume would have. “Get dressed. Get downstairs. Now.” He turned and left before either of you could say a single word, the door left hanging open behind him, and the sound of his footsteps on the stairs was the sound of something detonating in slow motion, the blast wave still traveling, the real damage still about thirty seconds out.

By the time Jungwon made it down to the common room — shirt yanked on inside out, hands not quite steady, you two steps behind him with your own clothes hastily fixed, both of you moving on the kind of adrenaline that doesn’t leave room for thinking — the house had already started gathering, drawn by the sound of Jay’s voice carrying from the kitchen where he stood with his hands braced flat on the counter, head down, breathing like a man trying very hard not to put his fist through something.

Riki was already there, having apparently come downstairs to investigate the noise, and the look on his face when he caught sight of Jungwon was somewhere between sympathy and pure dread. Jake appeared from the den a second later, take-out container still in hand, taking in the scene with rapidly dawning horror. “Jongseong,” you started, “let me explain—”

“Explain what.” Jay’s head came up, and his voice cracked across the room loud enough that it didn’t matter anymore who heard it. “Explain how long this has been going on? Explain how many times I’ve asked where you were and gotten a lie back? Explain how every single person in this house apparently knew except me?” Nobody answered that. Jake’s eyes dropped to the floor. Riki’s jaw tightened. The silence itself was an answer, and Jay heard it land, his face going through something raw and furious all at once.

“You all knew.” He looked around the room, voice climbing now, no longer flat, no longer quiet. “You knew, and none of you said a word to me. I trusted every single one of you—”

“It wasn’t our secret to tell,” Heeseung said, low, the only person brave enough to say anything at all. “Don’t.” Jay’s voice cracked on the word. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me about whose secret it was. She’s my sister.” He turned back to Jungwon, and whatever had been simmering under the flat, quiet anger from upstairs finally broke loose entirely. “I had one rule. One. I told you on day one, I told you to your face, and you shook my hand on the ice an hour later and let me believe you actually meant it.”

“Jongseong, I—”

“How long.” Jay was closing the distance now, chest heaving, and Jungwon — to his credit, to the credit of the discipline that made him good at everything he did — didn’t back away from it. “How long has this been happening. Don’t lie to me again, you’ve done enough of that already.”

“Since September.” Something in Jay’s face actually broke at that, the math of it landing visibly — four months, nearly the entire season, every single practice, every single game, every locker room conversation happening underneath something he’d had no idea about — and the breaking turned immediately back into rage because rage was easier to hold than the alternative. “Four months.” He shoved Jungwon, hard, both hands flat against his chest, hard enough that Jungwon actually stumbled back a step. “Four months of you standing next to me on the ice, four months of me trusting you with line calls, with the C someday, with everything, while you—”

“Jongseong, stop—” you tried to get between them, hand on your brother’s arm, but he shook you off, not violently, just completely focused on Jungwon now, advancing again. “You don’t get to touch her.” His voice had gone rough, half-wrecked. “You don’t get to look at me every single day at practice like nothing’s wrong while you’re—”

He shoved again, and this time Jungwon’s back hit the counter, and for a second it looked like it might actually become something neither of them could walk back from — Jay’s fist closing, his whole body coiled toward throwing the punch that had clearly been building since the second he opened that door — and that was when Jake and Heeseung both moved at once, Jake’s arms locking around Jay’s middle and hauling him back bodily, Heeseung grabbing his arm, both of them talking over each other, fast, low, hey, hey, not like this, not here—

Jungwon didn’t fight back. Didn’t even raise his hands to defend himself, just stood there and took the shove, which seemed to make something in Jay even angrier — like some part of him had wanted Jungwon to fight back, needed somewhere to put all of this that wasn’t just him screaming into a room that wouldn’t push back. “GET OFF ME—” Jay wrenched against Jake’s grip, and that’s when you stepped fully between them, voice cutting through everything else in the room, loud enough and furious enough that it actually stopped him.

“Stop it. STOP. Look at me.” Your voice broke on the last word, but you didn’t back down, standing your ground directly in the space between your brother and the boy he was trying to put a fist into. “You want to be mad? Be mad at me too, then, because I made every single one of these choices right alongside him. He doesn’t get to decide who I love.” Your voice cracked again, and you let it. “And neither do you.” The room went dead silent. Even Jay, still half-restrained by Jake’s grip, stopped pulling.

“He doesn’t get to decide who I love,” you said again, quieter now, but no less furious, “and you don’t either, Jongseong. I am not a rule on your team. I’m not something you get to protect by deciding for me. I’m twenty-one years old and I fell in love with someone, and I don’t care whose name was on a list you made up three years ago.”

Jay stared at you, chest still heaving, something in his face caving in around the edges in a way the anger hadn’t managed to do yet. “You’re in love with him.” It wasn’t really a question. It came out flat, hollowed out, like he was hearing the actual shape of what he’d walked in on for the first time, underneath all the rage. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. The answer was already all over your face, and Jay saw it, and something about seeing it confirmed broke whatever had still been holding the anger together.

He went quiet. Genuinely quiet, the fight draining out of him all at once, Jake’s grip loosening because there was nothing left to restrain. He looked at Jungwon one more time — not with rage now, something worse, something flatter and more wounded. “I trusted you, Jungwon.” His voice had gone rough, almost gentle, which somehow landed harder than anything he’d shouted. “Out of everyone on this team. You.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked out, past all of them, out the front door into the night, and nobody followed him, because nobody in that room had any idea what they’d even say if they did.

The house didn’t go back to normal noise after that. It just sort of held its breath, everyone scattering into smaller, quieter clusters, nobody quite looking at you or Jungwon directly, the weight of the last five minutes still hanging thick in every room.

You found Jungwon upstairs, sitting on the edge of his bed exactly where the two of you had been studying an hour before, flashcards still scattered across the floor like nothing had happened, like the whole world hadn’t just come apart downstairs. He had his elbows on his knees, head down, and when you sat beside him he didn’t look up right away. “Hey.” You put a hand on his back, careful. “Look at me.”

When he finally did, his eyes were wet, and the sight of it — Jungwon, who never cried, who’d taken a shove to the chest downstairs without flinching — undid something in you faster than the whole fight had. “I ruined it,” he said, voice cracking. “The one thing he ever actually trusted me with. I told him I wouldn’t touch you and I — I broke it anyway, and I’d do it again, and I hate that about myself, I hate that I’m not even sorry—”

“Hey.” You pulled him into you, his head dropping against your shoulder, his arms finally coming around you like he needed something solid to hold onto. “I’m not sorry either. I can’t be sorry about you.” He cried quietly into your shoulder for a long time after that, and you just held him, neither of you saying anything else, because there wasn’t anything left to say that would fix what had just happened downstairs.

Blackwood played the semifinal four days later, and somehow, despite everything, despite a locker room that had gone quiet and brittle in a way Coach Anders clocked within the first five minutes of the first practice after, they won — 3–2, in overtime, a deflection off Jake’s stick that barely crossed the line before the horn sounded. It should have felt like the best night of the season. Instead it felt like survival. Jay hadn’t passed to Jungwon all night. Not once, not even when the lane was wide open, not even in overtime when every read on the ice screamed for it. Jungwon had noticed. The whole bench had noticed. Coach noticed most of all, and in the chaos of the locker room afterward, amid the relief and the exhaustion and the muted, uncertain celebration, he pulled both of them aside before anyone could even get their gear half off. “Park. Yang. My office. Now.”

The door clicked shut behind the three of them, and Coach Anders didn’t sit down, just stood there with his arms crossed, looking at both of them like a man who’d run out of patience an entire period ago and had only just now gotten the chance to say so. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t want the details.” His voice was level, but there was steel under it. “What I do know is that I watched my captain refuse to pass to his center for sixty minutes of playoff hockey tonight, and I watched us nearly lose a game we should have won by two goals because of it.” Neither of them said anything.

“We have the regional final in nine days. Whatever this is — and don’t tell me it’s nothing, I’ve coached long enough to know what a broken line looks like — you two figure it out. I don’t care how. I don’t care if you hate each other off the ice.” Coach’s jaw tightened. “But if you skate like that again next week, I will bench one of you myself, captain or not, and I will not lose sleep over it. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Coach,” Jungwon said, quiet. Jay didn’t answer at all. He just nodded once, jaw tight, and walked out without looking at either of them, and Jungwon stood there in the sudden quiet of the office, understanding with total clarity that the hardest part of all of this hadn’t even started yet.

The thing nobody had warned either of them about — because nobody had ever needed to before, in twenty-one years of being twins who occasionally fought and always, always talked it back out within a day — was how loud silence could actually be. Jay didn’t yell anymore after the night in the kitchen. That part, somehow, made it worse. He simply stopped. Stopped texting back. Stopped answering calls, then stopped letting them ring through at all, your name going straight to voicemail within the first week. Stopped looking at you when you were in the same room, which happened less and less because you’d quietly, painfully started avoiding the Den altogether, the one place that had felt like a second home for twenty-one years suddenly feeling like somewhere you weren’t welcome.

You tried, the first few days. Texts that got delivered but never answered. A voicemail you left, voice cracking halfway through, asking him to just call you back, just to talk, you didn’t even care if he yelled at you again as long as he said something. Nothing came back. Not a word. Not even the dismissive, irritated kind of nothing that meant he was still paying attention. Just an absence, total and deliberate, the kind that told you he’d made a decision and intended to hold it. “He’s never done this before,” you told Sunoo, one night, curled up on your dorm room floor with your phone face-down beside you because you couldn’t stand looking at the unanswered thread anymore. “Not once. Not ever. We’ve fought — God, we’ve fought about stupid stuff our whole lives, but it’s never lasted more than a day. We don’t know how to not talk to each other. I don’t know how to be a person without him answering when I call.”

“He’s hurting,” Sunoo said, careful, sitting beside you with a hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “That doesn’t make it okay that he’s doing this to you. But I don’t think this is really about punishing you. I think he genuinely doesn’t know what he’d say if he opened his mouth, so he’s choosing not to open it at all.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“I know. I’m not saying it does.”

You didn’t tell Sunoo the rest of it — how you’d started reaching for your phone out of pure instinct a dozen times a day to send Jay something stupid, a meme, a complaint about a professor, the small constant traffic of two people who’d shared a womb and then a childhood and then this whole strange, public college life, and how every single time you caught yourself doing it, the realization that you couldn’t landed like a physical thing, a small fresh cut reopening in the same spot.

Jay wasn’t unaffected. He’d never have admitted that to anyone, least of all himself, but the proof of it sat in small, private moments nobody saw — him staring at your contact in his phone some nights, thumb hovering over the call button for whole minutes before he locked the screen and set it face-down on his desk. Once, badly, at three in the morning, he’d actually started typing something — I don’t know what to say to you right now but — before deleting it letter by letter and throwing the phone across his bed instead. He told himself it wasn’t about punishing you. He told himself a lot of things that week that he didn’t fully believe.

What he couldn’t tell himself a way out of was practice. He and Jungwon were still first line. Still had to be, with the regional final nine days out and Coach having made it unmistakably clear there was no alternative on the table. So they skated together, every single day, in a silence that had nothing companionable in it at all — Jay calling line changes and breakout patterns in the flattest voice anyone had ever heard out of him, never once including Jungwon’s name in anything that wasn’t strictly necessary.

He passed to everyone else. That was the part the whole team had clocked within the first practice back, and nobody said anything about it out loud because nobody knew how to say it without making things worse. Three-on-twos where Jungwon was the better read, and Jay sent it wide instead. Breakouts where the play sheet called for a direct feed up the middle, and Jay dumped it to the boards instead, conceding possession rather than putting the puck on his center’s stick. “Jongseong, why didn’t you pass?” Coach called out, the third time it happened in one practice, his patience visibly fraying.

“Saw a better option,” Jay said, flat, already skating back to the faceoff dot. “The better option was standing in open ice on the opposite side of the rink from where you actually shot it.” Jay didn’t answer that at all. He just lined up for the next drill, jaw locked, and ran it exactly the same way again.

The only time he spoke to Jungwon directly anymore was to yell — sharp, clipped corrections mid-drill, none of the easy back-and-forth they’d built over a season of trust, just you’re late on that read or cover the weak side, that’s basic positioning delivered in a voice that had nothing left in it of the guy who’d fist-bumped Jungwon at center ice in September and said welcome to the Wolves. Jungwon took every single one of them without arguing back, jaw tight, because arguing felt like it would only confirm to Jay that he’d never deserved the trust in the first place. “He’s doing this on purpose,” Riki said quietly to Heeseung, watching from the bench as Jay sent another pass wide of an open Jungwon. “He knows exactly what he’s costing us. He doesn’t care right now. That’s how mad he still is.”

“He cares,” Heeseung said. “That’s actually the whole problem. He cares so much it’s easier to be furious than to feel any of the rest of it.”

The locker room had gone strange too, the easy noise of September curdled into something careful and over-managed, everyone monitoring their own jokes for anything that might land near the wound. Jake had tried, once, to lighten things with a comment that would’ve killed in October and instead landed in dead silence, Jay’s face shutting down entirely, and Jake hadn’t tried again since. Jungwon noticed the way the team had started, almost unconsciously, dividing its attention between the two of them — careful not to seem too friendly with him in front of Jay, careful not to seem like they were taking sides, the whole house caught in a kind of low, exhausting diplomatic tension that hadn’t existed a month ago. He hated that he’d done that to them. He hated, more than anything, the particular shape of Jay’s silence — not the screaming from that first night, which had at least been something he could push back against, but this. The total absence. The refusal to even grant him the dignity of being yelled at like he mattered enough to yell at.

He found you most nights now at your dorm rather than the Den, both of you retreating to the one space that didn’t have Jay’s silence sitting in every room of it. “He looked right through me today,” Jungwon told you, one night, staring at the ceiling instead of you, like saying it out loud while looking at something else made it easier. “Not even with anger anymore. Just — through me. Like I’m not even worth being mad at.”

“He’s mad at me too. He won’t even do me that.”

“At least he’s saying things to me. Even if it’s just to yell about a read.” Jungwon’s voice cracked slightly. “I keep thinking if I just play perfectly enough, eventually he’ll have to say something else to me. Something that isn’t a correction. And then I realize how stupid that is, because this was never actually about hockey.” You reached over and laced your fingers through his, the same gesture he always did to you, except this time it was you reaching for him, and he held on like it was the only steady thing left in his whole week. “We’re going to fix this,” you said, with more certainty than you actually felt. “I don’t know how yet. But we are.”

Neither of you believed it fully, not that week, with the regional final closing in and Jay’s silence showing no signs of cracking and the whole team holding its breath around a fracture none of them knew how to heal. But you said it anyway, because saying it out loud felt like the only thing keeping either of you from drowning in how bad it had actually gotten.

Jake snapped on a Tuesday, in the most unlikely place for it to happen — not at the Den, not somewhere private, but right there in the locker room twenty minutes before practice, with half the team already in their gear and the rest filtering in around them.

It started small. Jay said something clipped to Jungwon about positioning on the upcoming power play, the same flat, correction-only tone he’d been using for a week and a half, and Jungwon nodded along the way he always did now, jaw tight, taking it without pushing back — and something about that exact exchange, the smallness and the sadness of it, the way two guys who used to actually talk to each other had been reduced to this, finally broke whatever restraint Jake had been holding onto. “Okay, I’m done.” He said it loud enough that the whole room turned, his gear bag dropping to the floor with a thud. “I am actually done watching this.”

“Jake—” Heeseung started, already sensing where this was going. “No, shut up, I’ve been quiet for a week and a half and I’m not doing it anymore.” Jake rounded on Jay first, finger pointed, and the sight of it — Jake, who was never the serious one, never the one who got genuinely heated about anything, standing there with real fire in his face — stopped the whole room cold. “You’re acting like Jungwon committed an actual crime. He didn’t murder anyone, man, he fell in love with your sister, and I’m sorry, but that’s not the same thing, and you have been treating him like it for two weeks.”

“Jake, this isn’t—”

“It is my business, actually, because I’m watching our first line fall apart nine days before the most important game of the season, and I’m watching my captain — who I respect more than almost anyone on this team — turn into someone I genuinely don’t recognize.” Jake’s voice cracked slightly, more emotional than anyone had ever heard him. “You taught me what it means to be a captain on this team. You taught all of us. And right now you’re teaching us that the second something actually hurts, the move is to go cold and silent and pretend the person doesn’t exist. Is that the lesson? Because if it is, I don’t want it.”

He turned on Jungwon next, and his voice didn’t soften much. “And you. You’re walking around like you’re being sentenced to life in prison. Take the hit, man. You broke the rule, fine, you knew what you were doing, but you don’t get to just curl up and accept being treated like nothing either. You love her. Act like it actually means something instead of apologizing with your whole body language every single day.”

Nobody said anything for a second. Riki had gone very still by his stall. Heeseung’s eyes were on the floor. Even Sunghoon, usually unreadable, looked like he didn’t know where to put his face. Jay was the one who finally broke the silence, and his voice, when it came, didn’t have any of the cold flatness from the last week and a half in it anymore. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I like feeling like this?”

“I think you’re so far up in your own anger that you forgot we’re all still here,” Jake said, quieter now, the heat draining out into something more tired. “I think you forgot Jungwon’s not just the guy who broke your rule. He’s also the guy who’s centered your line for an entire season and made you look like the best captain this program’s ever had. Both things are true. You’re acting like only one of them is.”

Jay’s jaw worked, something complicated moving across his face, and for a long moment the whole room just watched, waiting, nobody quite breathing. “Everyone out,” Jay said finally, low. “Except him.” A nod toward Jungwon. “Give us the room.” The team filed out slowly, Jake last, clapping Jay once on the shoulder on his way past — not quite forgiveness, not quite anything, just contact, the kind two people who actually cared about each other still managed even mid-argument — and the door shut, leaving Jay and Jungwon alone in the locker room for the first time since the night everything broke.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Jay sat down heavily on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, and Jungwon stayed standing, not sure if sitting down uninvited was a privilege he still had. “Jake’s right,” Jay said finally, quiet, not looking up. “About all of it. I hate that he’s right.”

“I’m not going to pretend I didn’t break the rule,” Jungwon said. “I did. On purpose, eventually, even if it didn’t start that way. I’m not going to stand here and tell you I’m sorry about loving her, because I’m not, and I think you’d see right through it if I tried.”

“I know you’re not sorry about that part.” Jay’s voice was rough. “I think that’s actually what made it worse. If you’d looked guilty about loving her, I think I could’ve hated you clean. But you didn’t. You looked like a guy who’d do it again in a heartbeat, and I didn’t know what to do with that.”

“I would do it again. I’m sorry it cost you what it did. I’m not sorry I did it.” Jay finally looked up at that, and something raw and exhausted passed over his face. “I trusted you more than anyone on this team. That’s still true, even now. That’s what made this hurt the way it did — it wasn’t just the rule, Jungwon, it’s that I actually thought I knew you. I was already talking to Coach about making you assistant captain next year. I thought you were the one guy who’d never make me regret trusting him.”

“I know. I heard about that, after. It made everything worse, knowing that.”

“Good. It should.” But there wasn’t much heat left in it. They sat in silence for a while, the kind that had a little more give in it than the silence of the last two weeks, and finally Jay let out a long breath, something in his shoulders loosening for the first time since the night he’d opened that door. “I’m still mad,” he said. “I know.”

“I’m not gonna be okay with this overnight. I don’t know how to just turn that off.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Jungwon’s voice cracked slightly. “I just — I miss you, man. Not just as my captain. You were the first person here who actually made me feel like I belonged on this team, not just on the ice but in the house, in everything. I miss that. I know I don’t get to just ask for it back right now. I just wanted you to know I miss it.” Jay stood up slowly, and for a second neither of them moved, and then he closed the distance and pulled Jungwon into a hug — quick, a little stiff, the kind two guys give each other when they’re not sure the moment’s fully earned yet but need the contact anyway — a hard clap on the back, the kind of bro-hug that said more than either of them were ready to say out loud. “We’re not good,” Jay said, pulling back, voice rough. “I want to be really clear about that. We are not good yet.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t keep doing this on the ice. Jake’s right, I’m costing us the season out of spite, and that’s not who I want to be as a captain.” He exhaled, something almost like a laugh escaping despite everything. “God, I hate that Jake was the one who had to say all that to my face. He’s never serious about anything.”

“He was pretty serious about that.”

“Yeah. Scared the hell out of me, honestly.” Jay actually laughed then, short and surprised, like the sound had snuck out before he’d given it permission, and Jungwon found himself laughing too, the first time in two weeks either of them had laughed about anything, the sound strange and rusty but real. It faded into quiet again, but a different kind this time, something a little more bearable.

“I love your sister, man,” Jungwon said, finally, simply, no longer something he was confessing so much as just stating, plain and certain. “I know that’s the whole problem. But it’s true, and it’s not going away, and I needed you to hear it from me like that, not in the middle of a fight.” Jay was quiet for a second, looking at him steady. “Yeah,” he said, eventually, something tired and a little wrecked in his voice. “Yeah, I know.” He paused at the door on his way out, looking back at Jungwon for a long moment. “Would’ve been good,” he said, quiet, almost too quiet to catch, “having you as an actual brother. If this had all gone differently.” He left before Jungwon could answer, but the words sat warm in the room behind him, the first real crack of something other than anger in two weeks.

Jay showed up at your dorm that night after, no text first, just a knock you almost didn’t answer because you’d stopped expecting anyone good to be on the other side of your door lately. When you opened it and saw him standing there, hands in his pockets, looking exhausted in a way that went deeper than just practice, you didn’t say anything at all — just stepped back to let him in, the way you always had, the way you hoped you always would. “I’m not okay,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed, not looking at you yet. “I want to be clear about that before we do this. I’m still hurt. I’m still figuring out how to be around either of you without it costing me something.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t keep not talking to you. I tried. I’m not built for it, apparently. I kept reaching for my phone to tell you something stupid and then remembering I wasn’t allowed to, and it felt like missing a limb.” He finally looked up, and his eyes were wet, and yours were too, the two of you mirroring each other the way you always had, even now. “We’ve never gone this long without talking. I hated every single day of it.”

“Me too.” Your voice broke. “I know I hurt you. I know hiding it for four months made it so much worse than if I’d just told you. I’m sorry for that part, even if I’m not sorry for him.”

“I know.” Jay’s voice was rough. “I heard basically that same sentence from him a few hours ago. Word for word, almost.” A short, tired laugh. “You two are annoyingly aligned on this.”

“Are you going to be okay? With him? Eventually?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m working on it. He’s — “ Jay stopped, considering. “He’s a good guy. I always thought that. That’s actually most of why this hurt so much, if I’m honest. It would’ve been so much easier if he was someone I didn’t already respect.” You moved to sit beside him, and after a second, he let his head drop onto your shoulder, the same way he had a hundred times before across twenty-one years, every fight, every bad day, every moment either of you needed the only other person who’d been there from the very beginning. “We’re not okay yet,” he said quietly. “I need you to know that. This is going to take a while.”

“I know.”

“But we’re better than we were yesterday.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself lean into him, the two of you sitting there in the quiet of your dorm room, bruised and tired and still not fully mended, but closer to it than you’d been in two weeks. “We’re better.” It wasn’t fixed. Not all the way, not yet. But for the first time since that night in the kitchen, it felt like something that could actually be fixed, eventually, by two people who’d never once, in their whole lives, managed to stay broken with each other for very long.

The weeks following something in the Den shifted back toward warmth so gradually that nobody quite noticed the exact moment it happened — only that by Wednesday, Jay was sitting across from Jungwon at the kitchen table going over breakout patterns like nothing had ever broken between them, and by Friday, the two of them had fallen into an easy rhythm on the ice that made Coach Anders actually smile during a drill for the first time in three weeks. It wasn’t instant. Jay was still careful in ways he hadn’t been before — a half-second pause before he passed to Jungwon that hadn’t existed in September, a watchfulness in his eyes when you and Jungwon were in the same room that read less like suspicion now and more like a brother recalibrating, slowly, what he was allowed to feel okay about. But the silence was gone. That was the part that mattered most. He talked to Jungwon again — really talked, not just corrections barked mid-drill — and the first time Jungwon made a joke and Jay actually laughed at it, properly, the whole bench seemed to exhale at once, like the entire team had been holding its breath for weeks without realizing it.

You started coming to the Den again too, openly, without the old careful choreography of checking who was in which room first. The first time Jungwon kissed you goodbye in front of everyone — quick, easy, right there in the kitchen doorway, his hand finding your jaw the way it always did — Jay made a sound like he’d swallowed something unpleasant. “I’m gonna need a warning before you do that,” he said, not looking up from his cereal. “Some kind of system. A bell.”

“You walked in on considerably worse than a kitchen kiss, Jongseong, I think you can survive this.”

“That’s exactly my point. I have a very low tolerance left for surprises involving you two.” But there was no real heat in it anymore, just the particular, well-worn grumbling of an older brother performing discomfort he didn’t fully feel, and when Jungwon came back through twenty minutes later to grab his gear bag and kissed you again on his way out the door — bye, love you, back after lift — Jay just groaned into his cereal bowl. “Gross,” he announced, to the room generally. “Both of you. Disgusting. I’m eating.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.” But he was almost smiling when he said it, and that almost-smile told you more about how far you’d actually come than any amount of words could have.

The necklace sat against your collarbone every single day now, no longer something you had to explain away with a half-true lie about treating yourself — Jay knew exactly what it was and who’d given it to you, had asked about it directly one evening with none of the old danger in the question, just genuine, easy curiosity. He give you that? And when you’d said yes, he’d just nodded, looked at it a second longer, and said, it’s nice. He’s got good taste, in a tone that wasn’t quite forgiveness yet but was something moving steadily toward it.

The regional final was scheduled for a Saturday night, home ice, the biggest game Blackwood had hosted in four years, and the week leading into it had the specific, charged intensity that comes when an entire program understands exactly what’s at stake. Coach Anders ran practices longer and harder than he had all season, the kind of two-a-days that left everyone’s legs feeling like wet sand by Thursday, and Jay led every single one of them with a focus that had fully returned to its old, easy command, no longer fractured by anything sitting underneath it.

“This is it,” he told the team, the night before, gathered in the Den’s living room in a rare moment of total quiet, no music, no chaos, just thirty guys who’d spent a whole season building toward exactly this. “Four years I’ve waited for a shot at this. I’m not gonna stand up here and give you some big speech, because you already know what this means to all of us.” His eyes moved across the room, the way they always did, landing on Jungwon for a beat — not the wary, careful look from a few weeks ago, but something warmer, something closer to trust fully restored. “We’ve been through a lot this season. On the ice and off it. I think that actually makes us better for tomorrow, not worse. We know how to fight for each other now. Let’s go show everyone else what that looks like.”

The room broke into noise after that, the easy, electric kind, and later that night, after most of the house had gone quiet, you found Jungwon out on the back porch alone, staring out at nothing in particular, the cold air doing nothing to cut the obvious nervous energy radiating off him. “Hey.” You wrapped your arms around him from behind, chin resting between his shoulder blades. “You’re thinking too loud. I can hear it from inside.”

“Biggest game of my life tomorrow.” He turned to face you, pulling you properly into him, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “I keep running through every possible way it could go wrong.”

“It’s not going to go wrong.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually. I’ve watched you all season. I’ve watched you and Jongseong figure out how to be brothers again in like two weeks after the worst fight either of you have ever had. You two can do anything when you’re actually trying together.” You kissed him, slow, certain. “I love you. I need you to actually hear that tonight, not just as a thing I say after games. I love you, and I’m so proud of everything you’ve become this season, on the ice and off it, and tomorrow doesn’t change any of that no matter how it goes.” Something in his face went soft and open at that, all the nervous energy settling for a moment into something quieter. “I love you too,” he said, and it landed the same way it always did between you now — easy, certain, no longer something either of you had to hide in a kitchen at midnight or whisper behind a closed door. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes, how much this season’s actually been worth it because of you, even with everything that happened.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be good.”

“Yeah.” He kissed you again, lingering, the cold night air around you both finally feeling less like a threat and more like just weather. “Yeah, I think it actually will be.”

The arena on Saturday night was packed beyond anything Jungwon had played in front of all season — every seat filled, students standing in the aisles, the kind of noise that hit you physically the second you stepped out for warmups, a wall of sound that hadn’t fully let up by the time the puck dropped for the first period. You sat in your usual seat, three rows up behind the glass, except tonight you weren’t in your normal clothes — you were in his jersey, YANG stitched across the back in block lettering, his number stretched over your shoulders, and you hadn’t hidden it from a single person walking in, hadn’t thought twice about who might see. Sunoo sat beside you in a Blackwood shirt of his own, practically vibrating with nervous energy, occasionally grabbing your arm hard enough to bruise every time the play got close to either net.

The first period was tight, both teams playing tense, controlled hockey, neither side willing to make the first real mistake. Jay’s line — Jungwon centering, Jay and a senior winger flanking him — controlled most of the offensive zone time but couldn’t find the back of the net, hitting a post once that sent the whole arena into a held-breath gasp before the horn sounded for intermission still scoreless.

The second period broke the dam. Blackwood’s opponent struck first on a power play seven minutes in, a wrist shot through a screen that the goalie never saw, and the home crowd’s noise dropped into a tense, anxious murmur. You watched Jay’s face on the bench during the next shift — jaw locked, eyes scanning the ice with total focus — and when his line went back out, something in the way he and Jungwon moved together looked different than it had all season, sharper, more locked in, like the deficit had snapped something into perfect alignment between them instead of rattling it apart.

Jungwon tied it up with four minutes left in the second — a give-and-go off Jay’s stick that mirrored almost exactly the play from his very first collegiate goal back in October, except this time when he buried it, Jay was the first one to slam into him in celebration, both of them screaming something wordless into each other’s face masks, the whole bench spilling over in noise. “THAT’S MY GUY,” Jay was shouting, dragging Jungwon into a headlock that had nothing restrained about it. “THAT’S MY CENTER!” You were on your feet with the rest of the arena, Sunoo screaming directly into your ear in a way that was going to leave you half-deaf, both your hands pressed against your chest like you could physically hold your own heart in place.

The third period was the longest twenty minutes of your entire life. Both teams traded chances, the goaltending on both ends going from good to borderline miraculous, the clock ticking down with a kind of cruelty that made every single shift feel like it might be the one that decided everything. With six minutes left, Blackwood’s opponent hit the post on a breakaway that made the entire arena gasp in unison and then exhale just as loud when it rang off harmlessly. With ninety seconds left, Jay blocked a shot with his own body that had the whole bench up on its feet, limping briefly before shaking it off and getting back into position like it had cost him nothing at all.

And then, with thirty-one seconds left on the clock, it happened. Jungwon won the offensive zone faceoff clean, the puck sliding back to the point, worked low, and when it came back out to the slot it found Jay’s stick exactly where Jungwon had read it would be all night — the same instinct, the same trust, rebuilt and somehow stronger than it had been before everything broke. Jay’s shot beat the goalie clean, top corner, far side, and the horn that followed wasn’t even fully necessary because the entire arena had already exploded before the puck had finished crossing the line. 3–1. Twenty-nine seconds left. The building came apart.

The final horn sounded like the loudest thing you’d ever heard in your life, and the ice turned into total chaos within seconds — gloves and sticks flying, the entire bench pouring over the boards, players piling on top of each other near center ice in a scrum of padding and screaming and pure, uncut joy. You were over the glass and through the gate before you’d even consciously decided to move, Sunoo right behind you, security barely bothering to stop the wave of people flooding toward the ice because there was no stopping it tonight, not for this.

You found Jungwon in the chaos near the blue line, and the second he saw you coming he dropped his stick and gloves and just opened his arms, and you ran straight into them, the momentum spinning both of you in a full circle, his arms locking tight around you, lifting you half off the ice entirely. “You did it,” you were saying, half-laughing, half-crying, his face buried in your neck. “You actually did it—”

“We did it.” He pulled back just far enough to kiss you, right there in the middle of the ice, in front of the entire arena, in front of every single camera and every single person who might have once whispered about whose sister you were — none of that mattered anymore, none of it had ever mattered less. “I love you. I love you so much, you have no idea—”

“I love you too.” You kissed him again, laughing into it, both of you spinning slightly on unsteady skates and unsteady legs, the whole world around you a blur of noise and lights and bodies celebrating. Jay found you both seconds later, breathless, helmet already off, and for one suspended moment you weren’t sure what he was going to do — and then he just pulled both of you into him at once, one arm around each of your necks, dragging you both into a hug that nearly took all three of you down onto the ice. “WE WON,” he was screaming, not really to either of you specifically, just into the air, just because the feeling needed somewhere to go. “We actually won—”

He pulled back enough to look between the two of you, something in his face gone fully soft for the first time in months, no wariness left in it at all. “I’m happy for you two,” he said, breathless, genuine, loud enough that you both heard it clearly even over the noise of the whole arena. “I mean that. I’m actually happy.”

“Jongseong—”

“Don’t make this weird, I already feel weird saying it.” But he was grinning, fully, easily, pulling Jungwon into a separate hug, a real one this time, no stiffness left in it at all, clapping him hard on the back. “You’re a hell of a center, Yang. Best one this program’s had in years. Maybe ever.”

“Means a lot, coming from you.”

“It should.” Jay pulled back, studying him for a second, something decided and certain settling into his face. “I talked to Coach last week. Before tonight, actually — wanted to wait and see how things played out between us first, didn’t want it to feel like I was just handing it to you out of guilt.” He took a breath. “You’re gonna be assistant captain next year. I already told him that’s what I want. You earned it. On the ice, and — yeah. Off it too, eventually. I see that now.” Jungwon stared at him for a second, something overwhelmed moving across his face, and then he just laughed, short and disbelieving and entirely happy. “Good,” he said, simply, because there wasn’t really a bigger word that could hold everything underneath it. “Good,” Jay agreed, grinning, and pulled him into one more hug, and over his shoulder his eyes found yours, warm, settled, twenty-one years of being twins finally feeling whole again underneath all of it.

The ice stayed full of celebration for a long time after that — Jake hoisting the game puck over his head like a trophy, Riki crying openly and loudly and without a single ounce of shame about it, Sunghoon finding Sunoo at the glass and kissing him in front of the entire arena with none of his old hesitation left, Heeseung quietly recording all of it on his phone because someone, he kept saying, needed to actually remember this properly. You stood at the center of it all in Jungwon’s jersey, his arm around your shoulders, your brother laughing somewhere beside you, and let yourself feel, fully and without reservation, exactly how far all of you had come to get here — through secrets and silence and the worst fight any of you had ever had, into something that finally, finally, felt whole.

“Soon,” Jungwon murmured, against your temple, echoing the word you’d both used all season as a promise for later. “Remember when we kept saying soon?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not soon anymore.” He kissed your temple, easy, certain, home. “It’s just now. It’s just us. For real, finally, out loud, in front of everyone.”

“Yeah,” you said again, smiling so wide it ached, watching the chaos of the best night of the entire season swirl around you both. “Yeah. It really is.”

⋆。˚ lacey speaks!! that’s a wrap! thank you so much for giving this fic your time. i hope you loved these characters as much as i loved writing them. don’t forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed it—it always makes me so happy to read them. 🤍

perm taglist… @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza @simjakeyjake @heeseungdada @bbrianawhatt @onlyifusayyesxx @mintchocoddeonut @sillycactus143 @heexyzy @wonkiipiilled @sugarcwtie @alleiraa @firstclassjaylee @katalior @layxmint @xoheedeung

[stllmnstr]

boys like you (m)

pairing: yang jungwon x reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, university-ish au

word count: 23.0k

warnings: smut (mndi), swearing, alcohol consumption, post graduation existentialism, the horrors of the modern job market, jealousy, insecurity, itty bitty age gap (reader is one year older), he’s obsessed he’s possessive he’s jealous but in a very jungwon way

note: I in fact did not keep it under 20k #oops. But I had lots of you in my comments and inbox telling me that you prefer longer fics anyway, so I hope you enjoy all 23k words of jungwon who years and pines over his childhood bestie <3

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

One year your junior and a constant fixture in your life since before you lost your baby teeth, Yang Jungwon has always existed in a category of his own. You don’t see him as a brother, but you don’t see him as a man. He’s just… Jungwon. Steady, reliable, consistent Jungwon who’s always there when you need him.

It’s why you feel comfortable admitting to him the latest addition to your list of post-graduation anxieties: dating. Namely, the fact that no matter what you try, you just can’t seem to make it work. To make a connection stick. But Jungwon, despite all of his typical predictability, doesn’t take your complaints quite the way you expect him to.

or, you tell Jungwon that you think boys just don’t like you and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything quite so ridiculous.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

If you look at it from a distance and squint, there really isn’t anything wrong with Park Sunghoon. 

In fact, if anything, he might be a little bit out of your league. With full lips, an easy smile, and long, dark hair that dusts over the angular planes of his cheekbones, he’s a sight for sore eyes. Especially since they are rather sore. Your eyes, that is.

You’ve spent the last week fine tuning your resume for all thirty-six job applications you fired off with crossed fingers and a silent prayer. Your daily screen time is reaching dangerous levels, and you doubt the blue light blocking glasses you picked up from the dollar store are doing much to mitigate the effects of it.

Life post-graduation has been like this, more or less. Six months ago, officially earning your university diploma felt like victory, like the end of a hard earned battle.

But now, you aren’t so sure. Not when the last one hundred eighty days have been nearly identical copies of monotonous despair, one rejected job application after another. 

A cover letter here, a mission statement there, a detailed history of your personal opinion on the role of social media in modern society — that one had been for a marketing gig that you weren’t even interested in, not if the advertised salary were as low as the posting claimed. But at this point, you were starting to get desperate.

And still, it’s all been to no avail. Rejection after rejection. Ghosting after ghosting. Ridiculous, you think. These are hiring departments after all, not some frat boy you hooked up with last Friday after one too many shots of tequila. All your effort surely warrants at the very least a response.

But forty-seven of the eighty-nine jobs you’ve applied to in the last month seem to disagree.

And it’s not like you hate the part time gig you picked up at the flower shop a few blocks away from your apartment, but you didn’t work your ass off for four years, earning your degree in a specialized field, just to spend the rest of your life explaining the differences between roses and dahlias to men that piss off their girlfriends. 

It’s disheartening, to say the least. Demoralizing. A rinse and repeat cycle that becomes more exhausting with each passing day, each unreturned email. 

Most days, you feel a little bit like a shell of yourself. Hollowed from the inside out, just waiting for a scrap of decent news. 

It’s why you only said no three times when Sophia suggested that maybe you break up the monotony with a little good, old-fashioned romance. 

And not just romance. Dating, blind dating, because she swore the mystery of it all would make it more fun.

The first three times she suggested it, you waved her off easily with some half-witted excuse and a roll of your eyes. 

But the fourth time, your friend caught you in a weak spot. 

“Come on,” she’d insisted over an overpriced latte. She didn’t mind shelling out for a soy milk substitute, even. She was one of the lucky ones that managed to line up a job immediately after graduation, one she got from the third-year internship she had. 

So Sophia had her big girl job and her big girl salary. You, on the other hand, were wincing at the bitter taste of drip coffee straight from the machine. 

“I don’t know…” You’d trailed off, unsure. That morning, you’d received a rejection notice from a company you were genuinely excited about. The position matched your qualifications and professional interests to a T. You weren’t one to make premature bets, but when you clicked submit on the official application three weeks prior, part of you had felt like it was fate. A sure thing. 

The email this morning proved you wrong. 

Dear Candidate, it had started. Because of course, even after all the time you spent tailoring your resume to their standards, you weren’t even worth the effort of typing your name. 

Thank you for your interest in joining our team. We regret to inform you that we have decided to move forward with other candidates at this time. If, in the future, other positions become available, please do not hesitate to apply again. 

Rejection wasn’t anything new at this point, but this one stung. It felt personal. 

You were tired of constantly hearing no, of always having every path blocked the second you worked up the courage to venture down it. You were desperate for something to take your mind off of it all. 

You wanted to do something fun. And more than that, you needed a reminder that you weren’t a failure. That at least in some capacity, your time and your presence and your efforts were worth something.

If the only available context for that was a date, even a blind one, so be it. 

“It’ll be fun,” Sophia insisted. “I promise. Besides, the guy I have in mind is really cool. He’s been at my company for a couple of years now, and he’s really friendly, even to the new hires. Comes off a little cold at first maybe, but I think he’s just a little shy. You’d like him.”

You still weren’t sold. You took another long sip of black coffee and winced at the taste of burnt beans. 

“What was his name again?” you asked. 

Sophia grinned, knowing she’d finally won. “Sunghoon,” she told you, smile entirely too smug for your liking. “Park Sunghoon.”

Now, a week later, you can’t help but curse yourself for caving. After all, blind dates are a far cry from romance, and the only thing that your time with Sunghoon is doing, lovely as he may be, is giving you a different source for your headaches. 

Across from you, Sunghoon takes a slow sip of red wine. His eyes stay where they should. You can at least appreciate that Sophia didn’t set you up with a total sleaze. If anything, you think he looks a bit unsure when he meets your gaze.

After another moment of stilted silence, he asks, “What do you like to do for fun?” You watch as Sunghoon swirls his half full glass before setting it back down on the table. Aerating it, probably. He strikes you as the kind of person that isn’t entirely bullshitting when they say they know their wines. 

It’s a perfectly normal question, run-of-the-mill for a first date. And yet, your mind can’t seem to do anything but come up completely blank. 

What do you like to do for fun? Even privately, you're beginning to wonder. It’s as if the job search has taken any joy you used to find in your free time and turned it into existential dread.

You like to go for walks, but it’s been extra rainy these days and you hate how the late autumn air makes your skin feel sticky after just a few minutes. Not to mention the end of season mosquitoes. You swear they’re bigger than any other time of year.

You like to read, but the last time you opened a book for pleasure was half a year ago. You’re pretty sure that same exact novel is still sitting half-finished beneath your bedside table.

Cooking is nice for stress relief, you suppose, but your meals are more for function than show. You doubt Sunghoon wants to hear about the frozen spinach you sautéed last night. 

You have been catching up on the latest season of a ridiculously staged reality TV show lately, but you can hardly own up to that. If an hour’s worth of catty drama and hair pulling every Sunday night is the first hobby you think of, Sunghoon will no doubt think you’re the most vapid person he’s ever met. 

So instead you say, “Oh, you know.” You try a laugh, hoping it will make you seem easy going instead of cagey. “Things.”

Sunghoon just arches a brow. He doesn’t know. That’s why he asked. 

And it’s not like it’s a crime to be awkward on first dates, but you’re starting to feel like you’d be given a life sentence without parole if it was. 

Desperate to get his gaze off of you, you return the question. “What about you?”

Maybe the universe will spare you and Sunghoon will be equally bad at condensing his life into bite-sized pieces easily digestible on first dates. Maybe his good luck starts and ends with his face and he’ll be equally tight-lipped about his own interests.

But then, after a pause to gather his thoughts, he starts talking. Your hope for equal footing starts to circle the drain with more urgency.

“I’ve been really into exercising lately,” he tells you. “I grew up figure skating, so it’s been nice to get back to doing something more physical. It’s been great, too, trying out some new protein-focused recipes and getting out for runs when the weather allows it. I really miss the ice, but it just isn’t feasible with work and everything else these days. It’s been fun to try out some new hobbies that are somewhat similar.”

“Oh,” you flounder for a moment. It’s truly pathetic, you think. Maybe talking about yourself is difficult, but how are you so unable to even respond to his answers? “That’s nice.”

Sunghoon, to both his credit and Sophia’s, really does seem to be a nice guy. He’s trying. Doing his best to keep the conversation going. 

“Do you like to exercise?” he asks.

You wonder distantly if following a YouTube video at home on yoga for stress relief once in a while counts. 

Deciding it doesn’t, at least not to a former figure skater, you shrug. “Not really.”

“Oh,” he nods. After a moment of awkward silence, he asks, “What do you think about the wine?”

It’s a simple question, an easy question, but it’s hard to get momentum once you’ve lost it. To you, this date already feels a bit like a sinking ship and even a question as simple as this feels like a test you’ll inevitably fail. 

“It’s nice,” you say. “Goes well with the food.” And unfortunately does very little to soothe your frayed nerves.

“I agree,” Sunghoon nods. “Apparently it’s made from grapes grown in a specific region of southern France. They get more sunlight than the average vineyard, and the soil is fertilized in some special way that makes the flavor more intense.”

He smiles at you, and it’s objectively gorgeous. The kind of look that you feel like you should be fawning over, that you should go home dreaming about. 

Park Sunghoon is the kind of guy that feels made for fantasies. Thinking about it now, you’re not really sure how he could even be single, or how Sophia managed to convince him to see you tonight. 

But no matter how long you wait for the butterflies to come, they just… don’t. 

It’s not because you don’t like him, but the idea of getting to know him, of letting him get to know you, is suddenly exhausting. 

You’re afraid that whatever parts of yourself you reveal will come up short, will inevitably be found lacking. Your hobbies aren’t interesting enough for a guy like him. You’re not particularly well-traveled or well-read, and you did well in your degree but not enough for it to be part of a dinner conversation. 

You just… you don’t feel interesting. Not in the kind of way that guys like him are attracted to. So when you go home after another half hour of stilted conversation and too-long lulls of silence, you’re not daydreaming about his smile or his dimples or the second date he definitely won’t ask you on. 

Instead, you wait until you’re out of eyesight to let the smile you’ve been keeping plastered to your lips fall from your face. 

Looking out at the sky, the sun that’s beginning to set on the horizon doesn’t feel like an omen or a fresh start. It just feels like a sunset. The end of another day full of nothing special. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

You’re not giddy or excited or particularly moved at all. You’re not angry either, though. Not disappointed. If anything, you feel a strange sense of hollowness, one with a glare that’s especially apparent under the street lights that are just beginning to glow. 

You miss the days when things felt exciting, when you would meet the eye of someone cute across a lecture hall and go home daydreaming about it. Spinning around your room, kicking your feet like a schoolgirl with a crush.

It’s not Sophia’s fault. It’s not even Park Sunghoon’s. But when you finally get back home to your apartment and flick on the lights of your empty bedroom, all you do is sigh. 

…..

You thought that when you walked across your university stage six long months ago and were officially given your diploma, you’d be done drowning your post-midterm stress with cheap beer. 

But you forgot to account for one small detail — Jungwon.

You suppose your friendship with him might look a little strange from the outside, but he’s been a constant in your life since before you even knew how to tie your own shoes. 

Like most childhood friendships, it wasn’t forged of your own volition. Your mother decided the summer before you started kindergarten that her new favorite hobby was going to be gardening. Which was fine and all, except for the fact that she knew literally nothing about gardening and had killed just about every houseplant she ever owned. 

To her credit, she tried. She asked the kind elderly lady working the till at the garden supply store for advice and bought the overpriced gloves and trowel she suggested. She scoured blogs and Wikipedia articles and online forums for all the best and latest in flower cultivation. 

But your mother simply did not have a green thumb, and after months of watching from her window in silent pity, Mrs. Yang decided to do something about it.

She took one look at your mother’s wilted tiger lilies and sighed. Gently, because even in her exasperation she managed to be kind, a trait she passed onto her son.

You weren’t so interested in whatever she told your mom about fertilizer and shearing, though. Nor were you really interested in the garden at all. 

But you did find the boy currently hiding behind Mrs. Yang’s practical work pants far more fascinating than anything you’d seen in months. 

Before school started, finding another kid your age was like striking gold. An only child, you were doted on by your parents but only rarely had the opportunity to play with other kids. This one, even if he was determined to hide out of sight, felt like a gift, a friend you were determined to make yours. 

Back then, he was a shy kid. 

It had taken a fair amount of coaxing from his mother, but he finally found the courage to meet your eye. To come out from his hiding spot and introduce himself.

Jungwon, he said his name was, and you gave him yours in return. 

You asked about his birthday and could hardly contain the smug smile that spread across your lips when you realized he was younger than you. A whole ten months. Practically a baby. Nowhere near ready to start kindergarten, like you were. He’d have to wait a whole nother year. 

Other than the bragging rights it afforded you, you didn’t mind so much. 

That summer, Mrs. Yang helped your mother turn her misshapen, weed-addled, overgrown mess of a flower bed into something truly beautiful. 

And nearly every time she came over, she brought Jungwon in tow. The two of you weren’t trusted to wander far yet, but he made your afternoons far more interesting, even under the watchful gaze of your mothers.

He was excited about the same things you were — searching for bugs in the flower bed, digging in the dirt with the plastic shovel set you’d been given for your last birthday, and building homes for the fairies you convinced him really existed using fallen leaves and twigs. 

Your friendship might have begun as one of convenience, but the long, sunny afternoons you spent together ensured that none of it was forced.

Your mothers were thrilled too. Both of you were overly curious only children, and it was nice to have your attention occupied elsewhere, to share private smiles at how sweet your little friendship was becoming. 

They sighed when you came back from an afternoon of playing with dirt smudged across your clothes and cheeks and cooed when you fell asleep after washing up, sprawled out across your living room floor with pillows you’d pulled off the couch. 

Even though you’d been anticipating it for months, the beginning of kindergarten was something you started to dread. And the further you got in your academic journey, the one-year gap between you started to feel less like victory and more like a curse.

You still remember the failed math quiz you brought home from second grade one afternoon, a big, red F written across the top even though you were usually excellent with times tables. 

It had taken a fair amount of coaxing, but your mother finally got the truth from you. How you were thinking that if you managed to do poorly enough to fail the second grade, you could just do it again next year. With Jungwon. 

Of course she explained to you how terrible of an idea it was, and you didn’t try it again, but for the next few months, every aced exam still felt a little bit like defeat.

Until the seventh-grade, that is, when you decided to fully embrace your role as his elder. 

Jungwon was just starting middle school, after all. He was brand new to the world of lockers and passing periods and so much axe body spray it seemed to permanently hover outside the boy’s locker room like a rain cloud. 

You made him pinky promise you not to buy any, and all he did was scrunch his nose in distaste, insisting that he never would, that he didn’t like strong smells anyway.

Jungwon might have been new to it all, but you, however, had already been this whole middle school thing for a year. You were one year older and wiser and could help him navigate all of the pitfalls with your hard earned expertise.

You thought it was the best idea ever, an example of your commendable generosity and kindness, until one Wednesday afternoon proved you entirely wrong.

You were hovering just behind him as he worked through his locker combination, weight shifted to one hip as you balanced your science textbook against the other. 

Still a couple inches taller than him thanks to the growth spurt that had hit you early, you didn’t have to crane your neck too hard to see over his shoulder. To provide any assistance he might need.

Finally, after getting the combination right, his locker clicked open.

Jungwon sighed. Glancing back at you, he mumbled, “Why are you here? Don’t you have science right now?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, gesturing to the textbook in your hands. “But that’s okay. I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“I have math next,” he pointed out, as if you didn’t already know. As if you didn’t have his schedule memorized before he did. “Which is in the opposite direction. Just go. You don’t want to be late again.”

It’s true. You don’t. Your mom said she’d shave an hour off of your allotted Saturday cartoon-watching time if it happened again. 

But it was okay. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make. You told him as much.

“That’s okay,” You shook your head. “I’ll be fine. Besides, Mr. Lee usually isn’t too strict about tardies, so—“

“Just go,” he interrupted, back still turned to you. This time, his voice was sharper than usual. It cut through the air like an accusation, leaving you more than a little shocked. “You don’t have to follow me around everywhere.”

You frowned at that. But still, you thought that maybe he was just worried about you, about whatever punishment your mother had promised. So, to ease his worries, you insisted, “I don’t mind. I’m a year older, so I should—“

“Ten months,” he corrected, voice like ice. And he still wouldn’t look at you. “You’re ten months older.”

Your frown deepened. “Thats the same thing.”

“No it’s not,” Jungwon shook his head, voice rising. His anger, his annoyance, were apparent now. “Stop treating me like a baby.”

“I don’t—” You tried to protest. 

But he wasn’t having it. “You do.” He insisted. “You treat me like I’m a little kid and it’s driving me insane. The other boys on the taekwondo team think so, too. They’re starting to say things—“

“What kinds of things? Who?” It didn’t matter if he was angry or annoyed at you. As far as you were concerned, if anyone was giving Jungwon a hard time, it was your business too. You didn’t know the boys on the taekwondo team very well, but you were suddenly feeling very violent, a bad idea given that the boys in question were trained in martial arts and you’d spent no time on a training mat in all twelve years of your life.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jungwon shook his head. He still wouldn't turn around and look at you. “Just leave me alone.”

You’d had fights before. Little tiffs that started nearly the same day you’d met. But they were always small, just bouts of bickering that may have left you pouting but never with any truly hurt feelings.

This was different. This… this stung. 

Just like the tears that started to gather against your lash line without your permission, pressing dangerously against the inner corner of your eyes.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, a little pathetically, “You don’t want me to walk with you?”

“I don’t need you to follow me around everywhere,” he repeated, crueler than he had to be, “fussing over me like you’re my mom or something.”

“Fine,” was all you said. Suddenly, you were grateful that he wouldn’t look at you. If he saw how affected you were, that you were on the verge of crying, it would be more humiliating than you could handle. “Just walk by yourself then.”

Turning, you only paused once you were a few steps away. “And here,” you’d reached into your pockets, pulling out the coupons you’d cut out of the newspaper earlier this week, the surprise you were planning to show him after school. “You can just have these. Give them to your taekwondo friends, since you care what they think so much.” 

Jungwon waited until you were around the corner to turn around, to see what you’d thrown at his feet. Bending, he picked them up, guilt swirling deep in his gut as he tucked the coupons for half price ice cream from the nearby shop, the one that you knew always had his favorite flavor, into his pocket.

You didn’t talk to Jungwon for a week. 

You were late to class that day, partly because of Jungwon and partly because you had to spend the next ten minutes calming down in the bathroom stall while you wiped evidence of your tears away.

True to her word, your mom didn’t let you watch cartoons Saturday morning. And you spent all your extra time thinking about where exactly you went so wrong.

The silent treatment didn’t last long. You and Jungwon were like that — you’d spent so much time together that you’d learned how to get over things quickly. 

Grudges never held for long, and time didn't need to pass too far for both of you to forget what you were mad about in the first place. 

But this time, even after the dust had settled, things between you didn’t go entirely back to normal. For starters, you didn’t wait for him by his locker anymore, didn’t offer to walk him to math or science or P.E. or any of his other classes. 

Even though the two of you shared a school, the only time you really saw him anymore was on the bus ride home. And that was only on the days he didn’t have taekwondo practice. 

But with Jungwon, things had a way of coming back around. It wasn’t long before he was seeking you out intentionally again, before your friendship felt less like walking on eggshells and more like something comfortable.

But you had learned two valuable lessons that day by his locker.

One, Jungwon was sensitive. More so than you ever realized. In ways you didn’t always fully understand.

And two, the gap between your ages may have been small, but he really, truly resented any attention you brought to it. In his own words, he hated it when you made him feel like a kid. 

So you learned. You adjusted. And by the time high school came around, you were practically a pro at ignoring the ten months that separated you. 

There were still times that you wanted to guide him, to help him, but you did your best to hold yourself back. You tried to empathize, too. To see things from his point of view. It made sense, you supposed. Jungwon didn’t want a second mother. He just wanted a friend. 

One that wouldn’t dote on him too much or smother him or embarrass him in front of his teammates. That’s not to say he didn’t use your age to his advantage on occasion, though. 

When you got your driver’s license a whole year before him, he wasn’t shy about asking for rides. And when junior year chemistry proved to be harder than he thought, he accepted your journal full of meticulously taken notes with little more than a sigh of relief. 

You didn’t mind so much. Besides, it wasn’t like you were the only generous one in your relationship. Friendship with Jungwon never felt like a burden, never felt like a debt to settle. 

For all of your age-afforded privileges, he more than made up for them just by being there. Because Jungwon grew up in the way few boys do—he learned to observe, to listen before he spoke. To treat words like something precious and use them only when he really meant them. 

Jungwon was your confidant, your most trusted source of advice. You went to him with things that you felt like you couldn’t tell anyone else, and he received it all with open arms and a thoughtful furrow of his brow. 

Jungwon wasn’t the type to pass judgment. He just listened, contemplated, and then gave the best, most logical answer he could think of. 

He talked you down from your spiral of self-hate after you convinced yourself a failed physics test was the end of your life junior year and helped you analyze the pros and cons of your top university choices when your high school graduation date started approaching with alarming speed. 

Affection came easy between the two of you, because it didn’t feel complicated. It felt natural, just like the day he introduced himself amongst the ruins of your mother’s failed garden. 

So when you told him, senior year, that you agreed with his advice, that you had decided to attend university in your hometown, a mere thirty-minute drive from the high school you were graduating from, all he did was smile. 

He hugged you after you accepted your diploma from your principal and handed you a bouquet of flowers. He complained about having to stick around in high school for another year, and you assured him that senior year was different from the others. It was better. 

Your year apart was difficult, but it also gave you space for things you hadn’t considered before. Things like other friends. You met Sophia at freshman orientation, and the two of you became inseparable. 

You still saw Jungwon, of course. Weekends, holidays, and even the occasional weeknight dinner meant he was still very much a part of your life. And when you couldn’t meet in person, you talked. Texted. Called. 

Which is exactly how you broke the news of your first ever boyfriend. 

There had been crushes in high school, but they were fleeting. Insignificant. This was different. Jay was different, and just as you always had, you spared Jungwon none of the gory details. 

You told him all about the flowers he bought you, all about how romantic it was when he asked you on a proper date. How sweet it was when he picked you up and opened the passenger door of his car for you and how special you felt when he picked up the dinner check without so much as a sideways glance at you.

But Jungwon, steady, reliable Jungwon, seemed to become uncharacteristically terse whenever Jay came up. His texts got shorter, his responses further and fewer between. 

The calls that used to drag on for hours started ending suddenly whenever you brought up your boyfriend. Jungwon always had an excuse ready—he had homework to do or a project to finish or an errand to run for his mom. 

But you’d have to be stupid not to notice the common denominator in it all. Jay. 

For a while, the choice was easy. Jay was here, with you. He wanted your attention and your time. He liked hearing about your day and telling you about his and spending as much time with you as your schedules allowed. 

Jungwon, on the other hand, was becoming more difficult to reach the longer your relationship went on. 

Slowly, but steadily, Jay started to become the person you went to for advice. The contact name you searched for whenever you had something to say. The boy you spent your weekends with, making new memories, laughing about nothing. 

You trusted him. You were new to it, the feelings, the rush of it all, but after a few months, you were pretty sure you loved him. 

Jay was your first relationship, your first real boyfriend, and eventually, the person you trusted enough to lose your virginity to. 

Which made it all the more devastating when he told you, sometime in the middle of spring semester, that he didn’t want to see you anymore. That he enjoyed your time together, but he didn’t feel the same spark you did. The same level of connection. 

You cried until you were numb, and you were numb until one by one, your feelings started to come back in overwhelming waves. And every time they did, the only person you really wanted to see was your best friend. 

The boy you barely even spoke to anymore. 

You weren’t sure if he would even answer, the night you drove all the way to his house in the pouring rain. You stood there on his porch, pathetic, soaked from just the short walk from your car, when he opened the door and found you like that. 

“Jungwon,” you breathed. 

He hadn’t said anything, just pulled you inside. Checked the warmth of his shower until it was the perfect temperature and left a towel and a clean pair of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. Waited outside, on the edge of his bed until you emerged twenty minutes later. 

Clean, dry, but with eyes so red he knew you must have been crying. 

He didn’t ask you what happened. He just scooted back until he was sitting against his pillows, patted the space next to him in invitation. Pulled you tight to his chest as you sobbed, long heartbreaking sounds that tore from somewhere deep in you.

You eventually told him everything—your breakup, your heartbreak, the sudden loneliness it had left in its wake. 

Jungwon just held you through it, wiping your tears and soothing your cries as you laid against his chest. 

And you talked. For hours, about nothing, about everything. All the little things you hadn’t been able to tell him for months, all the parts of your life that you’d wished you could share with him.

As it turns out, you’d missed important updates from his life, too. For starters, he’d chosen a university. The same one you were currently attending. You were so excited that you’d be together again, but part of you hated it, the way you’d missed out on such important news.

That night, things shifted again. It didn’t matter what your relationship status was or what distance separated you—the two of you promised not to ever go so long without talking again. 

The following September, Jungwon officially started university at the same school as you, and it was the most excited you’d been in months. You loved showing him around all of your favorite places, pointing out the secret study spots you’d found in the library, introducing him to all of your friends and the coffee shop you loved just off campus. 

It felt natural, felt right to have him in your life again. Even when things got busy, when you were so bogged down with assignments and projects and internships, you did your best to make time for one another. 

You didn’t date again, and if he did, you never heard about it. When friends asked, you always gave the same excuse. You were too busy. You were focusing on yourself. School was more important to you than a relationship right now. 

But if you were honest with yourself, your relationship with Jay had left you with a unique set of scars. You were scared of falling in love again only to be met with rejection, of course, but you were also terrified of losing Jungwon. Of the way letting someone new into your life could mean pushing him away, despite what you’d promised each other that night in his bed. 

It’s why you haven’t mentioned Sunghoon to him yet. It’s not a secret, exactly, but it’s also not something you’re dying to share. 

Now that you’ve graduated, you can hardly believe you’re standing outside Jungwon’s apartment with a six pack of cheap beer dangling from your fingertips. But something about all of your recent failures has you desperate for a bit of release, and you’re sure he could use some relaxation after midterms, too. 

If anything, you’re hoping it will come as a nice surprise. 

You knock on the door to his apartment,  beer dangling loosely from your other hand. But when the door pulls open, it’s not Jungwon who greets you on the other side. 

“Hi,” Jake grins, leaning against the doorframe. “Long time no see.” Jungwon’s roommate of two years now, he glances down at the beer. “And you brought presents.”

“Not for you, Sim,” you shake your head. “Is Jungwon home?”

“Depends.” Jake grins. “Are you just gonna leave if he’s not?”

You sigh, do your best not to roll your eyes. You’ve been subject to Jake’s antics long enough to know not to take any of it to heart. A golden retriever in every sense of the word, flirting comes as natural to him as breathing. 

You’d be more worried if he suddenly started talking to you like a normal person. 

“Can you tell me when he’ll be back?” You really should have checked to make sure Jungwon was home before driving all the way, but you’d only decided to come last minute. Besides, you remember what midterms were like. You wanted it to be a surprise. 

“What’s the rush?” Jake asks. When you don’t bother to dignify that with a response, he pivots, “What are you up to these days?”

“Just working,” you shrug.

“Yeah?” he asks. “How’s post grad life treating you? Is the grass really greener after graduation?” Like Jungwon, he’s still a semester and a half away from it.

You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. “Something like that.”

“You’re still working at that flower shop over in your area, right? I was over there the other day, and I almost stopped by to say hi, but I couldn’t remember for sure. Is it—”

“I thought you said you were on your way out,” a voice interrupts from behind him. Jungwon’s. You’d know it anywhere. “Who are you talking to?”

That little shit. He lied to you. Or at least heavily implied it. 

Jake at least has the decency to look sheepish when he glances at you. Opening the door wider, he reveals your best friend. Dressed in a pair of grey sweats and an oversized long sleeve white t-shirt, his hair is still slightly damp. Recently showered, if you had to guess. 

“Surprise,” you grin weakly, holding up the pack of beer. 

“___,” he breathes your name, surprise flickering across his features. His gaze falls to your feet for a moment before dragging back up to your face. “What are you doing here?”

“Is it a bad time?” The beer falls back down to your side. You really should have checked with him first before driving all the way here. “Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not a bad time at all. Come in.” Side-eyeing Jake, he looks almost surprised to see him, as if he forgot he was even there. Then, he confirms, “You’re leaving, right?”

“Yep,” Jake nods, a trace of amusement flashing through his eyes. “I won’t be back until late.” He glances between the two of you. “Like, really late, probably. Enjoy… whatever this is.” Turning to you, he adds, “And it was good to see you again. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“Sure, Jake,” you agree. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he smiles. “Have fun.” Pausing for a moment, he considers, “Not too much fun, though—”

“Goodbye, Jake,” Jungwon interrupts, something unreadable crossing his features. 

Jake takes the cue well enough. Stepping past the two of you, he leaves the apartment. The door closes behind him with a silent click. 

And then it’s just you and Jungwon. 

“You brought beer,” he reaches to take the drinks from you, passing them from your hand to his. “And yourself. What’s the occasion?”

“Midterms,” you explain. “I thought you could use a night off after all that studying. Besides, it’s been too long. The last time I saw you was when we got coffee, and that was already—”

“Two weeks ago,” he finishes for you. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to drink?” you ask, suddenly afraid you’ve placed your bets all wrong. Maybe midterms weren’t exhausting in the way that makes him want to drown his sorrows in cheap beer. Maybe they were just exhausting in the way that makes him want to crawl into bed. “I can come back a diff—”

Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s exactly what I need.” He smiles at you. It’s tired, but it’s genuine. “I’m glad you’re here.”

And that’s all it takes, all the reassurance you need to slip off your shoes and find a spot next to him on the living room sofa that’s seen better days. 

It’s quiet at first, the two of you taking long sips as you ask the standard questions. 

You ask how he thinks he did on midterms, and he says he’d rather talk about anything else. 

He asks about your job search, and a shadow crosses your features as you also request a change in topic. 

One bottle turns to two, and before long, your limbs are feeling heavier, your lips looser. 

Jungwon looks at you, already flushed from the alcohol. He parts his reddened lips like he wants to say something. Closes them again. 

Then, finally, “I heard something,” he says. 

“Mm?” you hum. There’s a pleasant haze in your mind. One that makes it difficult to give much of a response at all. 

A beat of silence passes. Another. You glance over at him, a question in your eyes, only to find his gaze already trained on your face. 

Eventually, he gets it out. “You’re going on dates again.”

The tension in your shoulders is immediate. You’re not sure if he heard it from Sophia or somewhere else along the grapevine, but you suppose it doesn’t matter much either way. You shrug, feigning nonchalance.  You have nothing to hide, you tell yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. “I went on one.”

Jungwon takes a long sip of beer, the foam settling heavy when he sets it back down on the table. “How was it?” he asks. His voice is infuriatingly neutral. You can’t get a read on him. 

“I don’t know,” you shake your head. “Fine.”

Jungwon’s palm splays against his knee, flexes. “Are you seeing him again?”

You feel a humorless laugh rising in your throat, one you barely manage to contain. “Probably not.”

You can feel his eyes boring into the side of your face when he asks, “Why?”

You sigh. This time, it’s you that takes a long sip of your drink. “I don’t know,” you shrug. Pulling your knees in towards your chest, you suddenly feel smaller than before. “It just wasn’t…” your words die as you try to find a way to explain the feeling you’d left the date with. Coming up blank, you decide instead on, “I don’t think he wants to see me again, anyway.”

You swear you feel a fraction of tension ease from the air. Still, Jungwon’s curiosity doesn’t seem to be sated. “Why not?” More to make you laugh than to actually guess at Sunghoon’s intentions, he asks, “Did you spill something on him?”

Wincing, you remember every one-word answer you gave. “I don’t think I spilled enough.”

Jungwon frowns, the turn of phrase not landing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Sometimes, I just…” You lean your head back, letting it loll against the back of the couch. “I just feel like boys don’t really like me, you know?”

If you were looking, you’d see the way Jungwon goes completely still. A moment of silence passes before he breaks it, voice lower, less airy than before. “What did you just say?”

Head against the couch, you let out a small sound, breathless, a little pathetic. “Don’t make me repeat it,” you beg.

But Jungwon isn’t quite ready to let it go. You see his silhouette in your periphery, turning to face you fully. Leaning in, his attention is on you and nowhere else. His voice has an edge to it that you aren’t quite sure what to do with when he asks, “What do you mean, ‘boys don’t like you?’”

All you can do is sigh again. “I’m just… I’m not really charming or cute or good at small talk and things like that. I always say something weird or put my foot in my mouth, and it’s like I can see them losing interest in real time.”

Jungwon blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. Glances at you. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Jungwon,” you deadpan, “he asked me what my hobbies are, and I told him, verbatim, things.”

“Oh.” He pauses for a minute. Then points out, “Well, to be fair, that’s a horrible question.”

You frown. “It’s a standard first date question.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees, “which is exactly why it’s horrible. No one wants to go on a first date and be asked all of the standard first date questions.” 

You know that he’s only trying to comfort you, but something about him twisting the narrative so far in your favor just makes you want to sigh. You’re grateful for his defense, but it also feels a bit misplaced.

“How would you even know?” You try not to sound too mean, but the question comes out flat. “I bet you go on dates with those dimples and that…” you trail off, waving your hands noncommittally in his general direction. 

Jungwon’s brows furrow. “You just gestured to all of me.”

“Exactly,” you nod. “You have that whole boy-next-door, easy going charm thing about you.” It’s true, and right now, you can’t help but think that it’s awfully unfair. “I bet you could ask whatever stupid standard first date questions you want and girls would still be falling at your feet.”

At face value, it’s a compliment. But there’s something about your tone, the trace remnants of sarcasm, of bitterness, that make him think otherwise.

“I’m not quite sure how to take that,” Jungwon finally tells you.

You sigh. You didn’t come here to project your insecurities on him. There might be layers of truth to it, but this isn’t his fault. You’re not being fair, and you know it. 

“All I mean is that boys like you don’t have to try very hard. I feel like it all just comes so naturally to you. I wish I was like that, too. That’s all I’m saying.”

And Jungwon could protest, could launch into some speech about how you’ll find your person eventually, about how there’s someone out there for everyone.

But he knows you, is well-acquainted with that contemplative, overly self-critical look on your face. Can read all of your frustration and insecurity in the way you bite at your bottom lip. 

You’re not looking for a lecture or false hope and certainly not empty words.

You came here with a case of beer and the intention to surprise him, to congratulate him for work well done. 

He was the one that brought up the date, anyway. He knows that you’re not looking for advice. You’re looking for a friend.

So Jungwon waits for a moment before he says anything at all. 

Then, he picks up your abandoned beer off the coffee table in front of you and holds it up to you. “C’mon,” he encourages gently, “join me.” He takes a sip of his own for good measure. “It isn’t going to drink itself.”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I already feel kind of—”

“I think I bombed econ,” he offers. You can’t tell if it’s true or not, but that’s not the point. He needs you out of your head. “Don’t make me drown my sorrows alone.”

You can’t help but think that for all the fuss he used to put up about you being older, he certainly doesn’t mind appealing to it when it’s to his advantage. 

But even lukewarm beer looks tempting when it’s him that’s offering it to you. And you’ve never been good at saying no, at least not to Jungwon. 

He knows it, too. Jungwon isn’t surprised when you accept the bottle from his hands with nothing more than a halfhearted grumble under your breath. 

There’s no trace of shock in his eyes when you bring it straight to your lips despite your earlier protests. 

He just grins before leaning back against his side of the couch, smile still stretching across his lips as he brings his own bottle up to join you.

…..

Thursday afternoons are your favorite time in the flower shop. Run by a kind woman in her late sixties, she takes advantage of the day to attend her weekly Zumba class at the senior center, which means you have the shop all to yourself, save for the occasional customer. 

Usually, you’d savor the stillness. Use it to catch up on inventory or fulfill the handful or edible arrangement requests for tomorrow.

But today, the silence is making you jittery. Mostly because your mind won’t give you a moment of peace no matter how much you beg it too.

Despite the prediction you gave Jungwon three days ago in his apartment, Sunghoon did reach out to you again.

The message still sits at the top of your text threads like a curse.

I enjoyed our time together, he said. Succinct, straightforward, and all things considered, surprising. Are you free this weekend? I’d love to see you again.

And it’s flattering, so much so that you nearly find yourself agreeing without taking so much as a moment to think about it.

Sophia will be thrilled, you’re sure. And you won’t have to burden Jungwon again with tipsy confessions of your own insecurities. 

But alone in the flower shop, another thought starts to creep in, just as your fingers hover above the keyboard. A feeling.

The same one you left from your last date with. That strange, hollow emptiness that had you spiraling for days, convinced there must be something deeply, fundamentally off about you. 

Again, you start to wonder why you can’t just do it. Can’t enjoy a date and a free meal and the pleasant company of a handsome stranger. Why all of your answers always come out stilted, cagey, so terribly awkward. 

Why you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop, convinced that any scraps of attention that come your way must be part of some elaborate prank that the universe is playing on you. 

Why even a barely-there, trace amount of vulnerability feels like nails on a chalkboard. Why you haven’t been able to form a real, meaningful connection with anyone since Jay. A relationship that ended nearly four years ago. It’s enough to make you feel a little pathetic.

Logically, you know that this is how it goes. You can’t form connections or welcome new things into your life without a leap of faith.

But the potential fallout is terrifying. The thought of trying, really trying, and still being found lacking is enough to sober even the most romantic of your fantasies. 

Something about the status quo, no matter how boring or tiresome or monotonous, feels safe. Like a cage you’ve settled into and made comfortable. 

Your fingers hesitate, then fall away completely. Locking the screen of your phone, you tuck it back into your pocket with a sigh.

Busying yourself with the arrangement orders, you do your best to push Sunghoon and his unanswered invitation from your mind. 

For a while at least, you’re successful. The afternoon passes slowly.

A woman in her thirties comes, looking for a bouquet for her sister who just had a baby. 

A man in his fifties wants to send flowers to his daughter’s office to wish her a happy birthday.

A couple comes in, hands intertwined, asking if your shop would be able to accommodate enough flowers for their wedding to be held at the end of the month. 

You greet them, you smile, you answer their questions with patience. 

And all the while, you leave Sunghoon’s question hanging.

As your shift draws to an end, late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, your phone buzzes in your pocket once more. 

Half expecting to see a string of curses from Sunghoon, angry you ignored him, convinced you’ve wronged him, you're surprised when it’s Jungwon’s name that lights up your screen instead. 

His short string of messages reads,

It was nice to see you again

Missed my favorite girl

Movie night this weekend at mine? Popcorn on me

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you can hardly stifle the smile that threatens to overtake your entire face. 

Unlike Sunghoon’s, Jungwon’s message doesn’t fill you with dread, doesn’t leave you with a sudden flurry of doubts and questions clouding your mind.

And, unlike his, it’s easy to say yes to.

You wait only a fraction of a second before sending your reply.

I’ll be there

…..

The left side cushion of Jungwon’s living room couch is starting to feel familiar at this point. It’s been less than a week since you were last here, and it already feels routine sinking down into it. 

When Jake steps out from his room minutes after you settle in, he doesn’t comment on his roommate’s company. Just arches a brow. 

“You two drinking again?” he asks. 

Apparently, he gave Jungwon shit for forgetting to clean up one of the bottles after last time. Ironic, considering it’s Jake’s dinner dishes that are gathering dust in the sink. 

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. Remote in hand, he flicks through streaming service options until he lands on the one he’s looking for. “Just watching a movie.”

Jake pauses, eyes flickering towards the screen. “Which one?”

“Not sure.” Jungwon shrugs. “___ chose it.”

You turn over your shoulder, telling him the title. It’s some rom com that’s been terrorizing your twitter feed for weeks now. And then you offer, “You can join us if you want.”

You’re not sure if there’s enough space on the couch for the three of you, but you are the one crashing into their space. You’ll make it work if you have to. 

“That’s alright.” Jake shakes his head. “I’m heading out.”

“Alright,” Jungwon waves him off without so much as a second glance. 

“See you later,” you offer, still turned around. 

Jake grins, looking at you before he makes his way to the door. “Enjoy your movie. And nice to see you again so soon, ___. I was worried you’d make me wait again.”

Next to you, Jungwon’s jaw clenches. He mutters something under his breath about making popcorn before standing up from his seat on the couch. 

Jake leaves before he can rile Jungwon up any further, and the smell of popcorn begins to fill the room just as the opening credits begin to roll. An overzealous pop song plays in the background, one you recognize from the playlist your boss makes you put on shuffle, insisting the corny, upbeat lyrics will convince people to buy more flowers. 

Jungwon comes back to the couch, sets the popcorn bowl on the table in front of you. He adjusts, moving closer. His knee brushes against yours. Both of you pretend not to notice. Intimacy and closeness is nothing new between the two of you. Hell, you grew up practically attached at the hip, sleeping in the same bed until you were in middle school. 

But there was always practicality to it, a purpose. You held hands at the amusement park because you didn’t want to lose each other in the crowd. You let him put his head in your lap when you had a picnic in the park because the only other pillow available was the ant-filled grass. 

This feels different. Intentional. Especially since there’s still plenty of space to his left. 

You lean forward, reaching for the popcorn. The fabric of your pants rustles against his. Settling back into your seat, Jungwon takes his turn to reach forward. But instead of grabbing a fistful, he takes the whole bowl, bringing it to his lap. 

“Here,” he nudges you. “It’s closer this way.”

You nod. Right. Closer. 

In front of you, the movie begins to unfold. Saturated color grading, wardrobe choices that already look slightly dated despite the recent release date, and a female lead that first impressions paint as adorably quirky, it has all the makings of a brainless plot. The perfect way to waste a Friday night. 

And Jungwon, who usually insists on holding his tongue until after the credits have rolled, leans a little closer to you just past the twenty-minute mark. Unnecessary, given how close the two of you are already sitting. His arm, bare from the short-sleeve shirt he wears, brushes against yours. 

And his lips nearly touch the shell of your ear when he whispers, “This is ridiculous.”

You frown. “What is?”

“The premise,” he hums. “I mean, why would they pretend to date each other? It doesn’t make sense. There are plenty of other things he could do to get back at his ex.”

You roll your eyes. Leave it to him to analyze the storyline like it was designed for anything other than mindless entertainment. “It’s the oldest cliche in the book,” you explain. “It’s for the plot.”

“It’s obvious,” he shakes his head. “They’re going to fall in love with each other.”

“Of course they are,” you agree. “But not every movie has to have a million twists and turns. Sometimes it’s just nice to know how things will end and enjoy seeing how they get there.”

“You like that?” he asks, voice low. “When things fall into place exactly the way you expect them to?”

“Sometimes,” you breathe. “It’s nice to not always have to guess.”

“Would you ever do that?”

Your eyebrows raise. “Fake date someone?”

Jungwon nods. 

“No,” you scoff. “I can barely handle a real date, remember?”

You’re not sure what it is, but something in your answer must satisfy his curiosity, at least for now. Next to you, Jungwon is quiet once again. In front of you, the characters on screen continue to tiptoe around each other, dancing around the obvious. 

The onscreen tension builds and builds and builds, all the way until it breaks. With a heated confession in the rain and the one aspect of a rom com you forgot to account for before choosing your movie for the evening. 

You’re a grown woman. You have the degree and the age on your driver’s license to prove it. But the flush on your cheeks is undeniable as the two characters on screen begin to kiss. 

And kiss they do. Jesus christ, you think, just how much of the budget was allotted to close up shots of their mouths? 

As the scene begins to heat, so does the temperature of your skin. You’re half afraid Jungwon will feel it, scalding him through the layers of fabric between your legs that still touch. Part of you wants to screw your eyes shut, to reach for the remote and click fast forward just to end the agony, but you’re pretty sure that would be even more humiliating. 

Instead, you keep your eyes glued to the screen. Watch unmoving, trying to appear unaffected, as the male lead tangles his fingers through her hair, tugging slightly as she stifles a moan against his lips. It’s so raw, so intimate, that you’re tempted to pull out your phone and confirm the PG-13 rating you swear it had. 

It’s involuntary, the way you squirm against the couch cushions. The movement is no help. All it does is make you brush further against the one person you’re suddenly desperately trying to ignore. 

The man on screen brushes his fingers under the hemline of her shirt, drags the fitted material upwards. 

Without even really meaning to, you dare a glance at Jungwon. 

And find him already looking at you. Staring at you, lips parted, eyes locked on the flush spreading over your cheekbones.

Quickly, your eyes drop to your lap, but the image stays burned behind your eyelids. You don’t dare to look at him again, not even once the scene has ended, when the plot becomes ridiculous again instead of heated. 

Even once the ending credits start to roll, you keep your eyes trained on the screen, as if the list of assistant directors is something you find fascinating. But Jungwon has other plans. 

He shifts against you, knee nudging yours. You hear his exhale, heavier than before. 

A moment passes. Another. 

Then, he finally tells you, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Immediately your mind starts to swim. Thinking about what? The unbelievability of the premise? The questionable casting choices? Or, worst of all, the kiss?

Out loud, you do your best to school your question into something neutral. “Thinking about what?”

“What you said,” he tells you. It soothes exactly none of your frayed nerves.

What have you said? You suddenly can’t remember. You search for a list of recent statements you’ve made and come up completely blank. 

It feels like a conversation that’s going nowhere when you ask, “What did I say?”

Jungwon doesn’t spare a moment. “That you think boys don’t like you.”

Oh. Oh. Nearly a week ago now, your tipsy, self-berating rambling must have stuck with him. Well, that’s fine, you suppose. That’s something you can explain away now. Sober, even if your mind is still spinning a bit. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you try to explain. “I was drunk and my words weren’t coming out right. I just meant that it was frustrating going on a date and leaving feeling like something was wrong with me, you know?”

Only after he’s quiet for a full thirty seconds do you dare a glance at him. Jungwon’s brow is furrowed, his lips pulled tight in contemplation. He parts his lips like he wants to say something, closes them again as if he’s thought better of it.  

When he finally finds a statement to commit to, he says, “Maybe you’re going on dates with the wrong people.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agree. “But that’s the hard part, isn’t it?” In retrospect, it’s a big part of why you were so hesitant to accept Sophia’s offer in the first place, why she had to ask you, to insist, four times. “I feel like I have to go on so many terrible dates that make me feel like shit just to maybe eventually find someone I want to spend more time with. It’s not like I think there’s actually anything wrong with me, but I do feel like I have a harder time than other people. You know, making friends, going on dates, finding people I actually want to be around of my own volition.”

After already feeling so rejected from your job search, your headspace has been even more fragile. Dating doesn’t feel like stress relief for you. It feels like a reminder of all the things you wish were different about yourself. 

Jungwon’s gentle when he shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping your circle small.”

“No,” you agree, “but sometimes it feels like it isn’t really my choice. Like, even if I wanted to have more friends or go on more dates, it wouldn't pan out the way I want it to. Sometimes it’s just easier to keep to myself, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times I wish I could be more outgoing.”

After another momentary lapse, another beat of silence, he asks, “What about me?”

A flicker of surprise crosses your features. “What about you?”

“You have an easy time talking to me,” Jungwon points out. “And I feel the same about you. We’ve been hanging out since we were kids, and I’ve never felt uncomfortable with you.”

“Really?” Your brow arches. “Even when I forced you to go down that waterslide in third grade?”

Even his mom had been surprised. He’d been terrified of that thing, apparently kicking and screaming against anyone else that tried to drag him down it. But when you, in all of your fourth-grade glory, insisted that he joined you, he just tucked his hand in yours, let you lead him all the way up the ladder even as his legs shook beneath him.

Jungwon smiles at the memory, a soft thing. But his eyes are still serious, his gaze still weighted. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “but that’s different.”

“How so?”

“Because…” you trail off, searching for an explanation. “Because you’re Jungwon.”

“Yeah.” The heat in his eyes doesn’t settle. “And?”

“And I’ve never had to think about it,” you shrug. “We became friends before I was even fully self-aware. You’ve always just been Jungwon.”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. And then, “Can I ask you something?”

“I feel like you’re going to anyway.” It’s meant to be lighthearted, to distract from that strange bit of tension that still simmers. 

Jungwon’s eyes don’t lose their edge. “Why did you start going on dates again?”

“What do you mean?” His question surprises you. “I just graduated from university. I’m young and unattached and all that. Isn’t this the time that everyone’s going on dates?”

“I suppose,” he concedes, “But I feel like that’s why you’re so frustrated.”

You frown, and he clarifies, “You’re going on dates because you feel like you should. Not because you want to.” 

He pauses for a moment, gauging your reaction. Deciding your silence is permission enough, he presses on, “You’re not even sure what you want out of them or what an ideal relationship looks like for you right now. You’re just going and hoping something will stick, like throwing darts with a blindfold. Then you get upset with yourself when it doesn’t live up to your fantasy, even though you haven’t decided what your fantasy even is yet. I mean, why did you even meet Sunghoon? Because you really wanted to, or because you wanted to get Sophia off of your back about it?”

You feel exposed all of a sudden. Seen right down to your bones in a way you were prepared for. “I…” There’s a maturity to his question that you weren’t expecting, an edge you can’t quite decipher. You turn the question back to him instead of answering. “Since when did you get so observant?”

“I’ve always noticed you.”

“Jungwon…”

“So I can help you figure this out, too,” he insists. “Really,” he adds when you still look unsure. “Who knows you better than me?”

You can’t quite meet his gaze, and it’s all the confirmation he needs. 

“Exactly,” Jungwon nods. “So I’ll ask you again, why did you agree to go on a date with Sunghoon?”

It would be easy to deflect, to blame Sophia’s insistence. Or to double down on your earlier statement, that this is the time in your life to try new things, to meet new people. That it felt natural to say yes. 

But when you really think about it, the cold, honest truth is just that—

“I think I was just tired of hearing no all the time.”

Jungwon’s brow furrows. “Who’s telling you no?”

You sigh, try to let out an airy laugh that comes out choked, a little pathetic. “Only every hiring manager in the country, apparently. You know, I’ve been sending out job applications like crazy since graduation, but it's been six months now and the only thing I have to show for it is a stack of rejection letters cluttering my inbox.”

A flicker of understanding passes through his gaze. “So you’re compensating, then.”

You glare. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he shakes his head. With the same tone you’ve heard him use to soothe a skittish kitten, he adds, “That must have been so frustrating. Putting in all that effort and not getting the result you wanted.” He knee brushes yours as he leans in closer, something unbearably earnest in his gaze. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“I haven’t been working hard enough,” you argue. “If I had, then something would have panned out at this point. I just need to—”

“There you go again,” he interrupts, shaking his head gently. “Assuming that it’s all your fault. Maybe the hiring manager was just an idiot, or you caught them on a bad day.”

“Yeah.” Your words drip with self-effacing sarcasm. “I’d believe that if it were one or two. But I don’t think over a hundred of them just happened to wake up on the wrong side of the bed the day they reviewed my application.”

It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Settles into the air a bit uncomfortably. 

Jungwon takes a moment to respond. When he does, he just sighs your name. 

“I know,” you scramble for something a little lighter, “like, the economy is shit and all, and one day I’ll look back at this and laugh or whatever. But it just sucks right now, you know? I’m so sick of it. I really just wanted to hear someone say—”

“Yes,” Jungwon finishes for you. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Exactly.” 

“Okay,” he nods, resolve tightening as if he’s made his mind up about something. “Then ask me.”

“What?”

Jungwon doubles down. “You can ask me,” he insists again, that same damn earnestness in his eyes, “anything you want me to do.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “I’ll say yes. I promise.”

Against your will, you feel warmth starting to rise on your cheeks again. There’s something weighted in his promise, something desperate that simmers just behind it. Something that you have absolutely no idea what to do with. 

Suddenly desperate for a reprieve, you do your best to break the tension. “That seems like a terrible idea.” You curse the strange breathlessness in your voice. Why are you like this? It’s just Jungwon. “What if I ask you to jump off a bridge?”

Jungwon just grins. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, I know I’m safe. You’d miss me too much.”

“You know,” you start, “for someone who thinks fake dating is ridiculous, this feels even more absurd.”

Jungwon doesn’t budge. “Just try it,” he encourages. “Ask me something.”

You sigh. “Jungwon…”

“C’mon.” He’s relentless. “Just once.”

“Fine.” You glance towards the bowl still sitting in his lap. “Hand me the popcorn.”

Picking it up, he ignores your outstretched hands in favor of learning forward, all the way until he settles it in your lap. His fingers remain against the edges of the bowl until he’s sure the balance is steady. Only then does he lean back into his own space. 

“Easy.” He grins. Then his brow furrows, considering. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “I could make you some real food, if—”

“No,” you shake your head. Picking up a single piece of popcorn, you add, “Just wanted to do this.” 

Throwing it square at his face, it bounces off of his nose harmlessly before falling to the carpet below. Jungwon’s nose scrunches in a knee-jerk reaction, eyes screwing shut before he opens them again. 

“Maybe I was wrong,” his eyes are heavy-lidded, voice lower than you expect. “You are going to use it for evil.” 

“Of course.” You reach for another kernel. “So maybe you should reconsider—”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you a moment to prepare for the way he wraps his fingers around your raised wrist, locking it into place before you can toss another piece of popcorn in his direction. 

His grip is warm against your skin. Tight, something you’re not sure you’d be able to break out of even if you tried. 

Still, you attempt to fling the popcorn at him. With the restricted motion of your wrist, it doesn’t make it far. It flies through the air for only a split second before falling uselessly down to your own lap, just in front of the bowl it came from. 

“Nice try,” Jungwon breathes, your wrist still encased in his grip. 

Your eyes narrow. “I do my best.”

“I’m sure you do,” he allows, “but you’re trapped now.”

There’s something strange in his gaze. Something heavy, weighted that you can’t quite place. Something that feels entirely too real. 

You test it, the strength of his grip on you. True to his word, your wrist hardly makes it an inch, his fingers a vice around them. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you breathe, voice airier than you mean for it to be.

“Maybe,” he agrees. A breath passes between you. Another. His eyes are still locked on yours, searching, like he’s desperate to find something. Another moment passes, and he releases his grip. Your wrist falls slowly back to your lap. “But I meant it.”

“I know you did.” You can’t quite make eye contact, but his sincerity is evident even as you place your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you.”

“Seriously,” he insists. “My schedule is a lot lighter now that midterms are done. If you ever want to do something or go somewhere or you just wanna crash for a night on my couch, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Did you get Jake’s approval for that?” You arch an eyebrow. 

Jungwon’s voice is tighter than before, just slightly. “Jake will be fine." And then, still strained but a bit softer, “If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know. Don’t make me wait two weeks to see you.”

Here, in the quiet of his living room, movie forgotten on the TV, it’s easy to agree to. 

“Okay,” you whisper, regular speech suddenly feeling too loud, too abrasive. And then again, because you really do mean it, “Thank you, Jungwon.”

“Of course,” he insists, voice equally low. 

For a moment, the two of you sit like that, legs brushing, you avoiding the eye contact he tries to maintain. 

Then, Jungwon sighs, faces the TV again as he reaches for the remote. “Should we watch something else?” he asks. 

You nod. “Something scary this time.” 

Jungwon arches a brow. “You hate horror movies.”

Shrugging, you insist. “I’m in the mood for one now.” 

He still doesn’t look like he quite believes you, but he doesn’t argue any further as he scrolls down, searching for the genre. 

At his side, you’re quiet. It’s true. You do hate horror. But you’d take zombies and ghosts and jumpscares any day over the off chance of having to sit through another kissing scene tonight. 

This time, Jungwon picks the movie. Learning back against the cushions, he reaches for a handful of popcorn. 

The movie hasn’t started yet. There’s nothing on the screen to be scared of, but your heart thumps traitorously against your ribcage anyway.

…..

Two days later, you’re back at your favorite coffee shop. This time, though, it’s not Jungwon who sits across from you.

“So,” Sophia starts, and you already recognize that tone. Uh-oh, you think. “Sunghoon asked about you.”

“Why?” you ask, memories of your rather terrible date coming back unbidden. “To see if I’ve checked myself into an insane asylum yet?”

“No,” she glares. “Just to see how you’re doing.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyeing you over the rim. “Why didn’t you go on another date? He told me he texted you.”

That explains it then, you think. Him reaching out to you probably didn’t come from genuine interest. Maybe spending time with you felt like nothing more than a favor to his coworker. Maybe he was secretly relieved when you’d ignored his message. Maybe he only brought it up to Sophia to be polite. 

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you so involved, anyway? You know, this is exactly why they say you shouldn’t shit where you eat.”

“I’m not dating him,” she points out. “And you two don’t work together.” It’s true. You’d applied for an open position a couple months back, actually. And, of course, had been promptly rejected. “That doesn’t apply.”

“Close enough,” you mutter. 

“Why are you so against it?” she asks. “Did he suck or something?” Considering it, she’s quick to apologize. “Sorry. He always seemed so nice at work. A little shy, like I told you, but when he mentioned he was single, you were the first person I thought of. Did he say something weird to you or try to make you split the bill—”

“No,” you shake your head. “Nothing like that. He was perfectly nice. And polite.”

Her confusion returns. “So what gives? I didn’t expect the two of you to get married, but I thought you’d at least last a little longer than one date. Besides,” she leans in, voice lower but still not nearly quiet enough for what she’s about to ask you, “aren’t you practically shriveled up at this point? Did you take a vow of celibacy without telling me? When’s the last time you even had se—”

Eyes widening in panic, you interrupt her with an entirely too loud, too bright, “Hi, Jungwon!”

Frowning, Sophia turns back to look over her shoulder. Because there he is, the man in question. A surprising coincidence, perhaps, if you weren’t the one that introduced both of your friends to this cafe. 

“Hey,” he grins, glancing between the both of you with his takeout cup in hand. “I thought that was you I saw over here.” Turning to your friend, he nods, “Hi, Sophia.”

“Jungwon,” she returns. Her gaze follows his, all the way from his eyes to yours. Settling back into her seat, she gestures towards the empty chair at your table. “Grab a seat,” she offers. “Join us.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” you glance at him apologetically. “I’m sure Jungwon has other—”

But he slides down into the chair without a hint of protest, your words dying on your lips. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” he says. “What were you two talking about?”

You force a smile that looks anything but easy. “Nothing,” you insist, just as Sophia explains, 

“____’s desperate need to get laid.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flashing daggers at Sophia with your eyes as you pointedly avoid looking to where Jungwon sits on your right. “I did not say that.”

“So what?” she asks, either oblivious to your suffering or relishing in it. “You’re planning to be a nun forever?”

“I’m busy,” you deflect. “I have other priorities right now.”

“Busy people have sex,” she argues. “All that stress isn’t good for you. Like I said, you’ll shrivel up and—”

“Can we talk about literally anything else?” She has to know how embarrassed you are from the increasingly red shade of your face, how horrified you are that Jungwon can hear everything she’s saying. There aren’t many secrets left between the two of you, but the gory details of your nonexistent sex life isn’t something you’re exactly dying for him to be privy to. 

Sophia leans back, some of the urgency of her insistence fading. Still, she’s not quite done. “I’m just confused,” she explains. “I mean, Sunghoon was kind and a gentleman and more than willing, if the way he keeps hounding me about you is anything to go by. I just don’t get it.”

Slowly, you brave a glance at Jungwon, who’s kept quiet this whole time. Maybe, at least, he shares some of your embarrassment, avoiding your gaze just as pointedly as you avoided his. 

But when you turn towards him hesitantly, Jungwon is already looking at you. There’s nothing shy or avoidant as his eyes rake over you. And there’s no sign of embarrassment, no telltale flush, no fidgety shifting. 

Jungwon’s just looking at you. With a cool, steady stare. Like he’s assessing you, clicking puzzle pieces into place. 

When he finally breaks eye contact, it’s to look at Sophia. “Leave her alone,” he defends. His tone is light, teasing. But there’s an edge there. Something that doesn’t leave space for an argument. “She’ll find someone when she’s ready. Park Sunghoon isn’t the end all be all of men.”

“No,” Sophia agrees, “but surely he’s better than your left hand and the vib—”

“Oh my god,” you’re begging this time. “Stop.”

“What about you?” Jungwon asks, and both of you turn to him in surprise. When your eyes land on him, he’s looking at Sophia, not at you. “How’s your love life looking these days?”

“Love life…” She trails off, shrugging. “Nothing to report. But I haven’t joined your girl here,” she nods towards you, “at the convent yet. In that regard,” she grins. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Good for you,” Jungwon nods. “And the job is still going well?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “It’s not confirmed yet, but there’s a rumor that I might be in talks for a promotion next quarter. I’m…”

Her words trail off as you zone out, some of the adrenaline fading, the tension draining from your shoulders. 

Not for the first time, you feel extremely grateful for Jungwon. It’s subtle, but it’s enough. And to you, it’s obvious. The way he maneuvered the conversation away from you. You’re sure that your discomfort wasn’t difficult to pick up on, but the way he handled it makes you appreciate him that much more. 

Morbidly, you wonder what he thinks of your glaring lack of a sex life. Ever since Jay, you’ve kept the details of your relationships, or rather, lack thereof, close to the chest where he’s concerned. And even when you were with Jay, intimacy was never a topic you breached with Jungwon. 

The thought has a flush starting anew on your cheekbones. You do your best to dismiss it. 

Next to you, Jungwon keeps his eyes on Sophia, nodding at the appropriate times, commenting in a way that proves he’s listening. 

But beneath the table, the warmth on his palm finds your knee. Without breaking conversation or giving even the slightest outward hint that his mind is anywhere besides your friend’s story about her boss’ most recent rampage, he squeezes. 

Once, gently. Just to let you know that he’s there. 

You fidget, and he does it again. This time, he can’t quite help the grin that spreads across his lips. 

…..

Despite everything, you can’t shake the feeling of Jungwon’s hand on your knee beneath the table. Days pass, and in quiet moments, if you give your brain enough leeway, it always wanders back there. 

To his easy, subtle defense of you. To the way it seemed so natural for him to soothe you silently with his touch. 

To the way he looked at you, considering, evaluative, while Sophia laid out the gory details of your fruitless sex life on the table. 

And maybe she was right to question you so thoroughly. Maybe it really has been too long, because that’s the only feasible explanation for the thoughts you’re having now. 

It’s only natural, you suppose. Jungwon has been a constant in your life, a steady presence, for nearly as long as your memory extends. He’s been there through it all, your worst moments, your best memories. He’s seen all of it, knows you like the back of his hand, and he’s stuck around for it all. 

For someone with an intense fear of rejection, it means more than you can say. You can’t think of anyone in this world that you trust more than him. 

And intimacy… Intimacy is just an extension of that, you suppose. Being close with someone in that way is the ultimate act of trust. 

Maybe that’s why things felt so stilted, so disjointed with Sunghoon. You had nothing against him, but you also didn’t know him at all. Trust is something that takes time, effort. How could you let your guard down with someone you had just met?

It’s just nerves, you’re sure. You’ve been out of practice since Jay, and with each passing day, that relationship just feels further and further away. A distant memory that you can’t recall well enough to guide you now. 

Maybe if there was someone you really trusted, someone that you could just practice with, then—

No. You shake your head, dropping the thought as quick as it comes. It’s insane. It’s the exact opposite of everything your relationship with Jungwon has been for the last eighteen years of your life. 

Still, when a message from him lights up your phone screen a handful of hours later, it takes you a full minute and a string of deep breaths to convince yourself to open it. 

And when you reread the text, an invitation to drive out to a lesser known lookout where the two of you used to go to watch the sunset in high school, you agree easily. If your heart is beating a little too fast in your chest, well, you suppose no one ever has to know about it. 

Years ago, you were the one that discovered the outlook. After a particularly awful day, due mostly to your terrible junior year biology teacher, you’d put your newly acquired driver’s license to good use. You had no destination in mind. You were still new to driving and liked the way that it felt, liked the way it seemed like you could outrun any problem if you just drove far enough. 

A series of wrong turns led you straight to a forested area not too far from the highway. Jutting high out over a nearby valley, the scene you found sprawled out in front of you was gorgeous.

It was early spring, then. Flowers were just beginning to bloom, glowing in the late afternoon sun. You shifted the car into park, shutting off the engine. And then you sat, for hours, just looking out at all of it. 

As the sun faded on the horizon, so did the most pressing of your worries. Looking around you, biology class had begun to feel a lifetime ago. 

You realized that day that you found somewhere special, somewhere that you wouldn’t be willing to show to just anyone. Even then, there was only one person you thought you’d ever share the view with, that you’d ever let into your private little sanctuary. 

So, one month later, when Jungwon came to your house after school with a crease between his eyebrows that usual methods couldn’t seem to soothe, you offered him the passenger seat of your car and the view you’d been keeping all to yourself. 

That day, it became his too. And a tradition of sorts began to form. Whenever either of you was stressed or upset or just needed to get away from it all, you had a shared place to escape to. Somewhere that felt out of reach from everyone else. Somewhere for just the two of you. 

You haven’t been back there with Jungwon for the better part of a year. Part of you is a bit worried as you see his car pull up from your apartment window—this time, he’ll be the one driving—that something happened. 

After all, the two of you usually saved the outlook for difficult times. 

But as you slide into Jungwon’s passenger seat, the only thing he greets you with is an easy smile. 

“Good day?” he asks, handing you his phone so you can pick the playlist for the drive. 

“Fine,” you nod, settling for an R&B album you know you both like. “What about you?” you ask, still wanting to dissuade your earlier concerns. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, craning his neck as he checks for cross-traffic before pulling onto the main street. “I just wanted to see you. Thought it might be nice to go somewhere quiet. And it’s a beautiful day.” He looks towards the cloudless sky. “I thought the sunset would be nice.”

The drive goes quickly as you pass familiar streets, reminiscing as memories coming back at every turn. 

“Oh my god,” you say as one comes back suddenly. “Remember that time we drove out here because James rejected me at junior prom?”

Jungwon frowns. “James was an idiot.”

It rings true in hindsight. “Yeah, but I was devastated. I cried so hard I got snot on my dress.” It’s easy to laugh at now, even if the sting was unbearable in the moment. “No wonder he said no.”

“He said no because he was a dumbass,” Jungwon argues. “Besides, it can’t be worse than the time we came here because I didn’t make the taekwondo competition team.”

Something about the memory, even now, makes your heart clench a little. “That was just sad,” you tell him softly. “You were so disappointed.”

“I got over it,” he shrugs. “The dartboard you made of my coach’s face helped.”

“Oh my god,” your eyes widen. “I forgot about that.”

Jungwon smiles like it’s a fond memory. “You were so violent.”

You shake your head. “Only for you. I don’t think I’d ever wanted to hit someone more.”

Trading memories like secrets, the two of you eventually reach the right exit. Pulling off the highway, the air around you immediately feels more still. Calmer. 

And when Jungwon pulls right up to the overlook, shifting his car into park and shutting off the ignition, things feel just like you left them. 

The sun is getting close to the horizon now. The valley that stretches out beneath you as far as the eye can see glows in the last rays of daylight. 

Your gaze stretches out too, welcoming that sense of familiarity. “It looks the same,” you whisper. 

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “It does.”

Returning here now makes times feel sharper, more obvious. 

“We’ve been coming here for what, six years now?” You shake your head. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. I can’t believe I graduated. Like, I’m just done with university now. I still remember when it felt so far away.”

“Yeah.” Jungwon nods, eyes on the horizon. “Me too.” 

For a moment, the space between you is silent, the air filled with nothing but the sound of your quiet breaths. 

You weren’t the one who asked him here, but if there was ever a place to admit the worries in your mind, you suppose it would be now. 

Quietly, you say, “Can I ask you something?”

Jungwon turns to you, attuned to the serious tone of your voice. “Of course.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me,” you promise. “I know we don’t really talk about this kind of stuff usually, and—”

“___,” he interrupts, “Ask me.”

You take a breath. You can feel his gaze on you, but you can’t quite look him in the eye when you ask, “Do you think Sophia was right?”

“About what?” His shoulders stiffen. “Sunghoon?”

“No,” you shake your head, and the tension loosens, but only slightly. “About me.”

“What about you?” he breathes.

“That I…” you trail off, searching for the right words. “That it’s been too long since I was with someone.” 

Even now, you can’t bring yourself to say it. To call a spade a spade. Jungwon reads between the lines easily enough. 

He shakes his head. “It’s your choice to make. Yours and no one else’s, for whatever reasons you want. Don’t let Sophia make you feel bad just because her choice is different from yours.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But sometimes I think she’s right. That the longer I wait, the more difficult I’m making things for myself, like I’m just making the hurdle in my mind bigger and bigger. I mean, the last time I was with someone, you know, like that, was with Jay, and that was already—”

Jungwon’s inhale is sharp. “It was?” 

“See?” you frown, mistaking his surprise for confirmation of your fears. “It’s been so long. Too long. Even you think so.”

“I don’t—” he tries, shaking his head. Now Jungwon’s the one scrambling for words. “I don’t think it’s been too long. I was just surprised,” he says. “That’s all.”

“Yeah, surprised because of how long it’s been.” You laugh humorlessly. “Now even you think I’m a nun.”

“I don’t think that,” he shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s your choice.” 

“Is it though?” you ask. “The more time passes, the more I start to think that the cards just aren’t stacked in my favor.”

Jungwon frowns. “What do you mean?”

Your palms splay against your lap. The last rays of sun stretch over the valley, and your words are spilling out before you can stop them. “Maybe Sunghoon only acted interested because of Sophia. Maybe every time anyone has expressed interest, it hasn’t been genuine.” You sigh. “It’s like, logically I know that’s just the insecurity talking, but the more time passes, the harder those thoughts are to shake.”

For a moment, Jungwon is quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is low, serious. Pleading for your understanding. “___,” he says, “you’re beautiful. Truly. Any man would be lucky for even the smallest piece of your time or attention. I know that it’s hard sometimes, and that those voices and doubts can feel so loud, but I really wish you could see yourself the way other people do. The way I do.”

“Jungwon…”

“If you decide to have a relationship with someone, one of any nature, then it should be because you want to, not because you feel like you have to or because you’re trying to prove something.”

“What if I never get over it?” you ask, voice small, hardly a whisper. “What if I never get past this fear?”

“You will,” Jungwon promises. “It might not happen as fast as you want it to or in the way you expect it to, but you will.”

It’s so him, you think. So Jungwon to have more faith in you than even you ever could. He’s been here since the beginning, and he’s not going anywhere. He’s seen you face obstacles and challenges before, and he’s always done everything in his power to help you overcome them. 

Maybe this is no different. Maybe the only thing you ever needed was some help from Jungwon. 

Maybe…

No. Even with your logic twisting things to your favor, you know that this is different. This is different from asking for a favor or some moral support. If you ask Jungwon to do this for you, you’re crossing a line. One that you’re not sure you’d be able to come back from. 

The friendship you have isn’t just something you’re unwilling to risk. It has quite literally become something you don’t know how to live without. You’ve never had to try, never even had to imagine a life without Jungwon at your side. 

The only time that came close was during your first year of university, during your relationship with Jay, and that had been nearly enough to wreck you. The potential fallout from this could be worse, so much worse. You won’t risk it. 

But then, unbidden, your mind supplies a memory. One from his couch, little more than a week ago. 

“You can ask me,” he’d told you, earnest in his delivery, “anything you want me to do.” He said it himself. He promised you. “I’ll say yes.”

So, before you can lose your grip on the last remnants of courage you have, you ask, “Would you ever…”

It’s as far as you get before your bravery fails you, words trailing off into nothingness. 

You wish you could take them back when Jungwon asks, a little breathless. “Would I ever what?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Just forget I said anything.”

But he won’t let you get away so easily. “Ask me.”

And you swear, it’s like he knows. His gaze bores into yours, searching, pleading, desperate, like he can see you all the way down to your bones. Like even the most secret of your thoughts have been laid bare before him. 

“___,” he whispers your name. “Ask me,” he repeats. 

“I just…” Your eyes screw shut. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “What if we…”

“What if we what?”

You open your eyes, but only to look down towards your lap. “I trust you,” you whisper. In the silence of his car, it feels like you’re shouting. “More than anyone. Maybe I’ll be able to get over that hurdle in my mind if I just let you—”

“Let me what?” he asks. “Touch you?”

The breath you draw is ragged, shallow, as he hits the bullseye with little effort. Your fingers find a loose thread on the sleeve of your sweater. You know better, but you pull anyway. “Yeah,” you exhale. “If you…” You can’t look him in the eye, even now. It’s hardly a whisper, but you can’t bring yourself to say it any louder. “If I let you touch me.”

Jungwon’s inhale is sharp, his shudder involuntary. He leans across the center console, closer to you. Closer, closer, closer, until he stops, lips parting, face inches from yours.

He takes a deep breath in, holding it as his eyes search your face even as you keep yours turned down. Your heart hammers in your chest so violently you think it must be trying to escape. You still can’t look at him. 

Jungwon’s breath escapes him in a shallow huff, dusting across your cheekbone. He lingers there for a second, like he can’t stand the thought of distance. 

Then, without a warning, he sits back in his seat, knuckles white against the fabric of his jeans.

“I can’t,” he tells you.

You look up, eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“I can’t,” he repeats. This time, he’s the one avoiding eye contact. You search his features for anything, any kind of explanation, but all you find is the tense set of his jaw, the heat that still simmers in his gaze. The restraint holding him back. 

And suddenly, shame flashes through you. White hot humiliation that stings all the way down to your bones. It was one thing to imagine rejection from faceless men. But feeling it now, from him, from Jungwon, is so much worse than anything your mind ever conjured. 

Trying not to let accusation sit too heavy in your tone, you whisper, “You promised.” It’s so pathetic, but there’s nothing left of your pride at that point. “You told me you’d say yes to anything.”

Jungwon flinches. “And I’m trying,” he tells you, an edge to his voice that sings with desperation. “Believe me, I am. I’m doing my best to make this about you, but…”

“But what?” You scoff. “You changed your mind? The thought of me like that is so repulsive you have to—”

“No.” He won’t let you finish. “But you’re sitting here, looking at me like you’d do anything for it, like you need it, and I can’t just say yes and give it to you because I do too.”

Your anger subsides, replaced with confusion. “What do you—”

“I need it too.” Only then does he meet your eye. Wide in the dying glow of lingering daylight, he’s begging for a bit of your understanding. “I’m trying to be selfless, but if I touch you, that won’t be just for you.”

Your brow creases. You still don’t get it. “I don’t—”

Jungwon releases a shaky exhale. “I’ve been thinking about getting my hands on you since I was old enough to know what it meant. Since I was old enough to want things like that at all.”

It’s all too much, too sudden. “Jungwon, what—”

“I know that you still think of me as the kid you grew up next to, and I’ve been doing my best not to shatter the illusion because you like me like that. But you come home from a date telling me it didn’t work out, telling me that boys don’t like you, and all I can think is good.” His hand curls into a fist, knuckles white. “I could do it so much better anyway.”

“I didn’t…” You shake your head. It doesn’t make sense. “You never—”

But Jungwon isn’t done yet. “You’re sitting here asking me to touch you, but I— fuck, ___. I can’t. Not when you’re only asking because you think it doesn’t mean anything to me. That it won’t change anything for me. You tell me that you trust me, and it’s the sweetest thing about you. I can’t take advantage of that.” His breath is practically heaving now, like he’s just finished running. “I can’t use your trust and break it like this.”

The sun dips past the horizon. The only lingering remnants of daylight cast his face into a gentle glow. Even as shadows begin to trace his features, he’s still Jungwon. Your Jungwon. But no matter how many times you spin his words through your mind, you can’t form them into something you understand. Something you have any idea what to do with. 

“I…” It’s so confusing. It’s entirely too much. All you can think is, “Why did you never say anything?”

Jungwon laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Would it have changed anything? I know you. You run when you get scared. You like me like this, your harmless little friend. You said it yourself, you think you know everything about boys like me. And you needed a friend. So that’s what I’ll be. Your friend. But I can’t say yes, not to this.”

“What if—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I know you think I can handle anything, but don’t tell me things you don’t mean.”

“Jungwon,” you try softly. 

His fingers wrap around his steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “Just let me drive you home,” he pleads.

“But—”

“Please,” he whispers, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so broken. “I know it was too much, that it’s not fair to you, but I can’t… I don’t think I can look at you right now and see all that confusion. So just,” he begs again, “please. Let me take you home.”

You want to press the issue, want to keep going until you have even a small fragment of understanding to call yours, but Jungwon is no stranger to making sacrifices for you. It seems he’s been making even more than you ever realized. 

Tonight, right now, you can do the same for him. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

The drive home passes in silence. Heavy, thick, uncomfortable like a blanket on a sweltering summer night. Neither of you bother to turn on the music this time. The only company to the quiet are the thoughts spinning through your mind, the moon that begins to shine as dusk turns to night. 

Still, as he eases into the driveway just in front of your apartment, you can’t help but whisper, “Good night, Jungwon” as you step out of the passenger seat. 

Whatever has passed between you, whatever terrible precipice the two of you have just fallen from, he doesn’t seem to be able to either. 

“Good night, ____.”

By the time you make it inside, he’s gone. You know it will be, even before you check for his car from your bedroom window.

…..

“Um,” you begin, entirely unsure how to start the conversation. Across from you, Sophia sits on her favorite kitchen stool, scrolling through her Instagram feed while you wait for the pasta water to boil. “Something happened.”

“Mm?” She hums halfheartedly, eyes still trained on her phone screen. 

Your words come out too fast, like you’re in a rush to have them over with as quickly as you can. “I was with Jungwon a few nights ago, and—”

“Oh my god,” she interrupts as she finally looks up, phone forgotten as she sets in on the counter. “You two finally hooked up?”

“What?” Your face pales at just how close she is to the truth. “Why would you even ask that? We’ve never even come close.” Well, of course, except for the incident you’re currently trying to explain. That you’ve been tiptoeing around for the better part of a minute. 

“Are you kidding?” Sophia deadpans. “That boy looks at you like he wants to eat you.”

You splutter. “He does not.”

Sophia rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t look at me for a week after I set you up with Sunghoon. And I thought he was gonna kill me that day he saw us at the cafe. All I did was mention the possibility of you having sex with someone that wasn’t him, and it’s like he was writing my name on some imaginary death note.”

“You don’t even watch anime,” you point out. 

“I know the reference,” she argues. 

Then, something more pressing draws your attention. “You did it on purpose,” you accuse, realization dawning. “You kept pushing the subject that day to see how he’d react.”

“No,” she denies, shaking her head. “I really do think you should put yourself out there more. Whether it’s Sunghoon or him or someone entirely different. Although,” she considers, “it is always kind of fun to see him get like that. Jungwon’s one of those people you don’t really expect it from, you know? He’s always so calm and collected. But I don’t know if I’ll try it again,” she looks at you, faking a shudder. “He’s scary when it comes to you.”

Any other day, in any other situation, you’d protest. You’d insist that Jungwon is entirely unaffected by you and your romantic choices. That Sophia must have been imagining things that day. 

But Jungwon has already basically confirmed every last one of her claims, whispered them to you himself from the secrecy of his driver’s seat.

It’s the reason you invited her over today. To talk. To get a different perspective. To help you work through what happened. 

Now, though, you just have a question. 

“Why…” You still can’t wrap your mind around it. “Why did no one ever say anything?”

Sophia senses the shift, the way you go from defense to acceptance. From arguing to spiraling. 

“Oh, ___,” she pouts. “My poor, sweet, oblivious ____.”

“I’m not oblivious,” you argue. 

“Not usually,” she agrees. “But it’s like you have this blind spot when it comes to him. He’ll be in the middle of undressing you with his eyes and you’ll start telling some story about the matching diapers your moms bought when you were babies.”

“They were pajamas,” you correct.

“Whatever,” Sophia waves it off. “The point still stands. That boy wants you. Like, biblically.”

It’s consistent. It’s as much as Jungwon himself told you himself. But something about it makes you feel so terribly defeated, so completely unaware of everything you thought you knew about your friendship. About him. About yourself. 

A bit helplessly, you ask, “What am I supposed to do?”

Sophia takes one look at you, at the dejection clouding your features, and sighs. “Can I be honest with you?”

You nod. 

“I think you’re asking the wrong question. It’s not about what you’re supposed to do. It’s not about what Jungwon wants or what I think about your weird, sexually charged friendship.” Then, she asks the million dollar question, “What do you want to do?”

But that’s exactly the problem, you think, because, “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I’ve never thought about it. He’s always just been Jungwon to me.” Pausing for a moment, you suppose you have little pride left to lose. You might as well be honest. “But the other night, when I was with him. I started thinking about… things.”

“Things,” Sophia repeats. She leans in closer, resting her chin against her palm as she asks, “What kinds of things? Feel free to be graphic, by the way.”

“Sophia.”

She pouts sympathetically. “You might not know right away. You’ve spent your entire life thinking of him as some untouchable, sexless entity. Which is kind of crazy, by the way. Like, have you seen the guy?”

You sigh. “Sophia—”

“I’m just saying, it might not happen overnight.” She looks at you, and you feel a sudden surge of gratitude for your friend. She may be wildly different from you in more ways than one, but she means it when she says, “It’s okay. Jungwon will understand, too. If you need some more time to decide if you want to jump his bones or not. He’s probably already been waiting since, like, junior prom. What’s a little longer?”

A little longer, you think. Part of you already spins with doubt, waiting for someone else to supply exact answers. How long is a little longer? When should you make your decision? How long is it supposed to take for you to know if your best friend of eighteen years is meant to stay as just that, or if the relationship between you has been building, slowly, surely, undeniably, into something else this whole time?

But you suppose that’s what Sophia means when she says it’s okay. What Jungwon meant when he told you it was alright to do things at your own pace, on your own time. You don’t need someone else to decide for you. 

The difficulty isn’t a flaw—it’s a sign that this decision is one that matters to you, one that’s worth taking your time with. 

So you do. 

You think about it while you fine tune your resume for yet another job application. You think about it while you snip thorns off of roses at the flower shop, humming along absentmindedly to the playlist in the background. 

You think about it in the shower and while you dinner. When your mom calls you and tells you about the new bulbs she just bought for her garden, the one that time and experience have allowed her to grow into something beautiful and thriving. 

You think about it when you reach into the bottom drawer of your dresser one evening, pulling out the gift Jungwon gave you when you graduated high school nearly five long years ago. 

A photobook, full of all your favorite memories together. Something to remember him by, he’d told you, so you wouldn’t miss him too much when you went off to university one whole year ahead of him. 

In every picture, you’re smiling, grinning so wide you think your face must be in danger of splitting in two. And you’re so lucky, you think, to have someone to share all of these memories with. To have someone who’s been in your life for so long, who’s always been exactly what you needed. 

And then, staring at a picture of the two of you in high school, his arm around your shoulders as the two of you laugh into the camera, you think it’s obvious. 

You don’t have to make a choice between the Jungwon you know and the one you’re afraid to discover. Jungwon has been, and always will be, Jungwon. The way he smiles at you, because of you, isn’t an illusion, and the love he offers you isn’t conditional. 

He’s been your friend for as long as you can remember, and he will be for the rest of your life. Your feelings and hopes and desires may have shifted, but he isn’t going anywhere. 

He’s not scared of the truth, you realize. He never was. But he knew that you would be. 

So he fed it to you slowly until it was too prominent to deny anymore. And even then, he gave you space. Time. Let you come to your own conclusions. 

And somehow, that makes all the difference. 

You think of the game you used to play as kids, the one where you put on your best dress and let him pick wildflowers for you from his back yard. The one where you used the welcome mat from his porch as a makeshift aisle. The one where every time you walked down it, he was the one waiting for you at the end. 

You smile, nearly identical to the picture still splayed open across your lap, and you think that maybe there was never really a choice at all. 

…..

Your knuckles barely rap against the door three times before you hear shuffling on the other side. Footsteps drawing closer until the latch opens, until the door draws back and you see him standing there. Jungwon. 

If he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a plain, fitted black t-shirt, you don’t think he was expecting company. 

“Hi,” you breathe. “Can we talk?”

Jungwon still says nothing, but he opens the door a bit wider, gives you space to walk in. Standing in the entry, you take your shoes off, setting them neatly with the others before drawing back up to full height. Prolonging the inevitable as if it makes any part of what you’re about to do easier. 

You finally drag your eyes back to Jungwon. He’s already looking at you, expression unreadable. His hands are loose at his sides, but his posture is just slightly unnatural. Just a little too stiff. You know him. He’s nervous. 

Finally, you break the silence building between you. “I’ve been thinking,” you tell him. 

“About what?” he asks.

“You,” you admit. “Us.” A string somewhere pulls taught. A thread loosens. 

Jungwon sighs, his exhale shaky. His hand curls to a loose fist before he tucks it into his pocket. “And?”

“I—” Your decision is still solid, not something you’ll back away from. But the words are harder to work out than you expected. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had in my life.”

Jungwon nods. “I know.”

“So,” you try, “it feels weird to suddenly have these thoughts about…”

He won’t let you leave things unsaid, not this time. “About what?”

“You know,” you try to deflect.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but I’m gonna make you say it.”

You fidget a bit, eyes dropping, but you didn’t come all the way here because you weren’t sure. You know exactly what you want to tell him. 

So you explain, “I just… you asked me, after my date with Sunghoon, what I was looking for.” It feels like a long time ago now, like a distant memory. “And I always felt like I didn’t know, but when I think about it, I always think about…”

“What?” Jungwon breathes.

“You.” Your eyes meet his. This time, neither of you looks away. “I think about you. I don’t have to try and come up with the best answer to my favorite hobbies because you already know. You know me better than anyone and you make me feel good about myself and all the things I usually don’t like. I don’t feel awkward or uncomfortable around you, and I don’t feel like I have to explain myself to you.”

Jungwon’s breath is coming heavier now. He takes half a step towards you, almost subconsciously, as if distance is something he’s finding more difficult to tolerate. But he knows you aren’t done, so he lets you continue. 

“And then,” you add, “I was thinking about the difference between our friendship as it’s always been and the kind of relationship I think I want. And the only thing that’s really different is, you know, the sex.” Your words are spilling now, faster than even you can keep up with. “But even then, when I was trying to think of someone who I trusted enough to be with like that, the only person I thought of was—” 

“Me,” Jungwon finishes, gaze unreadable. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “You. I don’t want to go on blind dates with Sophia’s coworkers or find random guys to hook up with. I just want you. It’s always been you. I want all of it to be you.”

Jungwon’s eyes shutter, brows going slack as he takes a deep inhale. 

But you want to give him the same courtesy he’s been extending towards you this entire time. The decision, you want him to know, will always be his to make. “I know it might seem weird or sudden or out of the blue,” you tell him, “but I just needed you to know.” Thinking of his earlier promise you clarify, “You don’t have to say yes. I don’t even know if I’m really asking you anything—”

“You think about me?” he interrupts. “When you think about what you want in a relationship?”

The bluntness of it all still makes you want to squirm. But you hold steady. “Yeah,” you tell him.

“And when you think about having sex,” He’s so direct. It makes you want to hide your face behind your hands. “That’s me too?”

You can’t quite manage words this time, but your nod is confirmation enough. 

Jungwon exhales, even harsher than before. “Are you just curious?” he asks. “It’s fine if you are, but I can’t— we can’t do this if you’re just trying to scratch an itch. If you’re just doing it to move on, to get over a fear.”

“I…” you’re trying to read between the lines, to make sure that you understand what he’s saying. It seems obvious, but there’s a strange haze in your mind that has you doubting everything, including your own judgement. “If we do…”

Jungwon doesn’t seem to have the same reservations for spelling it out. “If we have sex.”

“Oh,” you breathe. And then, “No.” You shake your head. 

“No?” He echoes. 

“I…” You trail off, trying to find the right words to explain. “I’m not—There’s no fear when it comes to you. I’m not trying to get over anything. And there’s no one else that I even want to be with like that, so…” You trail off, searching for the words. “You told me it was my choice, and I guess I just want you to know that it’s yours, too. You don’t have to agree to anything, because you’re afraid of disappointing me or hurting my feelings or—”

“___,” he whispers your name, the sound nearly broken on his lips. You look up at him, eyes wide. “Come here,” he begs. 

It only takes two tiny steps for you to stand just before him, for your chests to nearly brush. For a moment, Jungwon does nothing. Then, his arms come up, one circling around your shoulders, the other against the small of your back as he pulls you flush to him. 

The side of your face rests against his chest, his heartbeat erratic under your cheek. You hear him sigh and feel the way his breath flutters through your hair. 

He leans back, just slightly, and you follow the movement, chin tilting upwards as your eyes meet his. The hand wrapped around your shoulders slowly unravels itself. He brings his hand up to your temple, brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

His other hand stays steady against the small of your back. 

Jungwon’s fingertips linger against the shell of your ear for a moment. You suppress a shudder as he begins to drag them down, tracing the line of your jaw until they come to settle just beneath your chin. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

You nod, the movement making his fingers press more firmly into your skin. 

Then, slowly, he begins to lean towards you. His nose brushes against yours, once, twice, a third time. 

“I’ve thought about this,” he admits. “More times than I can count.”

He’s told you as much before, but now, with his hands on you and his lips just inches away, it feels different. It feels real. 

“I imagined you looking at me,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “with those big, wide eyes.” Another kiss, this time to the curve of your cheekbone. “Clinging to me,” a kiss to your eyelid as it flutters shut. “Sighing.” The tip of your nose. “And I’d try to hold back, but—”

“You don’t have to,” you shake your head. It comes out quieter than you mean for it too. It’s ridiculous, maybe, but even now, you feel shy. 

“You mean that?” he asks, lips hovering so close you can feel their warmth. 

You nod, nose brushing against his. 

Jungwon sighs, takes a deep breath. And then he presses forward, just enough, until his lips finally brush against yours. 

His grip tightens against you, fingers bunching the fabric of your shirt that rests against the small of your back. 

He’s gentle, so impossibly sweet as his lips find yours. Upper lip slotting between both of yours, he tugs slightly against your bottom lip. Releases it with a soft, wet sound. Smiles against you as you giggle into him. 

When his lips find yours again, it’s with renowned fervency. The pressure is more insistent this time, more demanding as he uses the hand beneath your jaw to angle you his liking. 

Jungwon takes the lead, pausing, soothing his touch against your skin while you adjust to his pace. 

Your hands find his hair, tangling in the strands near his neck. You tug, an involuntary response when you feel his teeth against your bottom lip, and he groans, shuddering against you. 

Without breaking connection, he moves, walking backwards, leading blindly, until he sits down on the same couch you’ve been sharing moments on for weeks now. This time, he tugs you down with him, pulling you flush against his lap. 

You feel it then, the evidence of just how affected he is. As if the drunk flush on his cheeks and swollen, red tint of his lips weren’t enough. 

Jungwon wraps both hands around your waist now, pulling you tighter to him as your fingers cup his jaw, tracing, gripping. 

You feel it then, his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you part them without a second thought. 

Jungwon waits until you’re breathless above him to decide that he’s had enough of this position. Using the leverage of his hands around you, he maneuvers your body until you're flat against the cushions, head propped against the pillow that sits by the armrest. 

Hovering over you now, he uses his hands to brace himself on either side of your head. Eyes trained on your features, on the evidence of his ministrations. His gaze gets darker, heavier, as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. Skin flushed, lips swollen and parted in anticipation, in permission. 

Jungwon’s had his fantasies. Has kept them close to his chest and in the back of his mind for longer than he’d be willing to admit. But the sight of you now. Under him, reaching for him, begging for him, is enough to shatter every wet dream he’s had since he was a teenager. 

Jungwon doesn’t maintain distance for long. Leaning down, he invades all of your senses. All you can see, even with your eyes screwed shut, is him. All you can feel is his lips, warm and insistent against your, the press of his hands on you, hovering just above the sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up over your waistband. Every sound, every scent, every taste—it’s all him. Something warm and familiar and entirely new all at once. 

His hand plays with the fabric of your hem for a moment, testing the waters. When all you do is kiss him back—harder—he decides to press his luck. Fingertips dancing against the bare skin of your lower stomach, he starts to drag your shirt upwards. 

The air of his apartment is cool, even if his touch is anything but. It makes every inch of exposed skin that much more sensitive, goosebumps rising as his fingertips trace patterns against you. 

His lips press against yours, a new angle, as a sound loosens itself from your chest. He swallows it, tongue pressing against you like he wants to savor it, like he’d do anything to hear it again. 

He has your shirt nearly to your ribcage now, fingers tracing against the bottom seam of your bra, nerves singing with something new as you arch up against him. You need more. 

Friction, pressure, touch, it doesn’t matter. You’ll take whatever he gives you. 

Then, suddenly, you remember. Pulling back slightly, his lips chase yours. 

“Wait,” you pant, the syllable muffled as he presses another kiss against you. 

Once your request registers, he stops, mouth still brushing against yours. Leaning back slightly, he frowns. His chest still heaves when he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, breathless. “But what about Jake?”

“What?” Jungwon asks above you. You don’t seem to be the only one struggling with coherent thought.

“Jake,” you repeat. “What if he comes in?”

He wouldn’t see anything, not really. Even the expanse of your bare torso is covered by Jungwon’s body on yours. But still, something in you hesitates. This, all of it, is for you and him. No one else. 

Jungwon shakes his head. “He’s not home.”

“What if he comes back?”

“He won’t,” Jungwon insists. “He’s visiting his family for the weekend. He won’t be back until Monday.”

Still breathing hard, it’s as if your interruption knocked sense back into him. Palm still splayed against your ribs, he rubs gentle strokes with the pad of his thumb. 

Looking down at you, his eyes crinkle slightly at the way you look so sweet under him, so shy despite what you’d been doing only moments earlier. 

“Hey,” he leans down, nudging his nose against yours, “You doing okay?”

You nod, but you still don’t match his gaze. 

“Yeah?” he confirms, “Then look at me.”

It takes a moment, but you do. Your cheeks only redden further, flush more apparent than he’s ever seen it before when you finally meet his eye. 

Something in his chest swells. You might be a year older, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel like such a man knowing that he’s the reason you look like this, that he’s the one who did this to you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, grinning when you look away again. He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. A chaste peck against the seam of your lips. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Jungwon,” you whine. 

“What?” he asks. “It’s true.”

“I thought you wanted to kiss me.”

“I can take a break to compliment you?”

You flush again, hands coming up to cover your face. 

“Ah, ah,” Jungwon tsks, fingers wrapping around your wrists. “I asked you to look at me.” He pulls, gentle but insistent, until your hands fall away. Until he can once again look you in the eye. 

“How long are you just gonna stare at me?” you ask.

“As long as you’ll let me,” he grins. 

“Jungwon,” you whine again. 

“Why?” he asks, practically cooing at you now. “Is my baby shy?”

You shudder at the pet name, and it awakens something devious in him. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “I see. You’re getting impatient. Need me to touch you. Is that it?”

All you do is whine, but it’s a good enough answer for him. 

“C’mon,” he urges, leaning back. “Up.” 

You frown at the sudden distance, a furrow creasing your brow. 

“The first time we have sex is not going to be on my living room couch,” he explains. Taking your hand in his, he guides you instead towards his bedroom. 

And it’s not like you’ve never been here before, but something about the low light, the weight of what you’re about to do, makes it feel like uncharted territory. 

You step into the room, even further than Jungwon, eyes trained on the queen size bed pressed up under the window on the far side of the room. 

Your back to him, you hear Jungwon pull the door shut. It latches into place with a quiet click. And then, behind you, he asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” you admit, turning to face him as you sit on the edge of his bed. “Us. I never thought…” you trail off, palm smoothing against the top of his sheets. “I never thought we’d be here.”

“I did,” Jungwon tells you. 

“Really?” Your eyes widen when you look at him. 

“Maybe thought is the wrong word,” he amends. “But I hoped.” He’s quiet for a moment, emotions playing out across his features. “Now that you’re here, I…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “I don’t want to do anything wrong,” he admits. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t.” You shake your head. “I told you. I trust you. That includes this, too.”

Jungwon looks at you, gaze open. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” you nod. 

Some of the tension drains from his broad shoulders, but he stays where he is, silhouette shrouded in the dim light of his bedroom.

This time, it’s you who takes charge. 

“Jungwon,” you whisper, an echo of your earlier embrace in his entry way. “Come here.” 

That’s all the encouragement he needs. His footsteps are even, steady, as he makes his way towards you. All the way until he stands just before you, looking down at where you sit on his sheets. 

His hand comes to your cheek, thumb tracing patterns against your skin as you lean into his touch. 

“Up,” he instructs. “Back against the pillows.” His hand falls from your face, trails down until his fingers interlace with yours. He follows in your wake as you move according to his instructions, all the way until you’re in a ghost of the position from his couch. 

His body hovers over yours, breath warm as it fans against your cheekbone. 

Again, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. This time, he’s less shy about pressing it upwards, all the way until it sits against the band of your bra. 

Plain, black, built more for comfort than arousal. But you know Jungwon. He’ll take you as you are. 

“Jungwon,” you breathe, just as his fingertip slips beneath the band. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away, to look up and meet your gaze. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Lips meeting yours, the slow build from before is gone. He knows what he’s searching for now, has already learned what rhythm makes you breathless fastest, palms splaying against his chest like you’d do anything to be closer. 

His hand comes to your hip, then slides to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shudder as he guides it open, pliant to his touch. Jungwon uses the newly created space to slot his leg in between yours. 

The shift has him brushing against you where tension is beginning to gather, exactly where you’re beginning to ache. 

It feels good, but there’s something frustrating about it. The way sensation builds and falls in the same maddening ebb and flow, like the sea of an uncharacteristically quiet day. 

You already know it’s not enough. Against his lips, you whine. A pathetic little sound that stays half trapped in your throat. But Jungwon understands. 

Sees the way your hips are starting to roll against him, the way your brow creases in concentration as you try to find a better angle. 

Leg still between yours, he lets his fingertips ghost over the planes of your bare stomach, dragging downwards until he’s exactly where you want him. 

You whine against his lips and he shudders. “Is this what you need?” 

You can hardly respond, can hardly think as his fingers dip below your waistband. Far more precise, it doesn’t take long to have you seeing stars. 

He’s still kissing you, and you do your best to return it, but the sensations he levels you with are more than a little maddening. Lips parted against his, your mouth is practically slack as he works against you. 

“Feels—good,” you sigh, eyes screwing shut. 

“I can tell,” he whispers, some kind of awe in his voice. “Look at you.”

You’re so close. Jungwon can tell, too. He’s frantic now, movements tighter, faster as he watches the way your face twists in pleasure. 

Your hand closes around his wrist, stopping him. “Jungwon,” you pant, the sound of his name hardly coherent. “Wait.”

Immediately, his hand stills. He doesn’t pull away though, just leaves it there, against you. 

The sensation sends a fresh, aching throb pulsing from somewhere deep within you. Jungwon feels it too, against his fingertips, and groans. 

Remembering himself, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “I just… I’m ready.”

Jungwon thinks he knows what you mean. He’s imagined those same words from you before. A million times, in a million different contexts. But the sight of you beneath him, eyes wide, lips parted, so terribly sweet, is so much better than he ever dreamed. 

“I want you,” you whisper, tugging at his wrist. “Please.”

Jungwon won’t make you wait. Fingers still hidden beneath your waistband, he slides them towards the top now, pulling, all the way until you’re bare beneath him. 

He presses a kiss against your hip, just shy of where he was moments before.

He helps you slide your shirt over your head and shudders when your bra follows in its wake. He marvels at the feeling of your hands, smaller than his, tugging at his shirt, his jeans, until the two of you are in an equal state of undress. 

Again, because it’s true and because he can’t help himself, he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

You’re still shy, even more so with the weight of his gaze on you, but you manage, “So are you.” It’s his turn to flush.

Hands pressing against your shoulders, he guides you to lay down again. Hair fanning out against his pillows, he thinks you look a bit like an angel here, tangled in his sheets. 

He’d tell you, if he weren’t so distracted by the sudden feeling of your leg coming to wrap around his waist. 

Skin against skin, it feels even closer than before. Warmer, Softer. 

“Jungwon,” your brows pull downward, eyes fluttering shut as you chase the sensations that have begun to drown you. “Please.”

He moves slowly, not from hesitation. Jungwon doesn’t think he’s ever been so sure of anything in his life. But he knows what this means to you, to him. He wants to take his time, wants to let every part of you adjust to him until you feel like an extension of one another, until your bodies can’t quite tell where one ends and the other begins. 

He swallows your gasp as he presses into you. Brows furrowed, lips parted, he drops his head into the crook of your neck, scattering soothing kisses down the length of your throat. 

“Feels so good,” he encourages as you whimper, adjusting. “Perfect, like you were made for me.” 

The sentiment rings true, now and later, when he feels you relax around him, when he starts to move. 

Slowly, reverently, at a pace that lets him press as deep as possible. 

He brings his hand from your hip to the space just beneath your navel, palm splaying over your lower stomach, just above where he presses inside of you. Pushing down slightly, the added pressure makes you whine, tightening around him. 

Jungwon groans, a long, deep sound that vibrates between your bodies. 

“Jungwon,” you whisper, when the ache starts to sing, when the pressure starts to build. When you close your eyes and see stars behind them. 

“I know,” he pants, like he feels it too. “It’s okay,” he assures. “I have you.”

It’s a reminder of what brought you here in the first place. And the sound of his voice is all you need. 

Keening high in your throat, every muscle, every nerve, every fiber in your body goes taut. Tightens, pulls, before it releases. Jungwon leans down, lips parted against your collarbone as he groans, falling over the same edge only moments after you. 

The shower he runs for you is warm, the touch he washes your hair with soothing as he rinses soap from your scalp. 

The sheets are soft as you crawl between them, Jungwon’s chest firm as he pulls you tight against him. 

“Sleep,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. 

Body exhausted, mind sated, it doesn’t take long for you to do as he says. In his arms, the rest that finds you is deep and dreamless. 

…..

“Name?” Across from you, the secretary that sits at the front desk looks bored out of her mind. As if she’s seen one too many potential new hires and doesn’t think they’re worth remembering at this point. 

You give her your name, and she types a brief note into her computer. Doesn’t bother memorizing it, but you won’t let that get to you, not today. 

“You can sit over there.” She gestures towards the row of chairs against the far wall of the reception area. With a smile so tight you think her jaw must hurt, she adds, “I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

It’s not much. It’s barely even polite, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when this is the first real company you’ve stepped foot in in months. When this is the first time you’ve gotten a string of congratulations in the subject line of your email inbox instead of rejections.  

Still, it isn’t a sure thing. A test run, the hiring manager had called it. A week of in-person work at the company to see if you’ll be a good fit, if they’re willing to formally offer you a position. 

An extension of the already lengthy interview process you’ve been subjected to for the last six weeks. But it’s far more than you’ve gotten from anywhere else. 

It’s enough to have hope soaring in your chest, even at the prospect of a week of what is essentially unpaid labor.

Sliding down into the chair, you tug at the sleeve of your blazer, smooth the collar over one final time. 

In your mind, you rehearse the answers you gave during your interviews. You’re not sure if you’ll be asked again, but you figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

You’re interested in the position, because the company’s mission statement excites you. You think it aligns well with your experience and your hopes for a future career. 

Are you good with deadlines? Better than nearly everyone you know. Do you work well under pressure? Absolutely. Where do you see yourself in five years? Advancing in your career as a young professional in the same field you earned your degree in. The same field a position at this company would put you in. 

As the minutes pass, you remind yourself to breathe, to relax. The butterflies taking flight in your stomach won’t help you now, so you do your best to banish them. 

And, minutes later, just as the secretary calls your name, you feel your phone buzz. 

Glancing down, you grin at the message that comes through. 

You got this, Jungwon says, the small heart next to his contact name shining like a reminder. Knock em dead

And then, beneath it, 

Can’t wait to see you tonight beautiful 

So, you stand up a little straighter. Shoulders square, chin high. You’re okay, even as your nerves threaten to send your heart beating out of your chest. 

No matter what the results of this so-called trial run are, or every single attempt you’ll surely make after it, you’ll be fine. And if you fail, you’ll try again. 

Whether this ends in an official offer letter or a bold-faced rejection, no matter what, you have Jungwon—rooting for you, thinking of you, waiting for you to come back and tell him all about it. 

Jungwon, your best friend, your favorite person, and probably, if the feelings you’re starting to get whenever he’s near are anything to go by, the love of your life. 

You meet the secretary’s gaze, smiling even as all she does is arch a brow. And then you tell her, “I’m ready.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

[404sheepnotfound]

Baby, That's Mine - Yang Jungwon

PART I

୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.

୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader

୨ৎ Wordcount : 6,5k

୨ৎ Warning : aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.

Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.

The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.

The apartment was supposed to be empty.

You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home. 

You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it 

Then it did. Your best friend.

You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears. 

The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound. 

Two years of engagement, gone.

Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday. 

You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.

You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.

"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.

"Too short."

"Too noticeable."

You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.

You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose.  You left the engagement ring where it was.

After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.  

.

.

.

Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.

Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about. 

He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why. 

The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.

A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.

He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet. 

She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.

"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.

"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.

"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"

"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.

"How long," he said again.

She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."

"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"

"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."

She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.

"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."

"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"

"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."

"Jungwon…"

"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.

"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"

He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her.  Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.

"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”

"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"

He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."

He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.

He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.

He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.

He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.

.

.

.

The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.

By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away.  You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.

He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger. 

That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.

His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.

You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.

"You look like you got dumped."

The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.

He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You still have your ring on," he said softly.

You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.

"I forgot to take it off."

It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.

"You look like you got dumped too."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I did."

He gave a slow nod.

"So did I."

The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.

He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"

You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."

Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."

The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.

"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."

You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.

He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome. 

He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.

"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.

He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.

Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away. 

The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.

Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.

"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.

He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.

Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.

He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.

"Look at me," he murmured.

You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.

The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.

"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.

You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.

You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.

As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.

.

.

.

A month passed by.

Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.

You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.

All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever. 

Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.

You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date. 

You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.

This was not normal.

Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched. 

"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been. 

It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere. 

You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you. 

One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning.  Anything.  All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.

By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew. 

You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.

As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.

Two lines. Then two more.

You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do.  The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"No..."

The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.

You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else. 

There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again.  You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.

You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.

A baby.

The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.

You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.

You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know. 

You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.

You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.

It didn't come.

Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.

You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.

Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.

You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.

A slow breath escaped you.

"I don't need him."

The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.

"I don't."

You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.

You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.

For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.

But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.

"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

"It's you and me now."

The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet,  somehow, they were enough.

.

.

.

The dream came to him three nights in a row.  Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.

In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch. 

He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.

He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.

"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."

Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"

"Yeah."

"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"

Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"

"It's a dream about fruit?"

Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to. 

"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."

Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing.  Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."

"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."

"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"

Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.

He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.

"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."

Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."

Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days.  A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.

.

.

.

The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.

A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.

You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.

You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind. 

We're not together.

If they pressed further, then—

I'd rather not discuss it.

Simple.

"Y/L/N?"

A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.

"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.

You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.

Then the door opened.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"

The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.

You looked up. And your whole body went cold.

He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.

The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.

Yang Jungwon.

Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.

"...You?"

It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.

You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.

Neither of you said anything. 

His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.

"...Is the baby mine?"

[garrettgrahamswhore]

BOYFRIEND MATERIAL [4]

pairing — dean di laurentis x fem!reader

summary — after a weekend that changed everything, you and dean try to pretend nothing has shifted between you. but hurt feelings, mixed signals, and one overheard conversation make pretending impossible.

warnings — angst, hurt feelings, miscommunication, emotional confrontation, overheard conversation, no smut.

word count — 6,097.

author note — part four is here ♡ this one is definitely a little heavier, and dean is trying… but let’s be honest, y/n isn’t exactly making it easy for him either. i hope you like it, and thank you so much for reading and supporting this series <3

sneak peek | part one | part two | part three

(TAGLIST) | (MASTERLIST) | (ORIGINAL MASTERLIST)

The bathroom mirror didn’t help.

Which was rude, honestly, because you’d gone in there fully intending to pull yourself together.

That was the whole point of hiding in a bathroom after a morning like that: splash water on your face, stare at yourself until you couldn’t stand it anymore, and eventually walk back out pretending you were the kind of person who could sleep with Dean Di Laurentis and not immediately spiral about it.

Unfortunately, the mirror showed you exactly what you already knew: you looked like hell — not enough for someone to immediately ask if you needed water or an exorcism, probably, but enough that you could see it. Your hair was a little messy, your lips were still swollen from last night, and there was a faint mark low on your neck that you had no memory of getting; apparently, your brain had remembered exactly how everything felt and almost none of how it actually happened.

But it was your eyes that gave you away.

You looked like someone who’d let last night get under her skin, then woken up wondering if she was the only one who’d made it mean something.

You knew you were being dramatic, but you were still thinking it.

Because Dean hadn’t been cruel, that was the problem.

Cruel would’ve given you something sharp to hold on to. You could’ve snapped back, gotten dressed, and spent the whole drive home turning it over in your head until hating him felt easier than wanting him.

But Dean hadn’t been cruel.

He’d sounded nervous, of all things — too light, too quick, too Dean — and somehow, that hurt more, because Dean always joked when things got too real. You knew him well enough by now to recognize the instinct for what it was, his way of putting words between himself and anything that got too close.

Last night, though, you’d seen what happened when he didn’t.

He’d been careful with you, warm in a way you hadn’t expected, patient enough to make your chest ache; he’d said your name in the dark as he meant it, and his hand had hesitated before settling on your waist, like he was still waiting for permission to hold you after everything else.

Then morning came, and Dean gave you both a way out: the wine, because blaming that was easier than admitting what had actually happened, easier than looking too closely at what you were leaving behind.

“So,” Dean had murmured, his voice rough from sleep, his arm still warm around your waist. “We’re blaming the wine, right?”

He hadn’t sounded cruel when he said it.

That was the worst part.

You turned on the sink and let the water run longer than you needed.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself. “Waste water. That’ll help.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and you went still with your hand still under the running water.

“Hey,” Dean said, quiet enough that it made your fingers tighten around the edge of the sink.

Not smug, not teasing, not that lazy morning voice he’d used yesterday before brunch, back when complicated had still felt fun instead of whatever this was, sitting heavy in your chest.

“You okay?”

You closed your eyes for a second. There it was again — that carefulness, that softness he kept offering even after he’d been the reason it hurt.

“I’m fine,” you managed.

For a second, there was only the sound of the water running between you, and then Dean’s voice came softly through the door.

“That was a terrible lie.”

Your throat tightened, which was annoying, because crying over Dean in a hotel bathroom seemed like the kind of thing you should be legally immune to.

“I’m getting ready,” you called back.

“You locked yourself in the bathroom.”

“I’m in the bathroom,” you corrected, because apparently that distinction mattered.

“You’ve been in there for ten minutes.”

“I’m having a moment.”

Dean huffed, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Can you open the door?”

You looked at the lock.

Your hand didn’t move.

“No.”

There was another pause, and somehow, this one was worse.

Dean was good at filling the silence. He usually treated quiet like a personal challenge, something he could flirt or joke or annoy his way through until everyone around him forgot what they’d almost said.

But this time, he didn’t.

“Okay,” he said.

Just that.

No push. No laugh. No dramatic sigh through the door about how mean you were being to him before breakfast. He just accepted it, and somehow that made you want to open the door more than if he’d kept asking.

You didn’t.

You listened to him move away instead, his footsteps soft against the carpet, and only when you were sure he wasn’t right outside anymore did you let yourself breathe.

The worst part was that you still believed him a little.

Not completely. Not enough to make it stop hurting. But a little.

Because Dean hadn’t looked like someone who regretted last night.

Not when he’d asked if you were okay with that serious look in his eyes. Not when he’d come back from the bathroom with a damp towel and cleaned you up gently, his hand resting against your thigh as he needed you to know he was still there. Not when he’d stood beside the bed afterward, waiting for you to lift the blanket before he got back in, as if he hadn’t already had you in every other way but still didn’t want to assume he could hold you.

You remembered lifting the blanket.

You remembered how quickly he slid in behind you.

You remembered thinking, stupidly, that you could survive the sex but not that.

And then he’d woken up and made a joke.

You washed your face twice, brushed your teeth, covered the mark on your neck with more concentration than the task deserved, and stared at yourself until your reflection started to look annoyed with you.

By the time you finally opened the bathroom door, Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed except for his shoes, his phone loose in one hand. His head lifted the second you stepped out, and the relief that crossed his face disappeared so quickly you could almost pretend it hadn’t been there.

Almost.

“You took forever,” he said.

There it was—the attempt.

You appreciated it, somehow, even as it hurt.

You crossed the room to your suitcase and grabbed the first shirt you saw. “I told you. I was having a moment.”

His mouth twitched, but it didn’t last. “Yeah.”

The room went quiet again.

You hated that room now. Last night, it had felt too small because Dean kept standing too close and looking at you like the rules were suggestions. Now it felt too small because everything unsaid was sitting with you in it.

Dean stood.

“About what I said earlier—”

“You don’t have to.”

He stopped.

You didn’t look at him. You folded the shirt badly and shoved it into your bag as it had personally wronged you.

“I kind of think I do,” he said.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

That made you look up.

Dean stood a few feet away, hands at his sides, jaw tight. He looked frustrated, but not with you. With himself, maybe. With the fact that he couldn’t charm his way back three minutes and steal the sentence out of the air before it hurt you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

You forced a small smile. “Like what?”

His eyes searched your face, careful and too direct.

“Like I regretted it.”

There it was.

The word you’d been trying not to touch.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your suitcase. “Dean.”

“I don’t.”

He said it too fast. Too seriously.

For one awful second, you believed him.

Then your chest caught up, reminding you that believing Dean was becoming a very dangerous habit.

“You don’t have to make it better,” you said.

His face changed. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

You swallowed.

Dean took one step closer, then seemed to think better of it and stopped himself. That carefulness again. That was the worst thing about him now, the fact that even when he hurt you, he was still trying so hard not to hurt you more.

“I panicked,” he said, quieter now. “That’s what the wine thing was. I woke up, and you were right there, and I didn’t know what you wanted me to say.”

Your throat tightened. “So you picked that?”

He winced. “Yeah.”

“Great choice.”

“Yeah, I’m picking up on that.”

The sarcasm should’ve helped.

It didn’t.

Dean dragged a hand through his hair, making it worse. “I’m trying to tell you I fucked up.”

“I know.”

“No, you keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting as if you agree fast enough, the conversation ends.”

Your mouth closed.

That was annoyingly accurate.

Dean looked at you, and there was something almost pleading in his face now; not obvious, not dramatic, but there. “Can we not do that?”

You wanted to say yes.

You wanted to let him explain. You wanted to be the kind of person who could sit on the edge of the bed and calmly ask Dean Di Laurentis what last night meant to him, as if the answer wouldn’t either fix you or ruin you.

But his phone rang before you could say anything.

Both of you looked at the screen.

His mother.

Dean stared at it like the phone had personally betrayed him.

You let out a laugh that sounded nothing like you. “You should get that.”

He didn’t move.

“Dean.”

His jaw worked once before he answered. “Morning, Mom.”

You turned back to your suitcase, grateful for the interruption and hating yourself for being grateful.

“Yes, we’re almost ready,” Dean said behind you, his voice shifting into that warmer tone he used with his mother. “No, I didn’t forget breakfast. Yes, I know what time it is.”

There was a pause.

His eyes flicked toward you.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s ready.”

You were not ready.

You were barely a person.

But you zipped your bag anyway.

Breakfast was worse.

There was something uniquely cruel about sitting across from Dean’s parents after breaking rule three with their son the night before. His mother looked far too happy to see you, which made you feel guilty in a way you hadn’t prepared for. His father was already at the table with a coffee and the kind of calm expression that made it impossible to tell whether he noticed everything or enjoyed making people wonder if he did.

Dean held your chair out for you.

The gesture was automatic.

So was the way you hesitated before sitting.

He noticed. His face didn’t change much, but his hand paused for half a second on the back of the chair before he let go.

You hated that you saw it.

“You two sleep well?” his mother asked, pouring cream into her coffee.

You reached for your orange juice and missed it by an inch.

Dean’s hand moved like he meant to steady the glass for you, then stopped. “Fine.”

Fine.

The word sat between you like an inside joke no one wanted to be part of.

His mother smiled, but her eyes moved from him to you. “Just fine?”

Dean looked at his plate. “It was a long weekend.”

“That it was,” his father said, setting his coffee down. “These things always feel longer when you’re performing.”

You froze.

Dean’s head lifted.

His father didn’t look at either of you when he said it. He reached for the sugar with complete ease, as if he hadn’t just dropped a sentence directly into the center of your fake relationship and walked away from the explosion.

Dean’s mother gave him a look.

“What?” his father asked mildly.

“Nothing,” she said, though it didn’t sound like nothing.

Dean’s jaw tightened.

You took a sip of orange juice so you wouldn’t be required to speak.

The rest of breakfast passed with the particular discomfort of people being kind to you when you felt like a fraud. Dean’s mother asked about your classes. His father asked if you’d enjoyed the gala. Dean answered when you didn’t move fast enough, but not in a way that made you feel dismissed; more like he was trying to cover for you because he could tell you were one wrong question away from becoming emotionally unsupervised.

At some point, you looked at the fruit platter for half a second.

Dean reached for it immediately and passed it to you.

You took it without thinking.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

His eyes met yours.

For one stupid second, everything softened.

Then you remembered his arm around you that morning, his voice saying wine, the way his hand had fallen from your waist when you sat up, and you looked away.

Dean did too.

His mother saw that.

When breakfast ended, she pulled you into a hug in the lobby while Dean spoke quietly with his father near the doors.

“You were wonderful this weekend,” she said.

Your chest tightened. “Thank you for having me.”

“I mean it.” She pulled back, hands still lightly on your arms, and looked at you with a warmth that made you want to hide. “You fit here more easily than most people do.”

You swallowed.

Across the lobby, Dean’s eyes found you.

You looked away first.

“I had a lot of help,” you said lightly.

His mother’s smile softened. “From Dean?”

“That is, unfortunately, who I meant.”

She laughed, and for a second, you understood exactly where he got some of it from: the warmth, the charm, the ability to make something feel like it belonged even when it didn’t.

Or maybe you were just being sentimental because you were sad.

That seemed more likely.

She hugged Dean next, telling him to call when he got back, which he promised to do with the face of a man who had every intention of forgetting. His father shook his hand, then pulled him into a brief hug. Dean accepted it with the stiff awkwardness of someone who liked affection more than he wanted anyone to know.

Then his parents were gone.

Just like that.

No more audience. No more reason to hold hands, stand too close, or pretend you belonged beside him.

Dean turned to you slowly.

The lobby felt too quiet.

“Can we talk before we leave?” he asked.

Your fingers tightened around your suitcase handle.

You wanted to say yes.

The word was right there. Small. Easy. Maybe not safe, but possible.

Instead, you heard yourself say, “We have a long drive.”

Dean’s expression fell just enough to hurt. “That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” you said, pulling your bag closer. “But it’s what I can do right now.”

The drive back to Briar felt longer than the entire weekend.

Dean was quiet for the first twenty minutes, which should’ve been a relief. Instead, it made every inch of the car feel crowded. His hands stayed on the wheel, his jaw tight, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He kept glancing at you like he wanted to say something and then deciding against it, which made the silence feel less like peace and more like an argument that hadn’t started yet.

You stared out the window and pretended the trees were interesting.

They were not.

Your phone buzzed in your lap.

Allie.

allie: are you alive?

allie: and by alive i mean emotionally

allie: because hannah said dean looked weird at breakfast

allie: which means you also looked weird at breakfast

allie: answer me before i create a theory

You turned your phone face down.

Dean noticed.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You almost laughed. “That’s a dangerous question.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Realized that after I asked.”

Silence again.

Then he exhaled. “Please don’t say there’s nothing to talk about.”

You kept your eyes on the road ahead. “I wasn’t going to.”

“That’s new.”

“I was going to say I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean’s mouth twitched, but it faded quickly. “Less new.”

You finally looked at him.

He was still watching the road, but his face looked tired in a way that made something inside you ache. Not sleepy tired. Dean looked like someone who’d spent the last few hours trying to hold a door open while you kept standing on the other side of it.

“I’m not trying to be unfair,” you said.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His fingers tightened around the wheel. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Dean said, “I don’t regret it.”

Your throat went tight.

“I know you think I do,” he continued, voice low. “Or that I’m trying to make it less than it was. I’m not.”

The worst part was that he sounded honest.

Dean was many things, but he wasn’t lying right then. You could hear it; you could feel it in the careful way he said the words, like he knew he only had one chance to make them land right.

So why didn’t it make you feel better?

Maybe because not regretting something wasn’t the same as wanting it after.

You looked back out the window. “Then why did you need an excuse?”

Dean didn’t answer fast enough.

That was answer enough.

Your lips pressed together.

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not—”

“It’s fine.”

“Stop saying that.” His voice sharpened, then softened immediately. “Please.”

You blinked hard, refusing to cry in his car. That felt like an intimacy you couldn’t afford.

Dean took a breath, slower this time.

“I needed an excuse because I panicked. Because I woke up next to you, and for about five seconds, it felt normal.”

Your chest ached.

He glanced at you, then back at the road. “And then I remembered it wasn’t supposed to be.”

You wanted to ask what that meant. You wanted to ask if it scared him because it felt normal or because he wished it could stay that way. You wanted him to say it without you dragging the words out of him first.

He didn’t.

Instead, his mouth pressed into a line, and he swallowed whatever came next.

You nodded once, mostly to yourself.

“There it is,” you said softly.

His eyes cut to you. “What?”

“You keep getting close to saying something real, and then you stop.”

Dean flinched.

You turned back toward the window before you could let that affect you.

“That’s not fair,” he said.

“No,” you agreed. “Probably not.”

His grip tightened on the wheel. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked just slightly. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Dean went quiet.

The radio played low in the background, a song neither of you was listening to. The whole car felt too full of almosts.

Almost honest.

Almost enough.

Almost real.

“Please don’t make me feel stupid for wanting you,” you said.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Dean inhaled sharply.

You stared out the window, horrified by yourself.

For several seconds, he didn’t say anything.

Then, quietly, “You’re not stupid.”

That was not enough.

You hated that it wasn’t enough.

“I can’t do this in the car,” you said, because your voice was too close to breaking.

“Okay.”

“And I can’t do it if you’re going to keep giving me almost-answers.”

Dean was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “Okay.”

That was all.

And because he didn’t push, because he let the line stay where you’d put it, the rest of the drive passed in silence.

Back at Briar, everything looked painfully normal.

That was offensive, somehow. The campus didn’t look like anything had happened. The buildings were the same. The sidewalks were the same. Students moved around with coffees and backpacks like you hadn’t spent the weekend pretending to be Dean Di Laurentis’s girlfriend and come back with the very real problem of knowing what he looked like when he was careful with you.

Dean carried your suitcase to your apartment.

You told him he didn’t have to.

He ignored you.

“You know,” you said as you unlocked the building door, “I’m fully capable of dragging a suitcase.”

“I’m sure.”

“That was patronizing.”

“That was supportive.”

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

“I’m counting on it.”

For half a second, the banter felt easy.

Then you reached your door, and the ease disappeared.

Dean set your suitcase beside you and stepped back. Not far, but enough. Enough to show you he knew there was no fake-dating reason to follow you inside. Enough to make the line between you visible.

You searched for your keys and fumbled them twice.

Dean’s hand lifted like he meant to help.

You stilled.

His hand dropped.

That small movement hurt more than it had any right to.

You got the door open and turned back. Dean stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets, looking like he didn’t want to leave and didn’t know how to stay.

“Can I call you later?” he asked.

Your chest tightened.

“You can,” you said.

Hope crossed his face before you could stop it.

Then you added, “But I don’t know if I’ll answer.”

It disappeared.

You almost apologized.

You didn’t.

Dean nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

“It doesn’t feel fair.”

“No.” His mouth curved faintly, without humor. “But it probably is.”

You looked down at your shoes.

Dean said your name softly.

You hated how quickly you looked up.

“I meant it,” he said.

You didn’t ask which part.

You were too afraid he meant the wrong one.

So you nodded, stepped inside, and closed the door.

For the next two days, you became very good at being busy.

Not okay. Busy.

There was a difference, and you clung to it with the desperation of someone who had no other personality traits left. You went to class. You answered emails. You reorganized the same drawer twice. You bought groceries you didn’t need and then stood in your kitchen, staring at a bag of spinach, which had personally asked you to define your relationship with Dean.

Allie called you on Sunday night.

You ignored it.

She texted.

allie: coward

You ignored that too.

allie: i say that with love

You almost smiled.

Almost.

On Monday, she showed up at your apartment with coffee and Hannah, which felt like a violation of several privacy laws.

You opened the door and immediately said, “No.”

Allie lifted the coffee. “You don’t even know what this is.”

“It’s an intervention.”

Hannah smiled too sweetly. “It’s a visit.”

“You both have intervention faces.”

Allie looked at Hannah. “Do we?”

Hannah nodded. “A little.”

“Work on that,” you said.

Allie pushed the coffee into your hands and walked past you like she paid rent there. “We’re coming in.”

“Apparently.”

Hannah hugged you first.

You hated that it made your throat tighten.

Allie waited until you were all sitting on your bed before she asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You looked down at the coffee lid.

The question should’ve been easy.

No, because Dean had been careful.

Yes, because you still felt bruised somewhere he hadn’t touched.

“Not on purpose,” you said.

Allie’s expression shifted immediately.

Hannah’s face softened.

You hated both of them a little for knowing exactly how bad that was.

“What happened?” Hannah asked gently.

You traced your thumb over the rim of the coffee cup.

“We broke the rule.”

Allie blinked. “The sex rule?”

“No, the tax fraud rule.”

“Okay,” Allie said. “You still have jokes. That’s something.”

You laughed once, but it didn’t last.

Hannah reached for your hand. “Was it bad?”

Your face warmed.

Allie inhaled. “Oh.”

“Don’t oh me.”

“It was good,” Allie said.

“It was very good,” you admitted, miserable.

Hannah made a sympathetic sound that somehow made it worse.

“And then?” Allie asked.

“And then he made a joke about blaming the wine.”

Allie’s face went flat. “I’ll kill him.”

“He said he panicked.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

“Do you believe him?”

You didn’t answer.

Hannah squeezed your hand. “Do you want to?”

That was the worst question.

Because yes.

Yes, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe every careful look, every shaky breath, every time he’d said he didn’t regret it. You wanted to believe the joke had been fear and not regret. You wanted to believe Dean was just bad at being vulnerable, not at wanting you.

“I don’t know what he wants,” you said.

Allie’s expression softened in a way that made you look away.

“And I don’t want to be something he figures out by accident,” you added.

Hannah’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “That’s fair.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Allie said immediately. “Annoyingly mature, actually.”

“I hate that.”

“I know.”

Dean texted that night.

dean: can we talk?

You stared at it until the screen dimmed.

Then it lit again.

dean: not tonight if you don’t want

dean: just when you’re ready

You typed three different answers.

Deleted all of them.

Then you put your phone face down and went to bed.

You did not sleep much.

By Wednesday, avoidance stopped being peaceful and started becoming embarrassing.

The problem with having mutual friends was that disappearing from Dean also meant disappearing from everyone else, and by the third declined invitation, even Tucker had texted you, which was how you knew things had gotten serious.

tucker: you good? no pressure. just checking.

That one made you feel guilty enough to agree when Hannah asked you to come by the hockey house for movie night.

You told yourself Dean might not be there.

That was stupid.

Dean was always there.

He was in the kitchen when you arrived, leaning against the counter with Garrett and Logan, laughing at something that clearly wasn’t that funny because the laugh stopped the second he saw you.

It wasn’t dramatic.

Dean was too good at hiding things for dramatic.

But his face changed, just enough.

His eyes moved over you like he was checking if you were okay from across the room, like he knew he wasn’t allowed to ask yet and hated it.

Garrett noticed.

Logan noticed.

You pretended not to notice anyone noticing.

“Hey,” Logan said, too brightly. “The prodigal fake girlfriend returns.”

You pointed at him. “Don’t call me that.”

He held up both hands. “Regular girlfriend?”

Dean went very still.

Logan’s eyes widened.

Garrett closed his eyes like he was praying for strength.

You smiled tightly. “Try friend.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Friend. Great. Love friends. Big fan of friendship.”

Allie elbowed him hard on her way past.

“Ow,” Logan muttered. “That felt personal.”

“It was,” Allie said.

Dean hadn’t said anything yet.

You looked at him because not looking was worse.

“Hi,” you said.

His mouth curved faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hi.”

That was it.

Two words.

And somehow, the room felt full of them.

Movie night was terrible.

Not because of the movie. You couldn’t even remember what they put on. Something with explosions, probably, because Logan and Garrett had strong opinions and no taste. You sat between Hannah and Allie on the couch while Dean stayed in the armchair across the room, which was so unlike him that it felt deliberate.

He didn’t come closer.

Didn’t sit beside you.

Didn’t brush his knee against yours or lean over to make some terrible comment near your ear.

There was no act anymore, no family watching, no fake-girlfriend label giving him an excuse to touch you.

And apparently, Dean, without an excuse, did nothing.

You told yourself that was proof.

Then you caught him looking at you, as if staying away was physically difficult, and that was proof of something else entirely.

Halfway through the movie, you got up for water, because if you sat there for another second feeling Dean look at you, you were going to either cry or throw a pillow at him.

The kitchen was quieter.

You liked that.

You filled a glass at the sink and took one sip before the floor creaked behind you.

You didn’t turn around.

“Hey,” Dean said.

You looked down at the glass. “You said that already.”

“I know.” A pause. “I was hoping it would go better this time.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched.

Dean saw it, because of course he did.

“You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“It was small, but I’m counting it.”

“You’re desperate.”

“Yeah.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

You turned around.

Dean stood just inside the kitchen, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense. He looked tired. Not messy. Not pathetic. Just tired in a way that made you think he hadn’t been sleeping well either, which you hated because it made you want to soften.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you said.

His jaw tightened. “I know.”

“And then you keep saying them.”

“Yeah.” He looked at the floor for half a second, then back at you. “I missed you.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“Dean.”

“I know,” he said, before you could say anything else. “I know that’s not fair. I know I don’t get to say that and then give you nothing solid. I know.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because it’s true.”

That was the problem with Dean when he stopped joking.

He was dangerous.

You gripped the glass with both hands. “I can’t do this if you’re going to keep giving me pieces.”

He swallowed.

“I can’t be the girl you want when you’re in the room and regret when you wake up,” you said, voice quieter now. “And I can’t be practice for whatever emotional thing you don’t know how to handle.”

Dean’s face changed.

“No,” he said immediately. “That’s not what you are.”

“Then what am I?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Dean went silent.

The house noise drifted in from the living room: Logan complaining, Tucker laughing, someone telling them both to shut up. Everything continued around you while Dean stared at you like the answer was there and still impossible to say.

Your heart dropped slowly.

“Right,” you said.

“No.” He took a step forward. “Wait.”

“You don’t know.”

“I do.”

“Then say it.”

Dean’s mouth opened.

Garrett’s voice came from the hallway.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes closed briefly.

You laughed once, humorless. “Perfect timing.”

Garrett appeared in the doorway and immediately stopped, eyes moving between you and Dean. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Dean said, sharper than necessary.

Garrett’s eyebrows lifted.

Dean dragged a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” you said.

Dean looked at you.

The words tasted awful.

You set the glass on the counter. “I should go.”

“Don’t.”

It came out fast. Too fast.

Garrett’s expression sharpened.

You looked at Dean for one second too long, then walked past both of them into the hallway. You meant to go back to the living room, tell Allie you needed air, maybe make some excuse about a headache, and leave with whatever dignity you still had.

Instead, you stopped near the stairs when Garrett’s voice carried from the kitchen.

“What the hell is going on?”

You froze.

You shouldn’t have stayed.

You knew that.

After everything, after the weekend, after every misunderstanding built on bad timing and half-finished sentences, you should’ve walked away before you heard something you couldn’t unhear.

But then Dean spoke.

“Nothing.”

Garrett scoffed. “That was convincing.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“The captain thing.”

“The captain thing?”

“The thing where you act as if you stare at someone long enough, they’ll confess all their emotional damage.”

Garrett was quiet for a second. “Is it working?”

Dean let out a humorless laugh. “Unfortunately.”

Your fingers curled around the railing.

Garrett’s voice lowered. “Did you hurt her?”

Dean didn’t answer immediately.

The silence was worse than anything he could’ve said.

Then, quietly, “Yeah.”

Your breath caught.

Garrett said, “Dean.”

“Not how you mean.” Dean’s voice was rough now. “Not on purpose. I just—fuck.”

You should’ve left.

You stayed.

“What happened?” Garrett asked.

Dean exhaled hard. “I made a joke.”

Garrett was silent.

“Great start, right?” Dean said bitterly. “Classic me.”

“What kind of joke?”

“The kind you make when you wake up next to someone and realize you’re completely fucked because it felt too normal.”

Your throat tightened.

Dean kept going before Garrett could respond.

“I said we should blame the wine.”

Garrett made a sound that was half disbelief, half disappointment. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Really? Because I was starting to feel good about it.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” Dean’s voice cracked around the edge of the words; anger turned inward. “That’s the problem. I woke up, and she was there, and I wanted to keep her there. Then I realized I didn’t know if she wanted that too, and instead of asking like a normal person, I opened my mouth and made it sound like I wanted an excuse.”

You closed your eyes.

The hallway blurred for a second.

Garrett’s voice softened, just slightly. “So tell her that.”

“I tried.”

“Try better.”

Dean laughed once. “Thanks, coach.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” There was movement in the kitchen, maybe Dean pacing, maybe him dragging both hands through his hair the way he did when he was frustrated enough to stop caring what he looked like. “Every time I get close, she looks at me like she’s already decided I’m going to make her regret believing me.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then tell her.”

Dean was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “It’s not real. We had a deal.”

Everything inside you went still.

The house noise faded.

The words settled cleanly, brutally, exactly where the fear had been sitting since that morning.

It’s not real.

We had a deal.

For a second, you couldn’t move.

You felt strangely calm, actually. Not fine. Not even close. But calm in the way people probably felt right before something broke entirely. Because there it was. No hotel room, no morning panic, no wine joke. No family watching. No act to keep standing.

Just Dean, saying it when he thought you weren’t there.

Garrett said something after that.

You didn’t hear it.

Dean answered.

You didn’t hear that either.

Your pulse was too loud. Your chest hurt too much. The hallway felt too narrow, the house too warm, the air impossible to swallow.

You stepped back quietly.

Then again.

The side door was closer than the living room, so you took it. No one saw you leave. Or maybe someone did, but no one stopped you fast enough.

Outside, the air hit your face cold and sharp.

You walked until the house was behind you.

Your phone started buzzing before you reached the corner.

Allie.

You declined it.

Then Hannah.

You declined that too.

Then Dean.

You stopped walking.

His name filled the screen.

For one stupid, humiliating second, your thumb hovered over the answer button.

Then the call ended.

A text appeared almost immediately.

dean: where did you go?

Another came before you could breathe.

dean: please tell me you didn’t hear that

You stared at the message.

A laugh slipped out of you, small and awful.

Please tell me you didn’t hear that.

Not, please let me explain.

Not, I didn’t mean it.

Just proof that there had been something to hear.

Another message appeared.

dean: I need to talk to you

You locked your phone.

By the time you got back to your apartment, your hands were shaking. You shut the door behind you, leaned against it, and stood there in the dark, still wearing your jacket, still holding your phone like it might do something worse if you let go.

It buzzed again.

You looked down before you could stop yourself.

dean: it’s not what you think

Your vision blurred.

That was the thing, though.

You had heard him.

Clearly.

You’d spent days wondering if you were being unfair, if you’d misunderstood, if Dean had only panicked because wanting you had scared him as much as it scared you.

Maybe all of that was true.

Maybe there was another sentence after the one you heard.

Maybe there was a whole explanation sitting in the part of the conversation you didn’t stay for.

But you’d heard enough.

It’s not real.

We had a deal.

For once, you decided to believe him.

💌 lmk if you want to be added to my taglists

DEAN DI LAURENTIS TAGLIST: @05gwyn, @gojodaddy1029, @carlossainzapologist, @cosmosnkaz, @pearled-wings, @parker-barnes-af, @idgasb, @laceyvt3, @coc4aine, @saltyfriendsaladbandit, @ethanthequeefqueen, @fromasgardandback, @stevesxwhore, @itmekelpy, @nellyboosworld, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @kmc1989, @biologicallyyours, @zoereyna, @fentyqloss, @aetherysis, @chickenburger22, @aarohisharma, @homeslices, @indigohazardconduit, @gingerihardlyknowher17, @sammiib444, @kennedy-brooke, @marieisbored, @tita004, @infiremejoon, @cari87, @rexit-mo, @jtheteenagewitch, @justkeepingitpeachy, @hoetel-manager, @freezing82, @elixirandstars, @proooof, @beebeechaos, @cherrypieyourface, @shatteredinkpot, @phoebesatoru, @maybankslover, @aria1108, @stcrmflyy, @genterom903, @loveeverythingsblog, @just-hopeful @nizzasspot

minors do not interact with 18+ content.

do not repost, copy, translate, or feed my work into ai.

[iceyngi]

The Math of Us

☄︎ Warnings: Body Insecurties, Negative Self-image, Self-talk, Cute!Dean, A lil Angst, not proofread ☄︎ Pairing: (bigger/plus-size) F!Reader x Dean Di Laurentis ☄︎ Rating/Genre: PG. (references to smut but no smut) ☄︎ Words: 3266

💭: I was thinking back to the old steve rodgers / sharon carter insecure fics and the logan / hannah ones and really wanted one for dean that felt relateable, so here we are.

as far as i'm concerned, it's absolute cannon that dean would not give af

Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Dean Masterlist here.

When your brain was being rational, it told you that Dean was with you because he loved every part of you. And when you struggled to love yourself, he was always there to remind you why you should.

Dean was a very vocal advocate of women. He was a proud, unapologetic, ladies’ man and he knew, with a label like that, he had a responsibility to treat women well. Priding himself on the deep, unshakeable respect he had for women, he made it his mission to understand that womanhood was a beautiful, but complicated, experience that left its mark. It meant that women came in all shapes, and all sizes. It meant that boobs wouldn’t always be perfectly perky or that parts of the body could be darker than the rest of the body. He knew about chafing, stretch marks, and how the skin could jiggle. He loved every part of womanhood, and you knew that.

Logically, you knew there’d be no benefit to Dean being with you if he didn’t want to be.

However, at times like these, logic didn’t mean a damn thing.

You didn’t always feel this way about yourself. Sometimes you just existed, going about your day as any other person. But then, there would be times when you’d get a harsh, unsolicited, reminder that society wasn’t built for people who were bigger. People like you.

You’d go shopping with your friends and try on a pair of jeans, only for the largest size on the rack to barely pass your thighs. You’d notice people looking uncomfortable when you squeezed into the empty seat next to them on the train. You’d worry about what you ordered at restaurant, terrified someone would judge you for eating too much.

It was exhausting.

You couldn’t get away from it at home either. You’d rifle through your closet, looking for something to wear, you’d pick up clothes and think to yourself ‘that’s so big, there’s no way it fits me.’ Only for it to be a perfect fit. Or, even worse, too small.

You really didn’t feel like this all the time. You had worked on yourself and your self-esteem. There were times where you’d wear a crop top because it looked cute, telling yourself that others wore crop tops, so why couldn’t you. Sometimes you’d wear a tight dress because it showed off your curves.

It wasn’t easy to get there, and you weren’t fully there all the time, your mind was a prison sometimes. And society didn’t help. But that’s why you loved Dean. He was so carefree and couldn’t give a toss about societal standards.

That morning had started out fine. You had excitedly put on the form hugging outfit that you were wearing for that reason. However, as you watched the scene in front of you, it all came flooding back.

Dean was leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing at something Allie Hayes, his ex-girlfriend, was saying.

And, as if a magician had snapped their fingers, the mental gymnastics began.

Allie was gorgeous, fitting effortlessly into the swimsuit-model category. She could wear his oversized hockey jersey and look like a delicate dream, rather than looking like she was a defenseman on the team. And, to top it off, she was a lovely person. She had done everything she could to make you feel welcome when you had first started to date Dean, never once made you feel like it was her territory you were stepping into. You honestly couldn’t understand why they had even broken up.

Your brain started to calculate the maths that made sense to nobody but you. You wondered if people looked at the two of you together and couldn’t add the pieces together. The golden-haired hockey god with the sculpted physique and you, a woman who took up space in a society that expected women to shrink. How did that add up?

They wouldn’t do that with Allie. Those pieces made sense together; the maths was simply 2+2 = 4 there.

Your mind, venomous and sharp, kept spinning out of control. Does he look at her and remember how easy it was? Are they laughing together about how he traded down? Is he pleading with her to take him back?

Suddenly, you became very aware of your outfit. The fabric felt suffocatingly tight in all the wrong places. Your curves felt like they were drawing the eyes of everyone in the room as they protruded out over your high-waisted jeans.

At times like these, your brain was a masterclass in self-sabotage.

It didn’t matter that Dean had spent hours tracing your stetch marks like they were roads to heaven.

It didn’t matter that he publicly looked at you with a hunger that made your knees weak.

It didn’t matter that he gently coaxed you into being comfortable sleeping together with the lights on and that he hadn’t run away when he finally saw all of you.

None of that mattered. Your brain was screaming over the bass of the music, over every rational thought you’d ever had, drowning it all out. He wants to get back with Allie. She is everything, and I’m nothing.

It was a horrible, ugly thought that was entirely unfair to yourself and to Dean, who had never given you a single reason to doubt his love and loyalty. But, your insecurities didn’t care about fairness.

You took a shallow, shaky breath, your chest tightening as you watched them. The way everything she did looked effortlessly charming and feminine.

A suffocating, bitter, knot rose in your throat, choking your breath. You had to get out of there before anyone could see the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes scanning the room until they locked directly onto yours, as if he had a red alert that signalled to him that you needed him. The easy smile he had been sharing with Allie shifted into something deeper, something warmer, as he looked at you.

He put his cup down on the counter, murmured a quick goodbye to Allie, and began sliding his way through the sea of drunk college students, heading straight for you.

You were standing with two of your friends, desperately trying to signal to them with your eyes that you all should go. Your heart was hammering against your ribs. You felt like you couldn’t move because you knew he would follow. Then you’d have to face him.

Within seconds, Dean arrived and threw a possessive arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest. The familiar scent of his expensive cologne, usually a smell that provided you with comfort, suffocated you. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, pressing another kiss on you. “I missed you.”

Your friends immediately giggled and exchanged knowing glances. “Okay, so that’s our cue to leave!” one of them teased.

“Yup, see you in class tomorrow girlie,” the other said.

They vanished into the crowd before you could even protest, leaving you feeling alone in Dean’s arms.

You forced yourself to tilt your head up, pressing a quick peck to his jaw.

“I missed you too,” you managed out, forcing a smile to hide how you felt.

But Dean knew you better than that, your smiles always reached your eyes. His eyebrows furrow in slight confusion. His eyes scanned your face with an intense scrutiny and he saw the slight glassiness in your eyes.

“Hey,” he said. He dropped his arm to cup your cheeks in both hands. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

The concern in his eyes almost broke you. It would be so easy to tell him, but the shame of your own insecurity felt too heavy, especially with Allie still in the room.

“Nothing,” you lied, voice tight. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, you didn’t like to lie, especially to Dean. He was big on trust.

You gently pulled away from his touch, his hands dropping from your face. “I’m just… really tired, Dean. I think I need to go.”

“Okay,” Dean said easily. “I’ll come upstairs with you.”

“No,” you rushed out too quickly and too loudly. “I need some space; I need to go… home.”

Dean blinked, looking genuinely confused. “Home? But I thought you were staying here tonight? Your bag is upstairs.”

He was panicked now, eyes searching yours again for some sort of understanding of what was happening. A rare flash of sadness crossed his features and you wanted so desperately to kiss it away but your brain couldn’t stop telling you that this was the right move. That it would be better for him if you left. If you pushed him to want you gone.

“Talk to me, babe. Did I do something wrong? Let’s just go upstairs, just you and me.” The panic in his voice sent a painful pang straight through your chest.

“No, it’s not that,” you choked out, unable to look him in the eye. The sound of voice was enough to make you cry, if you combined that with the look on his face, you were done for. “I just need to be in my own bed tonight. Please.”

Dean felt completely helpless. He hated to let you go, but he also respected your boundaries too much to keep pushing for you to stay when he knew you didn’t want to.

He reached into his pocket, his jaw clenching. “Okay. Okay, yeah. If that’s what you need. I’ve had a few beers, so I can’t drive you.” He sounded incredibly mad at himself for that, as if he could have known he needed to stay sober. “I’m ordering you an Uber.”

You didn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone, or pick up your bag from upstairs, as you weaved your way outside. Dean followed you, keeping a protective hand on the small of your back the entire way.

He waited on the porch with you in the chilly air. There were a few couples out here, cuddling together and giggling as they whispered into each other’s ears. Dean so desperately felt the urge to pull you in and not let go.

After a few long minutes of standing in the heavy silence, the car finally pulled up. He opened the door for you. When you slipped inside, you expected him to shut it immediately, but he didn’t. He kept a tight hold on the handle, leaning down as he pleaded, “text me the second you get in. Please.”

Blue eyes trembled as they watched for your response. Dean looked devastated as he chewed his bottom lip. Unable to bear it, you put on another fake smile and nodded. Anything to get him to go. He closed the door gently, but, to you, it felt like that was the door closing on your entire relationship.

As the Uber pulled away, the tears finally fell. You looked back to see Dean still standing there, watching your car until it disappeared around the corner.

He didn’t wait for you to get home to start texting you.

Dean (22:10): I don’t know what I did, but I’m so sorry. Please let me fix it. Dean (22:10): I love you. So much. Dean (22:11): Just tell me what you need from me.

By the time you unlocked your front door twenty minutes later, your chat history with him looked like a wall of messages.

You stared at your phone screen, the words blurring together through another wave of tears. You wanted to reply. You were going to reply. But how could you? What could you say that would make any sense? That would justify this?

You crawled into bed and immediately pressed your face into the pillow to muffle the sounds of your sobs. Your body convulsed as you cried harder, the weight of everything hitting you at once.

You cried until exhaustion finally took over your body. You cried yourself to sleep without even realising it.  

The next morning, you woke up with a splitting headache and dry throat. Memories of last night came flooding back to you. You were supposed to respond to Dean’s messages, at least to let him know you’d gotten back safely. Instead, he would have seen that you left him on read.

You hurriedly reached for your phone, your heart dropping into your stomach as you saw he had continued to send messages throughout the night.

Dean (02:14): Still haven’t heard from you. Getting worried. Please just let me know you’re safe.

Dean (03:45): I know you asked for space but I cannot sleep until I know you’re okay.

Dean (06:11): I’m coming over.

The last message was sent barely half an hour ago. You jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to brush your teeth and try to make yourself look presentable. Your eyes were bloodshot from the tears; you hadn’t even washed the make-up from your face last night.

A heavy, frantic, pounding echoed from your front door. Your mind raced again, given the timing of his texts, you doubted if he had even slept. He should not have been behind the wheel. And how fast did he have to drive to get to you in this time?

You hurriedly wrapped your dressing gown around yourself and padded down the hallway. When you opened the door, the sight of Dean stopped the breath in your lungs.

He looked completely wrecked. He had changed from since the party; but his clothes were already wrinkled. His usually stupidly perfect hair was sticking up in all directions, as if he’d spent all night running his fingers through it. There were dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes. He really hadn’t slept.

A shuddering breath escaped his lips as he saw you. “Thank God.”

Before you could say a word, he stepped across the threshold, closed the door, and pulled you into his arms. He held you so tightly against his chest that you could feel the frantic thumping of his heart. He was trembling.

“You terrified me,” he muttered, his grip tightening. “You told me you needed space from me, didn’t text or answer my calls. I thought you got into an accident, I thought someone hurt you. But then I saw you were reading my messages and… I thought… I thought you were leaving me.”

The rational part of your brain roared back to life, screaming at you to see how much he loved you. He wasn’t thinking about Allie or anyone else. He was falling apart because he thought he had lost you.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your own voice cracking as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’m soso sorry, I’m okay.”

He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks. His thumbs gentle wiped away a stray tear that you hadn’t even noticed had fallen.

“Are you leaving me?” he asked, voice fragile.

“No,” you sighed, leaning into his touch. “Not if you don’t want to leave me.”

“Of course I don’t, babe. But can you please just talk to me?” he pleaded, his blue eyes searching yours with pure desperation. “Please, I’m losing my mind here.”

He would never admit it to anyone else, but he was a deeply emotional man. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders while acting like nothing fazed him. But, in front of you, that act was dropped.

You looked down, unable to hold the weight of the guilt you felt. Swallowing hard, the truth came tumbling out of you, tasting bitter and heavy on your tongue.

“I… I saw you talking to Allie and my brain just… it just went haywire. It’s great that you have a healthy relationship with your ex, it just speaks to the kind of man you are but…I… I just...” Your fingers bunched into the fabric of his top as your words trailed off.

He stayed silent, patiently giving you the time you needed to collect your thoughts.  

“She’s amazing and she looks better than I do… physically.” Your voice lowered, it was so embarrassing admitting this out loud to him. No matter how much you trusted him with your feelings. “I just worry that you’re going to wake up one day and realise what you lost.”

Dean let out a sharp, pained, breath, his jaw tightening. Before he could interrupt, you pressed a hand to his chest. “Let me finish, please.”

He gave you a tight, silent nod, urging you continue.

“I know it’s stupid, I know it isn’t a problem that you created, Dean. It’s an insecurity inside of me. I just… yeah, I guess I just have more of a mountain to climb than I thought. I don’t want to leave you, but I’d understand if you wanted to leave me so you don’t have to deal with all of this.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment. When you looked up at him, he didn’t look angry at your explanation or relieved that you had given him an out from this relationship.

“Okay,” he said finally. His voice was steady. “Let me be clear. There is no comparison between you and Allie. She’s my past, which I cherish, but you are my present, and my future. Understand?”

You nod your head, you needed to hear that.

“I have no reason to leave you. No desire to leave you,” he continued. “I’ll admit, I’m not a big fan of the radio silence last night, but I love you. I love us. Part of that love means that we go through some tougher times together, and you are completely insane if you think that I’m leaving you to climb any part of a mountain alone.”

You didn’t know what to say, a thick knot of emotion blocking your throat. Instead of trying to speak, you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down to you. Dean didn’t hesitate; he met you halfway as you pressed your lips to his in a kiss. The softness of the kiss showed all the words you wanted to say.

“Thank you,” you mumbled against his mouth before kissing him again.

“I mean it, we’ll work through anything together,” he vowed, his hands sliding down over your curves to rest securely on your hips. “What do you need from me? How can I be better at supporting you?”

You let out the breath that you felt like you’d been holding since last night, the tension finally melting out of your muscles. “Just… please be patient with me while I fight my way back to reality, I guess.”

Dean nodded instantly, his expression serious. “Done.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Never. Now,” he murmured, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he looked at you. “Seeing as neither of us slept well last night, I highly suggest we go catch up on some lost sleep.”

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he dropped his voice to a suggestive whisper. “And once we’re rested, I am going to show you, very slowly, exactly how obsessed I am with you and your beautiful body. Does that sound good?”

You nodded, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

“Good,” he said. Without another word, he hooked his arms under your thighs, picking you up effortlessly and carrying you down the hall into your bedroom.

[libbyqypu]

needed this

[jaylaxies]

THE ART OF SEDUCTION

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, fluff, attempt at humour, porn with plot, down bad jake, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lots of kissing, cunnilingus, dry humping, fingering, spit kink, edging, marking, multiple orgasms, crying. mentions of nicknames, jungwon needs to be saved, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 26.7k words!

SYNOPSIS: There are a few things to note about Jake, starting with how he’s a shameless flirt, two—no rejection is harsh enough to stop him from trying (his friends call it his foolishness, but he’s been plenty successful, courtesy of his face), and three, once he falls, he falls completely.

A/N: hihi loves <3 not sure what this is but i js wanted to post sumn on my birthday, also cause i love jake <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <3

Travel companies are a hoax. 

Relatively speaking, when someone books a holiday with their friends, they don’t do it to be ushered into a group of random people because they purchased the same package. 

“It wasn’t even mentioned on the website,” Jungwon’s voice chimes in, and rightfully so. 

Maybe the problem could have been bigger had you been stuck around some judgmental families or a group of old men maybe, but your merciful fate said otherwise as you observed the flock moving and chatting in whispers amongst each other. 

Well, it certainly is a group to look at—you with Jungwon and Karina, had claimed a shaded corner near the welcome drinks table. Across from you, a trio of guys who looked like they stepped out of a cologne advert and were laughing loudly. Then there was the loudest bunch—four people who seemed physically incapable of lowering their volume, currently arguing over who got the bigger room when they were all the same size.

Perfect, just what you needed. But hey, at least they were easy on your eyes, because you did come here to feast your eyes a little (a lot). 

Your tour guide was a jolly man called Chris, he kept on bouncing on his feet as if he was the one on the trip actually, “so nice to have you here! Lovely to see a group full of enthusiasm!” He said, making grand gestures. 

Jungwon pursed his lips to prevent a laugh from escaping, which turned into a yelp when you all got shoved into the lobby where more champagne is being served. The next hour is supposed to be like a mixer—get to know each other activity of some sort without any plan. 

Chris basically yeets everyone toward a long table loaded with champagne flutes and suspiciously bright (?) tropical snacks. “Share fun facts, become besties!” He cheers before vanishing. 

The three groups eye each other like rival gangs at a peace treaty signing that no one actually wants, it was clear that no one knew about this setting but oh well, you suppose it could be peaceful and civil if everyone tries. It did start that way with everyone introducing themselves, before it turns into an icebreaker attack by this guy named Hyuck, his friend Beomgyu vlogging everything for no apparent reason. 

So much for things being peaceful, though you are humoured enough when their friend Ningning smacks them on the back of their heads. Yeah, you will be befriending her soon. 

On the other hand, three guys were still trying to make sense of things, because obviously, no one expected to get dressed for the pool only to get roped into a low budget gathering. Jake wasn’t complaining though, none of them were actually, they looked rather jolly coming across beautiful females, especially Jake who keept glancing your way with a smirk. 

Sunghoon on the other hand was actually attentive as Jay explained the basics of how he can connect his phone to the hotel Wi-Fi. Karina nudged you to look at his biceps, which kept on flexing with each movement of his and you both exchanged a knowing smile—that man was your designated eye candy for the trip now. 

“You’re drooling,” Jay deadpans, which is much directed towards Jake, “can’t you behave for once?” 

“Can’t blame him,” Hoon adds, much to Jay’s dismay who’s trying his hardest to not make his friends appear ill mannered on the very first day.  

“What did I tell you guys about treating women with respect—”

Jake shoved his hand on Jay’s mouth, having heard the same lecture thrice in the airplane where he tried to garner the attention of a flight attendant, to no avail. But there’s a few things to note about Jake, starting with how he’s a shameless flirt, and two, no rejection is harsh enough to stop him from trying. His friends call it his foolishness, but he’s been plenty successful, courtesy of his face. 

You catch all of this from the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll on your phone. The dude is clearly on a mission. And unfortunately for him (and hilariously for you), that mission now has a target, you.

Chris eventually rounds everyone up like lost ducklings and marches the whole chaotic group number 3 towards the pool area. Now, this is exactly what you’d paid for, the sun is blazing, the kind of perfect summer heat that makes the water sparkle like it’s showing off. You ditch your cover-up, settle into a lounger with Karina on one side and Jungwon on the other, and finally let yourself relax. God knows you three need it, especially after the brutal week you all had at work. 

Jungwon shared his strawberry with chocolates, and you graciously took some, meanwhile the other guys didn’t waste much time in showing off their bodies. Jay pulled his shirt off first, revealing a surprisingly toned chest as he stretched his arms overhead with a sigh. Sunghoon followed quietly, peeling his shirt off in one smooth motion and tossing it onto a chair like it was nothing. Jesus, the man was carved. No wonder Karina had nudged you earlier, a low whistle leaving your mouth as Karina too took off her sunglasses and ogled. 

Jake, of course, made a whole production out of it. He grabbed the back of his shirt with one hand and tugged it off slowly, like he was in a damn commercial, shaking his hair out after. He caught you looking (again) and shot you a quick, cocky little smirk, flexing his arms not-so-subtly as he stretched.

You just raised an eyebrow and looked away, biting back a smile. So he’s the delusional kind, interesting. 

The deck was loud and alive, probably scaring off some families who too were planning on having a peaceful vacation. Hyuck and Gyu had already started their swimming competition, the one who manages most laps wins apparently, splashing around like idiots while yelling trash talk at each other.

You were still chewing your strawberry when two girls from their group wandered over—Ningning and Yunjin, both looking a little fed up with the noise.

“Hey,” Ningning offered a warm smile, plopping down on the lounger right next to Karina like she’d known you forever, “mind if we crash here? The boys are being a lot and we need a chill zone before I lose it.”

Yunjin sat beside Jungwon, flashing you a bright, friendly grin as she kicked her legs out, “I’m Yunjin. You guys look way more relaxed over here. Plus your snacks look better than whatever the guys are hoarding.” She leaned in a little, voice soft and sweet, “your swimsuit is adorable, by the way.”

Ningning nodded, bumping your arm lightly in that casual, already-friends way. “Yeah, and you three seem normal. We’ve been stuck with Hyuck and Gyu since the airport and I need actual conversation before my brain melts.”

You laughed, already liking them both, “Y/N. And please stay—we were literally just saying the same thing. Welcome to the so called safe zone.”

The four of you clicked fast. Karina started swapping little complaints about the surprise group thing, Jungwon shyly passed around more chocolate strawberries, and the conversation flowed easy. Ningning had this dry, funny vibe that had you all giggling within minutes, while Yunjin was genuinely sweet, asking about your jobs and what you were hoping to get out of the trip. 

You were mid-laugh at Ningning’s impression of Gyu hyping up the swimming race when Jake decided it was his moment.

He came strutting past your lounger, shoulders back, towel slung cockily over one shoulder, abs out and glistening a little under the sun. He was clearly feeling himself after that dramatic shirt removal, oh and worse, he caught you looking his way.

His whole face lit up with pure, delusional triumph. He stopped right in front of you, not even paying attention to where your eyes were, and did the most ridiculous thing you’d ever seen—slowly wrapping the towel around his waist like a shy maiden protecting her virtue, while still flexing his abs at the same time.

“What’s up, princess?” He called out with a smirk, “can’t keep your eyes off me, huh? C’mon, I don’t mind, you can stare.”

Wow, you’d seen your fair share of men who reeked of confidence, but this was new. Maybe you didn’t appreciate his insinuation of you staring his way, or simply his cockiness, so you rolled your eyes. 

You slowly pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, tilted your head, and gave him the most bored, deadpan stare you could muster. 

“Sorry?” You said flatly, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, moving your hand in a gesture that basically screams move aside. 

Then you proceeded to point your finger right past his shoulder, and it was rather adorable how Jake seemed like a confused little burrito with the towel still wrapped around him as he managed to turn around, his face showing clear implications that he’d be betrayed—betrayed by none other than one of his best friends. 

The sight was nice he supposes, Sunghoon in all his glory, casually knocking out pull-ups on the poolside rig like it was the most normal Tuesday activity, back muscles doing their thing without him even trying. The man looked like a sculpture that had decided to work out, a Greek god if you must. 

Jake’s expression went from cocky to completely short-circuited in half a second. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish that just realized it was on dry land. The towel slipped a little lower on his hips but he didn’t even notice. His cheeks flushed this cute, embarrassed pink that spread all the way to his ears.

Jay, who watched the scene unfold, could only muster a slow shake of his head with this long, exhausted sigh. God, he was cute when he did that—the whole gentleman looking guy with a sharp jawline thing really worked for him. You caught yourself staring a beat too long before snapping your eyes back to the main disaster.

“Oh my god, you absolute menace,” Karina wheezed, already tearing up from laughing.

Jungwon tried to hide behind the bowl of chocolate strawberries but his shoulders were shaking so hard he almost dropped the whole thing. Ningning and Yunjin slow-clapped, leaning over to bump your shoulder with a grin. 

Jake still hadn’t recovered. Then, in classic Jake fashion, he tried to save face the only way he knew how—with maximum drama and zero brain cells. He spun around dramatically and launched himself backward into the pool like he was auditioning for the Olympics. But, it was not Olympic worthy, much to his dismay. Jake showcased what youd possibly call the most tragic belly-flop you’d ever witnessed in your entire life. Arms windmilling, legs kicking everywhere, the splash so big it drenched you, Karina, Yunjin, and half the loungers like someone had set off a mini tsunami.

When he finally popped up, gasping and coughing, hair plastered to his forehead in wet, messy clumps like a sad golden retriever who’d been denied walkies, the girls around you completely lost their minds. Karina was cackling so hard she had to hold her stomach. Ningning was slapping her thigh. Yunjin leaned into Jungwon’s shoulder trying to breathe through her giggles.

Jay had decided to abandon this big dog and stay by Hoon, telling him exactly what went down on the other side of the pool, and well, Hoon could care less about Jake acting like a loser when he learns that you’d be staring his way. 

Regardless, Jake paddled straight over to the edge of the pool right in front of your lounger, folded his arms on the warm tiles, and looked up at you with those big, wounded puppy eyes. Water dripped down his face, but there was this reluctant, sheepish little grin starting to fight its way through all the humiliation.

He groaned, but like we’ve established, he didn’t give up, “I’m Jake, by the way, and I think you just murdered my ego in front of my friends, that’s not too fair, is it?”

You smirked down at him, wiping a few stray droplets off your thigh with the back of your hand. Maybe there were a few good things about Jake too, like his accent, and how he looked so—dramatically endearing in all his loser glory. 

“Y/N,” you introduce, tilting your head and taking another sip of your piña colada just to be extra, “honestly, you did that to yourself, and let’s—maybe not assume that every girl looking in your general direction is dying to see your abs. But hey, points for the splash.”

Jake bit his lower lip, eyes narrowing in that playful, competitive way even while he was still dripping wet and thoroughly humbled. He tilted his head right back at you, tongue playing with the piercing he had on the right side of his bottom lip. 

“Oh, this isn’t over,” he promises, and you wonder how he even got this confidence back within seconds, “not even close. You’re gonna be staring at me for real by the end of this trip, I swear, consider yourself seduced.” 

You raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm a little under your gaze, but he took that time to appreciate the beauty of your eyes—which led him to staring at you, shamelessly. Even Hyuck and Gyu had stopped to see this man make a fool out of himself. 

“We’ll see about that, Jake.”

He grinned then, and there you gave him another ten points for having a pretty smile, okay maybe he wasn’t bad to look at. He kept the smile, pushing off the edge and swimming backward a bit, still looking at you like you’d just become the highlight of his entire vacation.

You leaned back, the girls still giggling and teasing around you, sun warm on your skin, and tried (and completely failed) to wipe the stupid smile off your face.

Jay shook his head again from a few feet away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “absolute idiot” while shooting you a quick, amused little glance that made your stomach do another tiny flip. Good lord, being surrounded with such fine men was definitely not for the faint hearted. This trip was already a mess.

But damn if it wasn’t the funniest one you’d ever been on.

Turns out, a nap was exactly what you needed to get rid of jet lag, and it worked wonders, leading to the group being more energetic than before and deciding to have dinner together at this Italian restaurant they managed to find in the vicinity. 

It was a beautiful open terrace spot filled with the scent of garlic bread and wood-fired pizza. Amongst all this, the chatter felt normal like you were all good friends already, but you opted to sit next to Karina regardless, and you were about to sit down when Jake appeared out of nowhere, aiming straight for the empty chair on your right like a man with a mission. He was already sliding in with that cocky little smirk when you planted a hand on his chest and gave him a firm push back.

Quite frankly, it is rude, but it’s also funny to see Jake’s face when he’s presented with rejection of any sort. Jungwon seems to have been on the same wavelength as you, sitting down on your left—the place which Jake wanted. 

“Why’s he always around you?” Jake raises a brow, and Jungwon seems to lean closer to you, head touching your shoulder. 

“Take a wild guess?” Jungwon not so helpfully asked, making it very hard for you to control another chuckle which was threatening to escape. 

It was comical, really. Jake was also very gullible and not good at catching lies, resulting in his eyes going wide, “wait—he’s your boyfriend?” He shrieked, and took a step back. 

Jungwon nodded, ever the problem maker, and wrapped his arm around you with an adorable pout. Everyone else had stopped to observe Jake’s reaction, and also caught on to the simple fact that Jungwon was acting with you, but another thing about Jake—he can be oblivious towards the very obvious things. Gullible, yeah. 

“Okay, uh—” Jake doesn’t really get to complete his sentence because Sunghoon pulls him back and into a chair, sandwiched between Jay and him, sitting right across from you with a defeated sigh. 

Even Hyuck and Beomgyu point out how Jake appears to be a sulky puppy, golden retriever to be more precise, and he only throws two balled up tissues their way, which somehow ends up hitting the target. Then, he goes back to playing with the food on his plate while watching you chat with Yunjin and eating your share of pasta. 

“Are you getting the tingles again?” Jay muttered as he stared at Jake. 

“I am not spiderman,” he sighs, though he was getting a tingle indicating that something is not right. 

“You certainly do have reflexes for it,” Sunghoon adds before turning to wink at the pretty waitress who slid her number his way. Classic Sunghoon. 

Jake did end up trusting his reflex, though his ways were concerning. He saw the opportunity when you were indulging in a deep conversation with the girls about the new Met Gala outfits, leaving Jungwon behind with Jay, who’d somehow managed to befriend the younger man. 

One second Jay was walking ahead and explaining the origin of Pizza, and the other second he looked back to see that Jungwon had disappeared. Jake was responsible for it, of course, he’d dragged the poor boy into the alleyway despite his protests. Hyuck popped in his head the very moment Jake decided to open his mouth. 

“You swing both ways?” Hyuck asked with a smirk, “if yes then join me and Gyu tonight—”

Jake’s face was red as he pushed Hyuck out and returned his focus back on Jungwon, who was hissing like a cat (?), but yeah Jake had more important matters to discuss. 

“Are you actually dating her?” He managed to ask with a croak. 

Jungwon gave him an unimpressed look, “that’s what you dragged me for? Don’t tell me you fell in love with her at the first fucking sight?”

“Hey! I’m just curious. What’s wrong with love at first sight anyway?” Jake scoffed. 

Jungwon only rolled his eyes and proceeded to walk out, only to yelp as Jake put him in a light headlock. The conversation after that was interesting to say the least, leaving Jungwon pissed as he made his way towards your room, which was right across his room. 

You opened the door, and Jungwon wordlessly extended a piece of paper your way, “huh?” You took it from his hand. 

“God, I swear you always attract crazies,” Jungwon complained, “do you have a thing for eccentricities?” 

Well, you couldn’t deny that. The piece of paper had a number scribbled on it, and an equally messy writing that said, you’re single so we can mingle ;). 

Zero points for pickup lines truly. You had to apologize to Jungwon and hand him your favourite gummies for the torture he went through in that alleyway, and he was happy saying oh jelly! Despite it all, you felt your face heating up, Jake was truly a dork, and now you had to entertain his advances throughout the trip. 

It was adorable too. So, yeah maybe you should get your taste in men checked. 

Once Jungwon had retreated to his room for the night, you washed up and changed into your pajamas, mind still fixated upon that pout Jake held as he stared at you throughout the dinner without even blinking. You stood outside in the balcony, staring at the night sky which was blanketed with stars—something you couldn’t find in the city on a usual basis. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” 

You almost flinched, because of course it’s Jake’s room right next to you, with his balcony practically attached to yours. He looked beautiful in the moonlight, you could give him that much, yes. Hair a little tousled, a pathetic smile on his face that he deemed to be flirty. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” He asked, leaning on the railing with his hand cupping his face, “or did you just miss me already?”

You let out a quiet scoff, turning back to the stars like they were far more interesting than the walking golden retriever next to you, “bold of you to assume I was thinking about you at all.”

“Liar,” he grinned watching the twitch of your lips, “you were smiling at dinner every time I looked over. I counted. Seven times.”

“I was smiling because Jungwon kept kicking me under the table trying not to laugh at you.” You shrugged, trying your best not to look his way. 

He clutched his chest dramatically, like you’d shot him, “ouch, right in the ego. Even after I gave you my number? C’mon I was waiting for a call, or a text.”

You finally turned his way, leaning closer so his breath hitched, eyes dropping to your lips because he couldn’t control himself—you looked so beautiful like this, especially in your comfy pajamas. 

“It’s been like half an hour, chill,” you chuckled. 

“A lot can be done in thirty minutes, y’know? Like kissing and falling in love and making babies.”

You raised your brow, “okay, let’s say I did text you, and it would take you two minutes to come to my room, then it’d take seven minutes for you to even initiate a kiss, twelve minutes to fall in love and another six minutes to talk about it. So, you’re saying you last three minutes in bed?” 

Jake’s eyes widened comically, “what—no! I have good stamina, I can last all night and have you—”

He rambled, and you simply stared at the grand hand gestures that accompanied him in the midst of him trying to tell you how he can fuck you so good you’d lose your voice. You nodded alongside with an amused expression to humour him, but he kept on going explaining his tongue skills and how foreplay is important in a relationship, what?

“Oh god,” you mumbled, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling him closer, which did cause him to stumble and press harder against the railing, but did he care? Certainly not when your lips brushed his enough to move his lip ring, “aren’t you getting way ahead of yourself?”

He breathed out a chuckle, wrapping his warm fingers around yours over his t-shirt, “just getting started. Call it future planning, and trust me, I can do way better than three minutes. Let me prove it?” 

You probably would let him, but not so easily, opting to tease him more with your hand sliding up, letting your thumb press against his plush lip where the piercing rested. No one had done that to Jake before, and you could physically feel the shiver that went through him at the touch. 

His breath caught sharp in his throat, a quiet, surprised “shit—” escaping before he could stop it. The cocky grin faltered, eyes widening as his grip on your hand tightened. His chest rose and fell faster, cheeks flushing deeper under the moonlight. It was cute how he looked stunned, a little dazed. 

You tilted your head, still pressing the piercing just enough to make the ring shift against his lip, “cat got your tongue now, Jakey?”

He let out a shaky breath, eyes half-lidded as he stared at you, “fuck—you’re actually evil,” he muttered, voice suddenly rough and way more breathless than before, “do that again and I’m not waiting for breakfast. I’ll climb this railing right now.”

You only leaned in to press a soft kiss right on top of his lips, however it wasn’t really a kiss when your thumb prevented the touch to happen entirely. Jake was fucked, god he truly was fucked. It was evident that you were not the shy kind, however he also did not expect such display of boldness. He also swore he fell in love a little and it didn’t take him twelve minutes by any means. 

On the other hand, your control was hanging by a thread and you couldn’t really blame yourself when the man in front of you had such nice, kissable lips. It is hard to even find men with such features so it really can’t be helped. Control, however, is the key. 

“Relax, Sim,” you whispered, almost reminding yourself to calm down as well, “you’re not climbing anything tonight.”

He let out a soft laugh, resorting to placing a peck on the pad of your thumb and holding your hand there, eyes fixated on you, taking in how you bit your bottom lip, “can’t blame a man for trying. Contrary to popular belief, I truly am trying to control myself.”

“Good, keep it up,” you murmured, managing to pull back with your fingers tracing his jaw in the process. Damn, he really is good looking now that you’re actually focusing on him. 

His eyes followed the movement, “you’re making it difficult, y’know?” He called out your name again before you could pull back entirely, “i’ll behave, okay? Just have breakfast sitting next to me tomorrow, please?”

He watched your face scrunching into a thinking one, “hm, are you gonna pay for the ice cream later then?”

“Deal,” he spoke in a heartbeat, a full blown smile gracing his face, “so worth it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how quick he was to agree, “fine, don’t make me regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, hope you get dreams of me though,” he said, “cause I know i’ll see you in mine.”

You shook your head as his laugh followed you inside right as you shut the door, leaving him outside. 

The breakfast was going to be interesting. 

When Jake asked for you to sit next to him, he did not expect Sunghoon to be sitting on your other side. 

Of course everyone had gathered for the breakfast together, it was included in the trip package, so skipping it was baseless. Okay, maybe him sitting there wouldn’t have been as bad had Sunghoon just managed to shut up and not divert your attention. But no, he was cracking jokes (which weren’t funny) and you were laughing. Might as well have laughed at Jake’s misery. To add on to it, Jungwon and Karina were glaring his way from across the table. A possible reason would have been him cornering Jungwon last night and tickling him till he confessed that you, in fact, are single. 

Either way, he had to get your attention back somehow, and Jake did promise to behave but promises are meant to be broken, right? 

Breakfast was basically over, plates were being cleared, chairs scraping, everyone already stretching and chatting about the private boat tour that started in twenty minutes. Perfect timing, Jake decided. While the group was half-standing and distracted, his hand snuck under the table and landed high on your bare thigh, fingers giving a confident little squeeze, and you almost choked on your last sip of cranberry juice. 

Jake didn’t even glance at you, pretending to be deeply invested in whatever Jay was saying about the snorkeling schedule and how he hoped the boat would be a good budget one. But that smug, tiny smirk tugging at his lips? Dead fucking giveaway.

Sunghoon, still mid-sentence on your other side, paused, “you good?”

“Yep,” you bit the inside of your cheek, “just realized that breakfast is done and some people have zero sense of timing.”

Jake didn’t mind the jibe as his thumb started tracing lazy circles, “what? Can’t I say good morning properly now?” He leaned closer so only you could hear, “took me a while to get your attention.”

“Yeah, long enough for everyone to stand up,” you pointed out towards Beomgyu who was recording everything (again) and wait—was he zooming in on Jake’s hand?

He was whispering for sure and you caught some words including, “—day two, Jake has finally initiated physicality under the table like a horny teenager—” It was then when Ningning smacked the back of his head and grabbed his phone to delete the recording. 

Jake, the absolute menace, didn’t even flinch. He just gave your thigh one last affectionate squeeze before finally pulling his hand away, all innocent smiles, “what? I’m being romantic. Breakfast is over, technically. No rules broken.”

You shoved his shoulder, glancing at how veiny his hands were, clenching around nothing. Great, now your body had started reacting to him, “you’re so dead later.”

“Promise?” He whispered, eyes sparkling.

“Oh god,” you mumbled, getting up and linking arms with your best friends as you made your way towards your room to change and grab a bag full of essentials for the day. Maybe there was something in that juicy concoction because your skin was still tingling where Jake had touched (groped actually) you. 

In midst of your thoughts being full of Jake, you managed to change into a swimsuit and cover-up, and stuffed your bag with sunscreen, towels, a waterproof phone pouch, and snacks. The concept of time felt weird because one second you were in your room, and the next second Hyuck and Jungwon were dragging you, and you were on a boat. Oh wow, they really did have a great budget given how decent the price was for the trip package. 

The private yacht was honestly prettier than the pictures—sleek white hull, wide shaded deck with plush loungers, a small bar already stocked with fresh fruit platters and chilled drinks, and water so turquoise it looked edited, almost. As much as you were skeptical about the group merging, you sure were enjoying watching Karina barking sunscreen orders like a drill sergeant, Ningning and Yunjin claiming the best tanning spots upfront, Beomgyu already setting up his vlog rig, and Hyuck hyping everyone up with a speaker blasting summer hits (he was playing Justin Bieber). 

And then Jake came into view as if he’d been waiting to spot you (he was), offering his hand with a deeply exaggerated bow, “milady, allow me to assist you to the bar. Your safety is my utmost concern.”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or comment upon his theatrics, so you simply took his hand as he walked you for like, ten seconds. He didn’t let go just yet, eyes shamelessly taking your outfit in and only a lewd whistle was left for the scene to be considered as a harassment case. 

“Eyes up here,” you said with a raised brow, truly basking in his attention because, come on, who wouldn’t want this especially on a trip?  

“Can’t help it,” he said, voice dropping into that flirty rasp as he finally released your hand, though his gaze stayed glued to you a second longer.

With a shake of your head, you sat down on the bar stool which was attached firmly to the floor, Jake followed like a magnet as Jungwon looked at him, not impressed still, before going back to sharing his chipotle with Jay. He was about to claim the seat next to yours to finally talk to you without much disturbance. 

Before he could, you patted the stool on your other side and called out sweetly, “Hoon! Come sit with me?”

Sunghoon, who had been quietly leaning against the railing a few feet away applying sunscreen to his ridiculously toned arms, looked up. A slow, amused smirk spread across his face the second he realized what you were doing. Now, Jake was his friend but he wasn’t gonna miss an opportunity to tease him, and so he sauntered over and dropped into the seat you’d offered, long legs stretching out comfortably. 

“You can’t be serious,” Jake almost whined, mouth hanging open. 

You only stifled your laugh, “what are you planning on drinking?”

He leaned an elbow on the bar, gaze flicking over you appreciatively, “was thinking of some vodka shots, wanna take them with me?”

“Im literally standing right here,” Jake announced his presence, voice pitching higher with disbelief. Jake was shirtless too, he had abs too, and pretty good arms he’d say, which had been appreciated plenty by other girls for being veiny, so why weren’t you looking at him? 

Sunghoon didn’t glance his way, flagging the bartender, “three vodka shots please, One for each of us. Unless Jake’s too busy pouting to join.”

Jake made a strangled noise, he was very close to throwing Sunghoon off the boat. Imagine being cockblocked by your own best friend, deliberately at that. The shots were served in no time, and Jake just took the other seat next to you, planning on other ways to woo you. He had been rejected by people before, yes, but to this extent? Especially after that kiss (wasn’t a kiss) last night? 

Sunghoon smoothly slid one of the chilled shot glasses your way the second they arrived. His fingers brushed yours on purpose when he handed it over, oh he had nice hands too, “bottoms up, pretty.”

Jake was highly considering pushing Hoon into the water, even more so when he clinked his glass against yours, completely ignoring Jake, then threw his shot back with that annoyingly cool, effortless tilt of his head, groaning like an uncle for some reason. You followed suit, tasting the slight sourness of the liquid, which was pleasantly satisfying on your tongue and throat, “not bad.”

Before Jake could comment upon it, Karina came to your rescue, appearing out of nowhere with Ningning and Yunjin flanking her like bodyguards, “we are stealing her. She came on this vacation with me.”

Ningning didn’t even wait for permission—she grabbed your arm and started pulling you off the stool with surprising strength, “let’s go.”

Yunjin looped her other arm through yours, grinning wide, “sorry, boys. She’s ours for the next forty minutes. Go play with your little ducklings or something.”

You did look back for a second and the sight was genuinely funny with both guys on the floor, Jake had successfully pulled Hoon down into what appeared to be a very weak fist fight, all giggles and laughter. Silly silly boys. Jake looked cute, okay? 

The girls didn’t even give you a chance to enjoy the show. Karina yanked you forward harder, laughing. “Nope, eyes front, babe. No more watching those idiots roll around like toddlers.”

“It’s actually funny though, we’ve been watching you guys and it feels like everyone has this unspoken agreement to make this trip insufferable for Jake, but he should not be around you this much,” Yunjin added with a chuckle. 

You couldn’t lie, you could already feel a soft spot building in you for the man, “it’s so easy to mess with him.”

It was easy to sit down with them and just chat about their lives. You did learn that Ningning and Yunjin worked in the fashion industry, and how their company paid for this trip, and their flatmates—Hyuck and Beomgyu, simply tagged along. 

“So, do you like him?” Jungwon asked, Jay lurking behind him like a worried dad. 

“It’s not even been two days, c’mon,” you mumbled, eating another grape and wow, it was sweet, “he’s entertaining for sure, and kinda cute when he’s not hovering around like a menace.”

Jay let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms, oh his biceps, “that’s one way to put it. I’ve known Jake since we were kids and I’ve never seen him this worked up over someone. It’s actually kind of funny to watch.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, still rubbing sunscreen on her arm, “funny or concerning?”

“Both actually,” Ningning chimed, “from what i’ve seen, Y/N seems to enjoy him making a fool out of himself.”

Jay shook his head with a chuckle, sitting next to you, “yeah, just go easy on him though. He’s harmless, really.”

Jake had decided it was the right time to make an appearance, “I can hear every single word by the way.”

“So you did hear the part where we said you shouldn’t be around her?” Yunjin grinned. 

Jake only looked at you, “nah, I only focused on the praises, and I’m very glad to learn that someone finds me cute.”

“You’re impossible,” you added but there was no bite to it. 

“Impossible to resist,” he says, and everyone groans in unison, but Jake doesn’t mind when he gets to see you smile, or laugh, or just see you in general really. 

Either way, you all managed to converse in a civil manner, talking about the new Toy story movie coming up and how Jake resembled Woody. Also, Jay was really fun to talk to, he seemed to have knowledge about everything, almost like a walking encyclopaedia, dropping random facts about the reef they were about to snorkel and the history of the islands. The conversation flowed easy, the sun warm on your skin, the boat rocking gently underneath you.

Time passed quickly like that, and you saw the cove coming into view, and Chan came into view, how did he even get on here? He greeted everyone with the same enthusiasm, grabbing masks and fins to go snorkeling. Everyone was quick to discard their cover ups, and jump into the water which was slightly cold, and you jumped in with the girls, who were quick to explore the surroundings. 

It was as if you were floating on liquid glass, taking a deep breath before ducking your head under the water, which led you to a different world altogether. Soft corals in every shade of purple, pink, and orange swayed gently with the current. Schools of tiny neon fish darted past in perfect formation, flashing silver and yellow. Bigger ones—parrotfish, angelfish, ones you didn’t even have names for, cruised around beautifully. You felt calm, water was always a calming presence for you. Between your usual work and getting no time for yourself, you’d almost forgotten how it feels to just breathe. 

Ironically, you felt like you could breathe under water, savouring every breath, every moment of it. And to no one’s surprise, Jake wanted to savour his with you. He appeared by your side, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, especially when you caught him looking at you from behind the masked goggles, eyes crinkling at the corners. He gave a small nod, then pointed down and to the right with one hand.

A little octopus was tucked into a crack in the coral, skin shifting colors as it tried to disappear. You tapped his arm to get his attention and pointed at a pair of electric-blue fish chasing each other around a brain coral. Jake’s grin was obvious even with the mouthpiece in—he nodded hard, then did this smooth little roll underwater, showing off without trying too hard. You couldn’t help watching him more than the fish for a second, because he seemed like a really good swimmer, almost like he lived in water. 

Soon enough, you kicked towards the surface to breathe again, yanking the mask off for a bit with Jake before you both joined the group yet again to explore further, and it was lovely, you didn’t wish to leave. 

However, your legs were starting to ache from all the kicking and your fingers were properly pruney by the time Chris started yelling from the boat that lunch was ready. You surfaced one last time, pulling your mask off and taking a deep breath of the warm air.

Jake came up right beside you, hair slicked back, water running down his face. He looked at you for a second, “best part of the trip so far,” he said quietly, and he was aware that there had been others around, but for him, it felt like he was exploring another world solely with you. 

You nodded, still a little breathless at the honesty in his tone, “yeah, same.”

“Ready to go back?” He asked with a crooked smile, as Hyuck swam past him woohooing. 

You nodded, “hm, kinda tired now.”

Jake laughed under his breath and fell in beside you as you both started kicking toward the boat. Karina and Ningning were floating a little ways off, arguing over who found the prettiest fish. Sunghoon was just chilling on his back like a human raft. The whole cove felt alive with noise and laughter.

And when Jake felt your eyes on him, he smirked, “I see now you’re looking my way—”

He should have kept his mouth shut, because it led to a very unfortunate situation where Jake got stung by a jellyfish. 

“Ow—fuck!” Jake yelped, yanking his mask off so fast it nearly flew into the water, “something just stung me! Shit, it burns!”

You turned toward him instantly, “wait, what?”

“It’s right here—on my leg!” He was already paddling harder toward the boat, half swimming, half flailing, even though he was a strong swimmer and could’ve easily made it on his own, but to Jake it almost felt like a shark had taken a bite out of him. 

Karina started cracking up so hard she swallowed water, “Jake, it’s a baby jellyfish! Chill the fuck out!”

Ningning and Yunjin were losing it too, “oh he’s got the worst luck ever.”

Jay, who had been floating a little further out, kicked over fast with this long-suffering sigh you were starting to recognize as his default Jake-mode, “alright, move over,” he said, grabbing Jake’s other arm while you kept hold of the first, “stop flailing like you’re in the Titanic, man. You’re making it worse.”

“I’m not flailing, I’m dying!” Jake whined, but he let the two of you tow him anyway, legs still kicking dramatically like he was trying to outrun the sting, “it feels like it’s spreading, oh god.”

“It’s not spreading,” Jay deadpanned, voice calm but clearly fighting a laugh, “you’ve had worse paper cuts. Y/N, you got him on that side?”

“Yeah, I got him,” you said, trying not to crack up as Jake leaned into you with a pout, jutting his bottom lip out. 

Between the three of you, you basically wrestled Jake up the ladder like a very dramatic, very wet sack of potatoes. He collapsed onto the warm deck the second his feet hit wood, sprawling out with a theatrical moan, water pooling everywhere.

“It’s the worst pain of my life,” he groaned, clutching his calf. “I can feel it going up my leg. Someone call my mom. And maybe kiss it better just in case—”

“Absolutely not happening,” Jay said, already grabbing the first-aid kit the crew had left out. He knelt down and dabbed some vinegar on the tiny mark with the patience of someone who’d done this a hundred times, “It’s barely even red, you’ll survive.”

You dropped down beside Jake, still dripping, and poked the speck gently, “it’s literally the size of a dot. You’re such a baby.”

“Still hurts,” he muttered, but his eyes went all soft when he looked up at you, shifting enough to rest on your lap

Chan shrieked from somewhere, “no, no, no—I can’t have a guest dying—”

“He’s literally okay—”

“—what do we do, someone needs to pee on it.”

Wait, what? Jake froze and everyone stopped to stare at the man who was pacing around thinking that Jake was dying (he was okay). The silence lasted for a second before everyone started laughing, and Jake leaned in further to hide his embarrassment. 

Beomgyu, who had been filming the whole time, lowered his phone just enough to grin at you. “Y/N should do it. She’s the one he’s been chasing all day. Makes sense, right?”

Jungwon, who had just climbed up the ladder, deadpanned without missing a beat, “why? So she can mark him up as hers?”

You burst out laughing so hard you had to cover your mouth. Jake’s head was still in your lap, and he let out a loud, dramatic groan, covering his face with both hands.

“I hate every single one of you,” he said, voice muffled, “it fucking hurts, okay? And you’re all just—suggesting piss therapy.”

Jay shook his head, capping the vinegar bottles, “we’re not peeing on anyone. It’s already looking better. You’ll be fine in ten minutes, you big idiot.”

Jake peeked through his fingers at you, eyes all big and pitiful even though the corner of his mouth was twitching, “you hear that? I’m wounded and they’re bullying me. You’re my only ally here.”

You brushed some wet hair off his forehead, realizing that you didn’t mind his dramatic ass as much. It was rather funny because Jake was indeed still a stranger, you didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he was loud, shameless, and somehow really fucking good at making you laugh even when he was being an absolute idiot.

“You’re the one who jinxed yourself by bragging two seconds earlier. Karma’s fast, huh?”

He let out a soft laugh, “can’t complain much when it led to this,” he smirked, clearly enjoying the warmth your thighs offered, and he squished his face further into it, content with the setting. 

Only for Jungwon to drag him away from you. 

Doesn’t it feel like you’re astral projecting when walking on the warm sand while the breeze flows through with a tinge of coldness? Because that’s exactly what you were feeling at the given moment. 

Jungwon was walking beside you, shrieking and hissing like a cat each time the cold water touched his feet. Everyone was spread out indulging in their own activities after the lunch—which had been peaceful for a change. You even learned that Hyuck is an amazing singer and Jay is an amazing guitarist as they did an impromptu performance, and Jake hummed alongside them. 

When Jungwon jumped again, you laughed and pulled him further away from the water, “it’s cold as fuck,” he whined, hopping sideways now. 

“You’re the one who wanted to check the water temperature,” you pointed out with a chuckle, still holding onto his arm so he wouldn’t bolt back toward the dry sand like a startled cat.

Jungwon dramatically flung himself against your side, “I changed my mind, i hate the ocean, i hate everything wet and cold. Why did I think this was a good idea?”

You shook your head, glancing back to notice how Jake was walking a little behind the boys, almost side by side with Karina, brows a little furrowed as if engaged in a deep conversation of some sort. He kept on nodding, serious for once, though his fluffy hair made it seem adorable regardless. You looked forward again before he could catch you staring his way. 

A few minutes passed like that as Jungwon made you click his pictures so he could post and boast about this vacation, and the beautiful sunset view, of course. Jungwon’s expression changed as if he already got the phantom feeling that he would be mistreated again, which wasn’t wrong actually because Yunjin and Ningning jumped out of nowhere and dragged him away despite his weak protests. 

“We need him for a second,” Karina giggled and grabbed his phone from your hand before rushing away. 

“What now—” 

To say you were confused would be an understatement, especially with the winks they sent your way. Oh, so this was related to Jake. The man had immaculate timing, because he fell in step with you right that second, turning you around so you’d stop looking at Jungwon. You were about to ask him what’s going on, but he was quick to hold up two ice cream cones with a smile. 

“I believe I owe you an ice cream,” he shrugged casually. 

It was your favourite flavour. And to your absolute delight, it was just what you’d been craving—something about having a cold treat in chilly weather, y’know?

“How’d you know?” You asked, genuinely surprised, reaching out to take it.

Jake’s fingers brushed yours as he passed it over, the cold from the cone mixing with the warmth of his skin for a second. It was such a small thing, but enough for you to notice how soft his fingers were. 

“Took a wild guess,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he knew he’d been caught.

You narrowed your eyes at him, and then realized. Well, the timing of Karina winking and the girls dragging Jungwon away was arguably the dead giveaway, “you asked Karina, didn’t you?”

Jake’s grin turned guilty, he didn’t even try to lie, “maybe.”

“You asked my best friend?”

“Had to make sure I got it right,” he said, bumping your shoulder lightly as you started walking again, a small smile stretching at the cute gesture. 

The sand was cooler now under your feet, the breeze carrying that nice evening chill against your sun-warmed skin. Another thing you learned about Jake, that he kept his promises despite this one being a small promise. Another ten points for that, and five points for the flavour, which seemed heavenly on your tongue, making Jake stare at you, mind definitely elsewhere. Don’t get him wrong, he was more than happy to be the recipient of your smile, but he was only a man, eyes dropping to your mouth, the way your tongue licked a streak off your lower lip. 

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

He only leaned, thumb brushing against the corner of your lip where the cream had smeared. Good lord, your breath hitched and a shiver pathetically traveled down your spine. You blamed it on the cold. 

“You had some right here,” he murmured, voice lower than before. His thumb lingered for half a second longer than necessary, the pad of it warm against your skin, before he slowly pulled it away.

You swallowed, “you could’ve just told me.”

“Could’ve,” he agreed, eyes finally lifting to meet yours, there was a lazy smirk on his face, “but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to touch you.”

You clicked your tongue, trying to play it cool even though your pulse had kicked up, “smooth, Sim.”

You took another deliberate lick of the ice cream, letting your tongue linger just a little longer than necessary, and watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Evil,” he muttered, almost to himself, “you’re actually evil.”

You smirked, licking your lips slowly, “you started it by staring like you wanted to eat me instead of the ice cream.”

Jake let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his messy hair, only if you knew, “can you blame me? You’ve been torturing me all day—first with the swimsuit, then saving my life from that jellyfish, now this—” he gestured vaguely at your mouth, “I’m only human, Y/N.”

“Keep talking like that and I’m throwing the rest of this cone at you.”

He grinned, but his eyes were still dark, still fixed on your mouth like he couldn’t help it. The two of you kept walking until the wooden railing along the path came into view. Without saying anything, you hopped up and sat on it, legs dangling toward the sand. Jake followed right after, dropping down beside you so close that his thigh pressed warm against yours. Others had retreated back to the resort, and somehow they thought it was a good idea to push the narrative of you and Jake actually being a thing by the end of the trip. 

Were you complaining? You aren’t too sure. To be fair, you didn’t wish to ponder about the future, so living in the moment was the only option, and it wasn’t all that bad, because though he was clumsy, his smile and advances (creative ones) made it better, another story to add to your journal.

So, eventually you decided to humour him and gather some random information, “favourite colour?”

Jake was caught off guard, tongue shoved deep in the cone as he stared up, “uh—blue?”

“Favorite late-night snack?”

“Ramyeon. Why are we—”

“Biggest turn-off in a person?”

Jake let out a surprised laugh, “you’re really doing this right now?”

You just raised an eyebrow, waiting, licking another stripe of ice cream while keeping eye contact.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking equal parts amused and flustered, “Uh—people who don’t like dogs. I don’t know, this feels like a trap.”

“So if i say i’m a cat person, you’ll stop chasing me around?” You challenged and you swore he looked like a puppy now. 

“Probably not,” he admitted, “i’d suffer in silence knowing you won’t like my pet.”

It was so apt for Jake to be a dog dad, and you were sure you’d like his pet. You only laughed at his pouty expression while Jake took in your beauty, enjoying his time with you way more than he expected. Of course, Jake was used to being around women, but then he never chased them like this, not because he had ego, god no, but because he never found himself wanting to get to know them, not like he wants to learn about you. 

You kept going, “favourite movie snack?”

“Popcorn with way too much butter,” he confessed, and before you could speak up again, he continued just so he could take the lead, “you ever let someone go down on you so slow it feels like they’re trying to memorize every inch?”

Oh my god. Out of everything that could’ve come out of his mouth, you did not expect that, granted the conversation was still light hearted and you weren’t sure how to deal with the duality of this man. He could only stare at your parted lips as if he wanted to find the answer himself. Jake knows he’s mostly clumsy and the kind people don’t take seriously, but he wasn’t lying when he said he’s good in bed, which also includes the dirty talk, so the point still stands. 

He leaned closer, “cause i’ve been thinking about it since the balcony last night. Wondering how you’d sound, how you’d taste, how long you’d let me stay there before your legs start shaking.”

Those filthy fucking words. You’d only read them in fanfics or books as such, wondering if you’d be the recipient of it someday, not knowing it’d be on a beach, during the sunset on your trip with a stranger who was more than open and willing to provide you with such pleasure. 

Jake only continued, knowing well of the effect he had on you now, “tell me, hm? Are you the type to grab my hair and pull me closer, or the type to try and stay quiet until you can’t anymore?”

How he kept on saying it so naturally was a mystery to you, but you did know that if you’d stay here for a second longer, you’d probably pounce on him, or worse, beg him to show you. Which is why you jumped up, surprising Jake who watched you. 

“Race you back to the resort!” You shouted, already bolting down the path, cheeks burning and laughter bubbling out of you from pure flustered panic.

Oh Jake was delighted, a big smile gracing his face as he got the exact reaction he wanted out of you, “fuck—get back here!” He screamed, already sprinting after you, sand flying under his feet. 

He was fast, faster than you’d expected, which was a dumb assumption given how athletic he appeared to be. You heard him closing in, his laugh getting louder, closer, until suddenly his arm wrapped around your waist from behind. You let out a surprised squeal as he lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, spinning you around as his bright laugh rang right in your ear.

“Got you,” he said, still chuckling as he set you back down, but he didn’t let go right away. His arms stayed looped around you, chest pressed to your back, both of you breathing hard from the run.

He swore you fit perfectly in his arms, and you bit your bottom lip, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. He finally loosened his hold, stepping back just enough to look at you, eyes bright and full of that same mischievous warmth. 

“Next time,” he added, tapping your nose lightly, “I’m not letting go so easy.”

“Who says there’s a next time?” You asked, a little breathless. 

Jake only leaned in, thumb gently pressing against your lower lip the same way you’d done to him last night. His eyes stayed locked on yours, “I do.”

He was tempted to do this without the interruption of his thumb, to actually feel the warmth of your lips, to taste the lingering taste of ice cream on you, but he contained his need, opting to press his plush lips upon yours but not fully touching, simply a hint of brush against yours. Regardless, you both closed your eyes for that split second, letting it linger for a while while your heart raced with this newfound warmth. 

A few seconds later, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, thumb still lingering on your lip.

“Next time,” he whispered, emphasis on the absolute confirmation of it, “I won’t stop at almost.”

He stepped back with that bright, cocky grin, eyes sparkling like he knew exactly what he’d just done to you.

“Race is over, baby,” he smirked lazily, “and I win.”

You were no stranger to Jungwon’s childish antics and his over protectiveness when it came to his friends. It was clear in the way he practically acted like a bodyguard, or well, a blanket as he wrapped himself around you, escorting you towards the jeep just to make sure Jake doesn’t hover around you again. 

Poor Jungwon had been tortured too much, between Jake’s relentless flirting and the way the golden retriever had spent the entire previous day finding new and creative ways to get under your skin (and hands on your waist), Jungwon had apparently decided enough was enough. He clung to your side like a koala with separation anxiety, dramatically shielding you from any potential Jake-shaped threats as you walked.

“He’s not going to kidnap me,” you sighed, trying to drink your coffee, but Jungwon made it impossible for you to move.

He sneered, “he literally did that yesterday.”

“It was just to give me ice cream, c’mon,” you sighed, and immediately grinned as he loosened his hold so you could take another sip. 

“At the cost of me being dragged away! God forbid i want to spend time with you and Karina on our holiday,” he whined, staring back to glare at Jake—who almost tripped. 

It was a rather bright morning with everyone chattering excitedly about the waterfall, amongst other activities that Chan had planned for you all. Everyone was in various stages of hike-ready—loose clothes, backpacks slung over shoulders, sunglasses on, the easy lazy energy of people who had nowhere to be except exactly here.

“Male loneliness epidemic can’t be that bad—”

“I can hear you, y’know,” Jake called out cheerfully as he jogged to catch up, “can you not plot my demise this early in the morning? That’s cold, Jungwon, I thought we were friends.”

That earned him a glare, “you’re the enemy.”

“Y’know they say it’s better to keep your enemies close, also—hey, princess! You look beautiful,” Jake started and you bit your inside of the cheek to prevent a laugh from escaping.

Thankfully, you’d reached the jeeps that waited for the group in the driveway with coolers and extra water bottles stacked in the back. Chris was doing his usual enthusiastic headcount as if it was a school trip while everyone started piling in without much order.

You climbed into the middle row of the second jeep first, sliding toward the window. Sunghoon immediately dropped into the seat right beside you, stretching his long legs out “morning, this seat’s mine now.”

Before Jake could even make a move to claim the spot on your other side, Karina slid in smoothly from the other door and settled on your left, flashing you a wicked little grin as she adjusted her sunglasses. Now, Jake did try to follow, but Jungwon was faster. He grabbed the back of Jake’s t-shirt with both hands and started dragging him backward toward the first jeep like an angry mother cat.

“Nope. Absolutely not,” Jungwon declared loudly, “you’re riding with me, menace. I’m not letting you sit next to her for twenty whole minutes of thigh-touching and whispering. Boundaries, Jake. We’re enforcing boundaries today.”

Jake let himself be dragged, laughing the entire way, but he twisted around dramatically to look at you, “i’ll be there soon, don’t miss me too much,” he screamed as the door slammed shut behind him.

It was a bumpy ride, full of investigation from Karina, meanwhile Sunghoon tried to click a few selfies but—he almost appeared to be a grandpa (?) with how he handled his phone. 

“Let’s click one together to torture Jake,” he mumbled, holding the phone way too far from his face like he was trying to read a menu in the dark, “come here, he’s gonna lose his shit when he sees this.”

The photo came out perfect but Sunghoon wasn’t even done there, “yeah I should post this, it’ll ruin his whole day.”

“Isn’t he supposed to be your friend?” Karina asked with a laugh.

“This is how friendship works,” Sunghoon shrugged, taking his shades off to show how serious he was, and truly, it was kind of funny. 

By the time the jeeps pulled up at the trailhead, the air was already warm and heavy with the smell of wet leaves and flowers. Everyone spilled out stretching and complaining about the ride. Jake was waiting near the path like he’d been counting down the seconds, and the second he spotted you he was already walking over—until Sunghoon casually showed him the phone screen.

Jake stopped mid-step. His eyes narrowed at the photo, then flicked to Sunghoon, then back to you. It was evident he was trying not to pout, yet he couldn’t resist smiling when he saw a gentle, teasing smile on your own face. Yeah, he wasn’t going to let Jungwon or Sunghoon steal you away anymore. 

“Wow, okay,” Jake said, letting out a dramatic breath as he walked over, “I get kidnapped by Jungwon for one ride and you guys are already taking couple selfies?”

Sunghoon slipped his phone back into his pocket with a lazy shrug, “what can I say? We make a cute trio.”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” Jake muttered, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. He reached for your hand without hesitation, lacing your fingers together, “you having fun torturing me or what?”

You squeezed his hand once, looking elsewhere on purpose, “a little bit.”

Jungwon was about to intervene (again) but thankfully, Jay grasped his attention (Jake thanked the lords) to talk about the latest F1 race, the two of them started walking ahead, deep in conversation, which gave you and Jake a moment of peace.

Then again, there wasn’t any peaceful time with Beomgyu around, who zoomed in specifically to click pictures of your intertwined fingers, and giggles from the girls who truly believed that you and Jake would be together by the end of the trip. Whatever happened to summer flings, oh and by the way, this wasn’t even a fling so far. 

The hike began in earnest after that. The trail wound lazily through dense, sun-dappled jungle, the air thick with the scent of damp earth, blooming orchids, and distant salt from the sea. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in shifting golden coins, painting dappled patterns across the dirt path. Jake never once let go of your hand. If anything, his grip grew more secure as the trail narrowed, his thumb occasionally brushing slow, absent circles against your skin.

Regardless of how that little action made your heart flutter, you ended up in a conversation with Hyuck, and Jake didn’t mind the fact that you weren’t paying attention to him, only because you weren’t pulling away from his touch either. The trail eventually opened into a small clearing where a fast, silver-veined river cut across the path. The only way forward was a precarious line of moss-slicked stepping stones, water rushing white and cold around them.

Chris clapped his hands with his usual boundless energy, “okay let’s do buddy system! Cross safely everyone!”

You practically witnessed Jake’s eyes sparkling, his bottom lip bitten as he crouched down. Ignorance must truly be a bliss because this man wanted to carry you to the other side, on a path that was full of moss and slick. 

“You cannot be serious, Jake, that’s fucking dangerous!” You exasperated. 

Right then, as if to prove you wrong, Jay passed by you both with Jungwon on his back—and he appeared way to jolly, moving way too much for Jay’s liking but he managed, somehow. 

“See?” Jake grinned up at you, eyes bright with mischief. “Even Jay’s doing it. Just trust me, okay?”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but Jake was already rising smoothly, hands locking beneath your thighs before you could properly protest. The cold spray misted your skin as he stepped onto the first stone with deliberate care. His back was warm against your chest, steady despite the treacherous surface beneath his feet. Halfway across, he turned his head just enough for his cheek to brush yours.

“Enjoying the ride?” He asked, trying to mask his own enjoyment. 

You muttered something under your breath about reckless golden retrievers, but you didn’t tell him to put you down. Instead, your arms tightened slightly around his shoulders, and Jake’s answering chuckle vibrated through both of you. When you finally reached the other end, he was gentle to put you down, however not letting go of your waist.

“What?” You raised your brow, amused yet again while also reeling with aftershocks of his strength. 

“Pretty,” he mumbled with his lazy smile. 

Your smile widened, a finger reaching out to boop his nose, which surprised him, even more so when your lips brushed his ear, “you’re prettier.”

Jake tries to maintain his composure but it seems as if you don’t make it an option for him, as if his blush can’t be helped with that gentle smile of his. It’s such a lovely colour on his face, causing your own smile to turn gentler, well, before Karina coughs loudly and drags you away, again, much to Jake’s dismay. 

He doesn’t intrude again, not when you settle into another deep conversation with the girls and smile wider. Jake assumes that he’s simply gone mental with how endearing his stare is towards you, not having felt this level of devotion (that’s what he names it) for anyone before. 

As he continued to dote on your beauty, Jay and Sunghoon came up from behind to grab him and drag him a bit far to have some man to man talk, whatever that meant honestly? 

“Bitch, are you in love?” Jay asked bluntly the second they were out of earshot, arms crossed while Sunghoon leaned against a tree with that signature knowing smirk.

Jake sputtered, cheeks flaring even redder, “what? No—I mean, maybe? Shut up, it’s too early to say so.” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing back toward where you were laughing with the girls.

“Whatever happened to we’ll fuck like there’s no tomorrow on this trip?” Sunghoon questioned next, now walking forward as the waterfall came into view. 

“Last time I checked, you guys haven’t been getting laid either, and i’m a changed man” Jake deadpanned. 

The boys stopped, staring at each other with a sigh, and the only way to divert attention was to tease Jake yet again, “yeah, you’re basically cooked. Can’t believe you’re in love on a vacation when you’ve never even had a girlfriend before.”

“He’s never been with a girl before?” 

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop by any means, but their voices carried just enough on the breeze as you walked a few steps ahead with the girls. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, pretending to be very focused on adjusting your swimsuit strap under your top. Jake’s flustered sputtering was adorable.

Before the teasing could escalate further, Jake’s eyes locked onto yours across the small distance. A mischievous glint replaced the embarrassment in a heartbeat. He broke away from his friends mid-sentence and jogged over to you, grabbing your hand with zero warning.

“C’mon,” he grinned, clearly to distract you from his non-existent exes, “enough talking. Let’s make this memorable.”

You barely had time to yelp as he tugged you toward the edge of the rocks overlooking the deep pool beneath the main cascade. The waterfall roared beautifully ahead, mist sparkling in the sunlight, “Jake—wait, what are you—”

“Trust me!” He laughed, squeezing your hand tighter. Without another second of hesitation, he jumped, pulling you with him.

Like you’d said before, there was never a boring moment with Jake because now, you both were jumping off the low cliff together and into the turquoise water with your arms wrapped around each other and a big splash. The shock of the cold made you gasp as you surfaced, laughing breathlessly. Jake popped up right beside you, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes sparkling with pure delight as he shook the water out like a happy dog.

Chris was horrified to say the least, “what the fuck are you two doing?” His voice boomed from above, poor man looked as if he was one second away from fainting, “this is not the designated jumping zone! Oh god, my guests are in danger. My blood pressure—”

Sadly, no one was interested in safety. In fact, they were riled up seeing the scene and were more interested in following suit. Hyuck and Beomgyu immediately followed, cannonballing in and creating even bigger splashes. Ningning and Yunjin were giggling as they jumped more carefully, while Karina dragged a shrieking Jungwon along. Even Jay and Sunghoon jumped in, shaking their heads at Jake’s antics but clearly entertained.

Jake, when he swam closer with that wicked, playful glint in his eyes, “cold?” He teased, voice low as his gaze shamelessly dropped to where your wet clothes clung to your body, “or is that just me making you shiver?”

You splashed him right in the face, “keep staring like that and I’ll drown you myself, Sim.”

He wiped the water off with a dramatic gasp, then grinned like an idiot, shaking his hair out again and sending droplets flying toward you, “worth dying for. Have I mentioned how fucking good you look all wet?” His tone was pure mischief, but the way his eyes lingered a second too long sent a spark of heat through you despite the cold water.

Before you could retort, Hyuck yelled, “Chicken fight! Losers buy dinner!”

Jake’s eyes lit up, “you’re riding me,” he declared, not even bothering to word it well, already ducking underwater so you could climb onto his shoulders. His hands gripped your thighs firmly as he stood, way steadier than he had any right to be. The position put your core right against the back of his neck, and you could feel every shift of his muscles.

“Hands lower, pervert,” you warned, tugging his hair lightly, making him groan, or was it a moan?

The chicken fight turned into glorious warfare. Jake moved with surprising agility, laughing as he dodged Beomgyu and Hyuck’s clumsy attempts to unseat you. You clung to his head, thighs squeezing around his shoulders for balance, he looked rather pleased with that, both of you shouting and splashing like children who had discovered freedom for the first time. Water flew everywhere, rainbows shattering in the spray, until Hyuck finally toppled backward with a dramatic yell and the game dissolved into breathless laughter.

Eventually, Chris started rounding everyone up, his cheerful energy now laced with mild panic as he took in the state of his group—dripping and entirely too pleased with themselves.

“Oh no—oh no, no, no,” Chris muttered, eyes wide as he surveyed the scene, “you’re all soaked. The jeeps, the seats are gonna be a mess I swear.”

The trek back was a soggy, hilarious affair. Everyone’s clothes clung uncomfortably, shoes squelched with every step, and the jungle path felt twice as long when you were leaving a trail of water behind like a pack of mischievous river spirits. Jungwon kept complaining about his ruined socks, while Karina, Ningning and Yunjin were already planning how to salvage their hair.

Jay, being the gentleman he is, came up to you, “let me carry your bag,” he offered, hand already extending to grab it from you. 

Before you could even respond, Jake huffed—an actual, audible huff, and snatched the bag from where it had been slung over your shoulder, “I got it,” he said quickly, already speeding up a few steps ahead like he was on a mission, “no need, Jay. I’m stronger anyway.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, “possessive much?”

“Protective, big difference,” he spoke, not bothering to turn around, clearly interested in speed walking all of a sudden. 

You could only stare, because Jake was odd. He was odd in this endearing way that made you wanna squish his cheeks and tease him to no end. No, no. You need to contain yourself instead, and so you did (you tried, at least). Lunch became an impromptu picnic on a sun-warmed outcrop overlooking the sea—slightly damp sandwiches, sweet mango slices passed hand to hand, and you wondered just how much storage Beomgyu’s phone had to be clicking these many pictures. 

It was a good day, a great day even, almost cinematically inspirational for the ones who were a sucker for positive vibes and slow motion captures of laughs and smiles, because that’s how everyone felt—you more than others with that one smile constantly being in front of you. What a pretty fucking man. 

By the time you reached the resort, the sun had done its work. Everyone was finally dry, hair wild from the wind, bodies heavy with that good kind of exhaustion that comes from a day well spent. The group split off toward their rooms with tired goodbyes and loose plans for dinner.

You had barely stepped out of your bathroom after a well deserved warm shower when a soft thud was heard coming from the balcony. You tightened the towel around your chest and padded over, still dripping a little. Jake was already there, one hand braced on the railing, looking ridiculously at ease in a loose black tank and shorts, hair messy from the wind. The second he spotted you, his face lit up. 

He reached for the handle of the sliding glass door and gave it a gentle tug. Locked, you didn’t move to open it, in fact, you watched him try with amusement. 

“C’mon, let me in for a sec,” he said, grinning as he pressed his forehead lightly against the glass, “I’m not even dripping water anymore.”

You leaned against the doorframe on your side, arms crossed, “nice try. You can stay right there.”

“Gosh, still so hostile towards me? And here I thought we were getting somewhere,” he mumbled in fake sadness, eyeing you up and down, knowing he was going to start mumbling praises mindlessly, “you look good, fresh out of the shower, pretty, yeah.” 

“Flattery’s not getting the door unlocked, Sim.”

He pouted, “alright, fine. Stay in there then, but meet me downstairs in thirty? The others are probably gonna drag everyone to that overpriced restaurant, and I don’t wanna share you tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile, “why should I ditch them for you?”

“Because I’m more fun,” he said simply, like it was obvious, “and I wanna walk around with you without Jungwon glaring holes in my head or Beomgyu taking pictures every two seconds. Just—you and me.” He paused, tilting his head, “say yes. I’ll even let you pick the weirdest souvenir.”

You didn’t answer right away, just watched him through the glass. He waited, patient for once, eyes steady on yours, but he wasn’t all that patient when he stepped closer, right up against the door, and pressed his lips to the glass in a soft, lingering kiss—right at your eye level, mumbling please. When he pulled back, he gave you that crooked little smirk, already stepping away toward the railing like he was about to hop back to his own balcony.

Oh Jake Sim, he was too good at this, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he’d been in multiple relationships before. You smiled, biting your lip hard, and before he could turn fully, you leaned in and pressed your own lips to the exact same spot on the other side of the glass. The faint fog of your breath bloomed there for a second.

Jake caught it. His eyes widened, then crinkled with the biggest, dumbest grin you’d seen all day. He touched two fingers to his mouth, pointed at you, and laughed quietly as he swung one leg over the railing.

“Thirty minutes,” he called back, “don’t stand me up, princess.”

Jake was nervous, however he was also good at hiding his nervousness, but can you blame him when you knocked his breath away each time you smiled his way. Just like now. 

You’d changed into a breezy sundress that caught the warm evening breeze, and every time you glanced over at him with that easy, teasing smile, Jake felt his chest tighten in the best possible way. He kept his hands in his pockets, playing it cool, but his heart was doing laps.

Maybe he was overthinking, testing his luck if you must, but he wished to kiss you tonight—consensually of course. He’d been riding the high of your almost kisses from the past few days, those charged little moments that left him replaying them in his head like a loop. But he wasn’t about to push. Not when things felt this good already.

The path to the night market wound along the edge of the resort, lanterns flickering softly overhead. Jake stole another glance at you, the way the dress swayed around your legs, and cleared his throat.

“You sure you’ve not done this before?” You asked, bumping his shoulder as you walked.

He blinked once to break his train of thoughts, “done what?”

“Never had a girlfriend before,” you shrugged, “cause you sure know what you’re doing.”

“Is that to say you’re my girlfriend?” Jake smirked all up in your face.

That earned him a roll of your eyes, “blasphemous accusation. I didn’t even mean it that way, you know it.”

Jake clicked his tongue, “well, I’ve never had a relationship before, I only know how to charm people, just as i’ve been charming you.”

“Who says I’m charmed?” You shot back, challenging him. 

He opened his mouth with some retort ready, but you were quick to tease him further, “whatever happened to your plan of fucking a new girl each night here, hm?”

Now, that caused Jake to almost trip over nothing, “what—”

“Jay told me,” you shrugged with a chuckle, “and c’mon, I’m not judging you, I lowkey wished the same for me—well, before you decided to ruin it.”

“Me?” He stopped dead in the middle of the path, eyes wide. Did you really wantJake as much as he wanted you?

“Yeah,” you said, concealing your laughter to be as serious as you could muster, “I wanted to fuck Hoon.”

Oh absolutely not. Jake didn’t hide his disdain as he furthered away from you, “out of everyone, you wanted my best friend, seriously? That sucks to hear.”

Behind all those smiles and laughter, Jake was a bit insecure, granted he forced himself in your life, forced himself to be there so you’d notice him without much knowledge of what you truly wanted. Did he mix up your signals? Got too much into his head or lucid dreamed it all?

You hurried after him and caught his wrist, “hey, wait.” He slowed but didn’t turn around right away, so you stepped in front of him, and gosh he was actually clenching his jaw and looking elsewhere, almost like throwing a tantrum. Regardless, you wanted to clear things up.

“You’re such a baby.” You went up on your toes and kissed his cheek softly, letting your lips stay there for a second, feeling his body loosening up at your display of affection, yet he didn’t turn around right away, eyes fixed off to the side.

You didn’t let go. Instead, you cupped his cheek gently, turning his face toward you, “c’mon, look at me.” Your thumb brushed his skin, “it was a stupid joke. You know, it lasted not even an hour when you jumped into the pool. I spent the whole day with you, didn’t I? Laughing my ass off, letting you carry me across that river like some dramatic prince, almost kissing you like three different times already. I saved your ass from that jellyfish, not Hoon. Remember that?”

Jake’s jaw unclenched a little. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile and you took it as a yes. He was internally cooing at how adorably you took it upon yourself to reassure him when he damn well knew it was a joke, so he let you continue. 

“Exactly,” you beamed, “so why the hell would I want anyone else when I’ve got you being all golden retriever and annoying in the best way?” You leaned in closer to his ear, “you’re the one I keep saying yes to, dummy.”

That finally cracked him. A real smile broke through, small at first, then that full crooked one you loved, eyes softening as he looked at you properly, “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, but there was no bite left in it.

Before he could say anything else, you rose up again and kissed him properly on the cheek one more time, dangerously close to his lips, your mouth brushing the edge of his in a teasing almost. Jake’s breath hitched.

He gave in completely then, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, pulling you flush against his chest like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. His chin rested on top of your head for a moment, “I’m not letting you go tonight,” he murmured against your hair, you could already imagine him pouting, “not to Hoon, not to Jungwon, not to anyone. You’re mine for the rest of this market, yeah? Maybe longer.”

You laughed softly into his shoulder, hugging him back just as tight, “possessive much?”

“Can’t be helped,” he said, squeezing you once more before loosening just enough to look at you, that recipient of that smile back in full force

You grinned and the two of you started walking again, his arm staying firmly around your shoulders like he needed the contact. The jealousy had melted away, replaced by that warm, clingy energy you were starting to get addicted to.

Jake steered you toward the food stalls, still a little extra touchy. You loaded up on fried chicken, chili-lime corn, and of course, ice cream. Eating while walking got messy fast, full of stolen bites and quiet laughter.

At the dart stall he got stupidly focused, “bet I win you that giant turtle.”

He missed most shots. You laughed so hard you had to hold onto him. One lucky throw got him the silly blue octopus keychain instead.

“Dr. Otto,” you named him proudly, “I like this better anyway,” you chimed, making Jake chuckle.

“You like spiderman?” He asked, already greedy to know more about you.

You nodded, popping another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, “yeah, since I was a kid. Something about swinging around the city looks fun as hell.”

Jake’s eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the best gift ever, “no way, me too! I used to watch the old movies on repeat. My brother and I would fight over who got to be Spider-Man when we played.” He bumped your shoulder gently, his hand lingering on your lower back as you walked. “Guess I’m dating a nerd now. Good to know.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile, “dating? Bold assumption, Sim.”

He only shook his head with an endearing smile, walking alongside you. It wasn’t anything fancy, but you both didn’t need fancy, it was the company that mattered, and right now, you couldn’t have asked for a better one. 

The conversation kept flowing as you wandered deeper into the market. Jake’s hand stayed on your lower back most of the time, warm and steady, thumb occasionally tracing small circles through the thin fabric of your sundress. Every little touch sent a quiet spark through you.

You stopped at a small jewelry stall where delicate shell necklaces and charms caught the lantern light. Jake picked up one with a tiny starfish pendant, holding it up to your collarbone without putting it on. His fingers brushed your skin, light but deliberate, sending goosebumps down your arms.

“Looks pretty on you,” he mumbled mindlessly, causing your lips to twitch up, “it pulled me towards it, just like you’ve been pulling me since the day one.”

Your lips parted at how proud Jake was at that line, not even realizing how cheesy it sounded. At the end of the day, you were more than happy to indulge in his whims and fancies, “you’re really going all in tonight, huh?”

He bit his lip, tongue playing with his piercing as he paid for the necklace without thinking twice, stepping closer. He fastened the necklace for you, nimble fingers careful against the back of your neck. His breath ghosted warm over your skin as he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear for a second, “looks perfect on you.”

You turned to face him fully. The air between you felt thicker, charged. You reached up and adjusted the starfish so it sat right, your fingers brushing his chest. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice softer. For a moment you just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the phantom feeling of all those almost-kisses making your pulse race.

In hindsight, moments like these made everything feel effortless. Can’t be helped when he looked at you like that.

Eventually the crowd thinned and you reached the wooden railing where the market met the beach. Waves rolled in dark below, fairy lights twinkling behind you. Jake leaned beside you at first, then pulled you in front of him, arms wrapped around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. Fuck—you liked it. You liked the heat he held in his body and heart, you liked how solid and warm he felt pressed against your back, like he was anchoring you to the moment.

His breath tickled your ear as he murmured, “this is nice. Just you and me and the ocean, no one interrupting for once.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken up so soon, jinxing his peace in the process as your phone started ringing, causing him to groan and for you to stifle your laugh. The caller ID displayed a cat emoji, it was Jungwon’s call. 

You answered with a sigh, “hey, Won.”

“Where the hell are you?” Jungwon’s voice came through sharp “we’re all sitting at dinner and Karina said you vanished right after your shower, Jake is missing too. Did Jake kidnap you again? I swear to god, if that idiot is—”

Jake’s arms tightened around you instantly. You could feel his smirk against your shoulder before he even moved. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the side of your neck in a warm kiss. The cool metal of his lip piercing brushed your skin first, sending a shiver racing down your spine. Your eyes drifting close at the feeling of Jake, and you swore he was out to kill you.

“I’m fine, relax,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m just at the night market. It’s loud out here, sorry—”

Jake didn’t give you a chance to finish. He kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow, sucking gently right below your ear. You wondered why did he have to be so skilled with his mouth, making you breathe harder with barely two kisses. 

“What was that?” Jungwon asked immediately, suspicion thick in his tone, “Y/N, are you okay? Is he with you right now?”

“Nothing—just tripped on the sand,” you managed, but your voice was already breathier. Jake’s nimble fingers spread across your stomach, pulling you tighter against him as he found that sensitive spot again and sucked harder, his piercing dragging teasingly with every movement.

A tiny, involuntary whine slipped out of you.

Jungwon went quiet for half a second,“was that—oh my god. He’s doing something, isn’t he? I fucking knew it. Jake, if you’re listening, I’m going to murder you—”

You tried your best to not react, to not embarrass yourself further, you really did try, but Jake had a point to prove. He moved to the curve where your neck met your shoulder, lavishing it with filthy, open-mouthed kisses. He sucked deep enough to leave marks, one of his hands slipped just under the hem of your dress, fingers tracing the expanse of your hip. A proper, breathy whimper tore from your throat before you could bite it back.

Before Jungwon could scream again, you mumbled breathily, “gotta go, talk later.” Another gasp left your lips as you hung up. 

The second the call ended, the night air felt ten degrees hotter. You spun around in Jake’s arms so fast it made your head spin, “you absolute fucking menace,” you hissed, clearly looking fucked out, and Jake swore he could get used to this. 

His grin was lazy as he licked the piercing slowly, eyes blown black with want, “looked inviting, couldn’t stop myself,” he rasped, “you sound so fucking pretty when you’re trying not to fall apart for me, fuck.”

Before he could say anything else, you shoved him back hard against the railing. Your hands fisted in his shirt as you attacked his neck with the same filthy hunger he’d shown you. Your mouth latched onto the warm, salty skin under his jaw, sucking hard, tongue swirling as you marked him right back. Jake groaned deep in his chest, the sound guttural and raw, one hand flying to grip the back of your head, fingers threading tight in your hair.

You kissed lower, open-mouthed and desperate, sucking bruises along the strong column of his throat. When you reached the junction of his neck and shoulder you bit down, then soothed it with long, wet strokes of your tongue. Jake’s hips jerked forward, pressing his hard cock against your stomach with a low, wrecked moan.

You both should’ve been thankful it was an empty area, not that you cared anymore, but to focus on anything else was a bit tricky at the moment. 

Jake groaned, “you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You pulled back just enough to hover right in front of his lips. Your mouths were so close that every ragged breath mingled. His pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed dark. The thick outline of his cock throbbed against you through his pants. That phantom feeling of all the almost-kisses burning between you felt so carnally torturous you could barely think straight. Yeah, you were both completely fucked.

You stayed right there, teasing, your mouth so close but never quite closing the gap. Jake made this desperate, broken sound in his throat, leaning in like he was dying for it. You pulled back just enough, smirking against the edge of his lips, your fingers slipping under his shirt to rake your nails lightly down his abs.

“Payback,” you whispered, voice husky and dripping with want.

Jake’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, a low groan rumbling in his chest as your nails dragged over his skin. His hands flexed hard on your waist, hips pressing forward once more so you could feel exactly how affected he was. Then you stepped back, both of you breathing hard, faces flushed, lips swollen.

Jake ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to pull himself together, “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, eyes never leaving yours, “you’re really gonna kill me.”

It almost felt like an edging session with how many almosts you’d managed to have so far, but it also made things interesting. 

You bit your lip, feeling the heat in your own face, your thighs still pressed tight together, “come on, we should head back before Jungwon actually comes looking with that taser he’s got.”

“He’s got a taser?” 

“Well, let’s not ask why,” you chuckled, letting Jake interlace your fingers with his. 

The walk appeared peaceful for the onlookers, who were completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. You just prayed it wouldn’t reach to the point you’d drag Jake into your bedroom yourself, like some horny rabbit. Regardless, you both were good at pretending and that led to some normalcy where Jake learned more about you, your job, the little cat you have, the food you like, the drinks. Basically, everything one discusses on their first date. Was this a date? It felt like one. 

Jake was beaming, swinging your hands together with his boyish smile when he realized that you lived one hour away from him, already planning on meeting you once you go back (you didn’t wish to leave this place), but his enthusiasm warmed your heart, enough that you weren’t opposed to the idea of continuing whatever this was after the trip. 

“Your lips are swollen,” you pointed out, wondering how they even got so plump and kissable. 

Jake touched his lips, “if you keep pointing shit like that then I’m not gonna make it back to the resort without dragging you into the trees somewhere.”

The words sent another pulse of heat through you, but you both kept walking like everything was perfectly fine. Like your panties weren’t ruined and his pants weren’t tented.

“You’d like that too much,” you teased, glancing sideways at him. The fairy lights were behind you now, but the flush on his cheeks and the way his jaw kept tightening were impossible to miss.

“Way too much,” he murmured, pulling you closer to him. 

“Jake, we’re supposed to be walking back normally, remember? Pretending we’re not both stupidly turned on right now,” you managed to let out. 

Jake glanced at you, eyes dark, “yeah? How’s that going for you?” His thumb stroked the back of your hand, sending sparks up your arm.

“Terribly,” you admitted with a breathless laugh, “you’re hard, aren’t you?”

He groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “painfully. And you’ve got my marks all over your neck. Looks fucking good on you, by the way.”

The walk back felt endless in the best and worst way. Every brush of shoulders, every shared glance, every quiet laugh carried heavy tension underneath. Jake kept stealing looks at your lips, at the necklace he’d given you resting against your collarbone, at the way your dress moved against your thighs. You couldn’t stop staring at the fresh hickeys you’d left on his throat, the way his tank top clung to his chest, the obvious bulge he kept adjusting when he thought you weren’t looking.

By the time you reached your rooms, thankfully not running into Jungwon, Jake looked at you expectantly. Your heart was racing, and god knows every cell within you was aware that you’d grown to like Jake more than you intended. 

You stepped closer, rose onto your toes, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth.

“Good night, Jake,” you whispered against his skin, letting your lips brush there for a second longer than necessary. Your hand rested on his chest, feeling how fast his heart was pounding.

He nodded, swallowing hard. His eyes were dark, lips parted like he wanted to say something important—maybe stay, maybe fuck this, come here, maybe something even more dangerous. But nothing came out as he just stared at you, jaw tight, that desperate hunger written all over his face.

You gave him one last small smile and slipped inside, closing the door behind you. The second you were alone, you leaned against it, trying to catch your breath, body still buzzing.

Barely two minutes passed before you heard the soft thud on your balcony. Then a knock—hesitant at first, then firmer, and it kept on going as you walked over, heart hammering, and slid the glass door open along with the curtains.

Jake stood there, breathing hard, hair messy from the wind, eyes wild. He didn’t wait for an invitation. The second the door was open wide enough, he stepped inside, cupped your face with both hands, and slotted his lips against yours like he’d been starving for it. You didn’t think twice before kissing him back just as fervently, feeling the warmth of him, the cool metal of his piercing, the lingering taste of ice cream on his lips. It felt perfect, igniting a hunger within you. 

His mouth moved against yours with raw need, tongue sliding hot and demanding past your lips as he backed you further into the room. A low groan rumbled in his chest when you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.

One of his hands slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted while the other gripped your waist, pressing your body flush against his. You could feel how hard he still was, thick and insistent against your stomach as he walked you backward until your back hit the wall.

When you moaned into his mouth he lost it a little more, hips rolling forward, grinding against you with a broken sound that went straight between your legs.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting.

“Couldn’t fucking wait,” he rasped, “not another second.”

“Don’t stop then,” you whispered, pulling him into another kiss, lips parted as he sucked into your mouth hungrily, your hands roaming under his tank top, nails dragging down his back.

“Let me stay the night,” he begged against your skin, “i’ll be good, jus’ wanna kiss you, hold you.”

He leaned in again before you could answer, and you laughed breathlessly into his mouth, and he was savoring every second.

“Jake—”

Another kiss, softer but no less hungry.

“I promise,” he murmured, lips brushing yours with every word, “just you and me in that bed. My arms around you, kissing you right here.” He pressed his mouth to the corner of your lips, “and here,” another kiss, deeper, “all night if you let me.”

You were trembling against him, heat pooling low in your belly, “okay,” you whispered, “stay.”

The relief in his eyes was instant. He kissed you hard, lifting you effortlessly so your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you toward the bed. He laid you down gently, crawling over you without breaking the kiss, his body settling between your thighs.

For the rest of the night, he kept his word—mostly.

You had consumed your fair share of holiday romance movies before, and each time you were left wondering how anyone could fall for someone within such a short span of time. That’s probably the beauty of human connections—the universe just pokes your heart and says, yes, that’s the one. 

Jake was pretty sure he felt that in his bones, though the initial strategy was to seduce you, he somehow managed to make an absolute fool out of himself each time, and yet you stayed with him with that pretty smile of yours, causing him to stay undeterred on his mission. 

Regardless, now that the sunlight had managed to creep in your room, and your eyes had adjusted enough to find Jake’s sleeping figure clinging onto you, you didn’t know what to feel. He was beautiful in the ways the poems are beautiful to readers. It scared you, how he wore his heart on his sleeve, how he didn’t hesitate to provide you with his undivided attention, how he simply wanted and basked in your attention. 

It was the inevitable outcome really, especially because Jake stayed true to his word and didn’t go beyond kissing despite how much he craved it. He kissed you as if he couldn’t breathe without breathing you in, and somewhere along the lines, he managed to drift into dreamland with his lips pressed against yours. You had to maneuver his head to rest against your neck instead, and even through the sleep, he managed to snuggle closer as if you’d been his home all this while. 

Now, looking at him, you can’t help but trace his features with the tip of your finger, starting from his eyebrows, down to his pretty cheekbone, and the perfect slope of his nose. Your actions were soft, well timed so as to not disturb him, yet it was hard when you traced his bottom lip, the piercing that you still feel the ghost of on your lips.

With a deep breath, you moved your hand back only for Jake’s fingers to wrap around your wrist and bring it back. You gasped softly at how fluffy he appeared, smiling faintly as he pressed a lingering kiss on the pad of your thumb, urging you to cup his cheek with a smile and you complied without much hesitation. No words were exchanged, no promises of what was to come, but the actions were enough for your mind to solidify that it was more than a holiday fling.

It was the perfect morning. 

For Jungwon, it was borderline preposterous. While Jake was beaming, chomping on his omelette on the other table with the guys, Jungwon and the girls had managed to arrange yet another interrogation session with you, this time demanding answers for the hickey(s) on your clavicle. The answer was obvious, but it’s the details they wished to gather. 

“You could’ve informed us,” Jungwon huffed, tearing the bread into two and offering you one, “abandoning us on a holiday, wow!”

“I don’t understand how you still treat her like a kid when she’s always around doing one night stands,” Karina deadpans, successfully making Jungwon huff, but that’s the least of her worries. Wiggling her eyebrows, she leans in, “was he good? Is he big? Does he moan?”

You almost choked out a laugh at how serious they were, even Yunjin and Ningning had leaned in now, as if you were giving out classified information. 

“We literally just kissed, and yes his lips are as soft as they look, and no the piercing doesn’t hurt me, and yes he gave me those hickeys, and no we didn’t go beyond that, and yes he moans,” you answered, and they seemed satisfied at how you managed to answer all questions without them even asking half of them. 

Ningning sighed dreamily, “it’s so romantic! It would have been better if you were with a girl, but I guess he’s as pretty as one,” your whole group looked his way and he almost choked and still managed to smile, making you chuckle, “as long as you’re happy. Oh you’re growing up so fast.”

Karina shakes her head at Ningning, “it’s not even been a week since we met,” and then smiles, “but i’m glad we did.”

Yunjin chuckled, “you guys are like my sisters already.”

While this adorable conversation went on, you looked back at Jake, who was struggling as Beomgyu and Hyuck opened up a few buttons of his shirt to tease him about the possessive marks you’d left all over him. This group was truly hilarious. 

After that, you didn’t find much time to be around Jake, much to his dismay, as you and Karina got ready together for the day. The group reconvened at breakfast with Chris dramatically announcing the plan for the final full day.

“Water sports extravaganza, babies! We got Jet skis, banana boats, parasailing, the works. Last day means we go out with a bang!” Everyone cheered, already buzzing with energy despite the slight hangovers from last night’s chaos (they’d gone clubbing).

Jake’s eyes found yours across the table immediately, that bright, hopeful grin breaking through even as Jungwon tried to wedge himself between you two on the walk to the vans, “you’re riding with me on the jet ski, right?” Jake called out, ignoring Jungwon’s glare.

“Obviously,” you shot back, and the way his whole face lit up made your chest feel warm.

The beach was breathtakingly beautiful, full of energetic people who probably had the same plans to enjoy their own holidays. Somehow, you managed to look into Jake’s eyes, they were so expressive, shining bright in a way that you felt pretty under his gaze. Jay had told you that Jake dotes on you, not caring about the timeframe you shared here, he was gone. And maybe, so were you. 

It didn’t take much time for your group to go and rent out everything, while Jake stood on the side doing mental gymnastics before dragging Jay and whispering something in his ear, joining his hands in a pleading action, which caused Jay to sigh. So, when Jay came over to distract Jungwon and take him away, you weren’t shocked, but amused. 

Jake wasted no time, grabbing your hand with undeterred enthusiasm and practically dragging you toward the jet skis. “Finally,” he muttered under his breath, that sweet desperation bleeding into his voice as he helped you onto the back of the bright red machine. His hands lingered on your waist a second longer than necessary, thumbs pressing into your sides like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

“Missed me already?” You teased, “we literally slept together.”

“Not enough,” Jake breathed out, “maybe if you touched my face for longer,” he drags out, making you roll your eyes. But hey, Jake loved that feeling, loved your gentle caress—it was something he’d never felt from anyone before.

He helped you sit on the Jetski, not that you needed help, he simply wanted an excuse to touch you. Then, he swung in behind you, pressing his chest firmly behind you as he reached around to grip the handlebars, arms bracketing you completely, locking you in his own little world. 

“Ready?” He asked, lips brushing your ear.

You nodded, turning around to see Karina and Hyuck smirking, you only winked their way, “yeah, let’s go.”

 The engine roared to life, and the sudden burst of speed had you laughing as the jet ski cut through the sparkling water, wind whipping your hair and salt spray cooling your skin.

For a while he just drove, letting you enjoy the rush, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs bracketed yours. Eventually he slowed the jet ski in a quieter stretch of water, far enough from the group’s screams that their shouts were just distant echoes.

“Turn around for me,” he murmured against your ear, your breath hitching with how you felt it down your spine. 

You shifted carefully, swinging your legs over so you were facing him, knees on either side of his hips. Jake’s hands settled on your waist, steadying you as the jet ski bobbed gently on the waves. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded and so close you could count the droplets clinging to his lashes.

“Been wanting to do this since we left the room,” he breathed. His thumbs traced slow circles on your hips, sending warmth pooling low in your stomach, “you have no idea what you do to me. Call it astral projection—like my soul leaves my body every time you smile at me like that.”

You laughed softly, but it came out a little breathless, “you’re so dramatic.”

“Only for you,” he chimes in with a crooked grin, nose brushing yours, “merciful fate, I suppose, that you ended up on this trip with me. Otherwise I’d still be wondering what it feels like to have you this close.”

“Let’s not think about that,” you mumbled, “cause i’m here, with you.”

His hands slid higher, wantonly possessive as they traced up your sides under the edge of your life vest. The kiss that followed was slow and deep, full of desperation and all the tension that had been building since last night. His lip piercing dragged cool against your bottom lip as his tongue slipped into your mouth, one hand cupping the back of your neck to tilt your head exactly how he wanted.

When you moaned softly into the kiss, Jake groaned in response, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his. The jet ski rocked beneath you with the gentle waves, but neither of you cared. His forehead stayed pressed to yours even when the kiss broke, both of you breathing hard, lips brushing with every exhale.

You’d lost the count of how many times Jake had kissed you already, but it was never enough, never. 

The distant shouts from the group eventually pulled you both back to reality. Jake helped you turn around again, arms wrapping securely around your waist as he drove back toward the main area, his chin resting on your shoulder and lips occasionally brushing your neck just to make you shiver.

When you rejoined the others, the group was already hyped up and moving on to the next activity. Beomgyu and Hyuck were wrestling over who got to drive the banana boat while Chris yelled instructions no one was listening to. You did feel bad for Chris, so you ended up listening and he spoke with his hand on his heart, touched. 

“Banana boat time!” Karina called, waving you over, whispering urgently about the movie-esque stunt you and Jake pulled. Jungwon immediately appeared at your side like a loyal shadow, grabbing your arm. “You’re sitting with me,” he declared, shooting Jake a pointed look, “safety reasons.”

Jake’s jaw tightened for half a second, but he forced a grin, “sure, man. Safety first.” The petulant resolve in his eyes said otherwise.

The banana boat was pure chaos. You ended up sandwiched between Jungwon and Jake somehow—Jungwon on your left looking determined to protect you, Jake on your right with his thigh pressed firmly against yours. The second the boat started speeding, everyone was screaming and laughing, gripping the handles for dear life.

Every sharp turn sent the whole group sliding. Jake used every opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, steadying you while his fingers slipped under the hem of your life vest, tracing warm circles on your skin. Jungwon kept trying to wedge himself closer, muttering, “don’t you dare let go of the handle, Y/N.”

You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt, water spraying everywhere as the boat whipped around. Jake leaned in during one particularly wild turn, lips brushing your ear, “this would be a lot more fun if it was just us,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

When the boat finally flipped (as banana boats always do), Jake made sure to pull you up first, hands lingering on your waist in the water, bodies pressed close for a second longer than necessary while Jungwon sputtered nearby, wiping water from his face and Yunjin dragging him away. 

The rest of the afternoon blurred into more water sports. Parasailing had you and Jake soaring high above the ocean together, wind in your hair, his hand tightly holding yours as he whispered how he didn’t want the trip to end. Chicken fights in the shallows had you on his shoulders again, thighs clamped around his neck while he gripped you steady, smug every time you helped take down another team. Flyboarding attempts turned into comedic disasters—Beomgyu failed spectacularly, providing endless entertainment for everyone.

Through it all, Jake stayed close, finding excuses to touch you, to pull you aside for quick kisses when the group was distracted, his glances making heat pool low in your stomach. By the time you were going back, Jungwon was clinging onto your left arm, Jake mirroring him on the right. Beomgyu capturing every bit of it with the biggest smile he could muster. 

The group trudged back to the resort, everyone was exhausted, sunburned, salty, and glowing with that particular brand of vacation happiness that bordered on melancholy. You barely had time to rinse the sea from your skin and slip into an acceptable dinner dress before a knock sounded at your door. Jake stood there, looking unfairly devastating in a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair still slightly damp and tousled, a small bouquet of wildflowers in hand.

You tried not to show your excitement but failed miserably. He had been clear that he wished to dine with you, alone. So by default, you ended up telling Karina to make sure Jungwon doesn’t follow, and sadly, Sunghoon had caught Jake as he was getting ready. The chances of them appearing there were high now, yet you didn’t know what Jake had planned. 

“You look—” Jake took a deep breath as you leaned against the doorframe, urging him to continue, “—you, uh, fuck—so pretty. You look beautiful.”

The words tumbled out of him like he’d been holding them in all day, raw and unguarded. His eyes traced over you slowly, from the way the dress hugged your figure to the faint marks he’d left on your collarbone, lingering there with a flicker of possessive heat. He stepped closer, offering the wildflowers with slightly shaky hands.

“You’re gonna kill me tonight,” he added, “I’ve been thinking about this since the jet ski. Just us.”

You took the bouquet, the sweet scent of the flowers making you smile up at him, “you don’t look too bad yourself, Sim. Ready to finally have me alone?”

He looked rather hungry as he spoke, “more than ready.”

He extended his hand, and when you placed yours on top of his, he lifted it up to kiss your knuckles. You swore if he kept on doing this, you’d have to kidnap him and take him home with you. The walk was quiet, also because Jake appeared to be nervous, glancing your way every few seconds to sense any sort of discomfort. 

The path wound down toward a secluded curve of the beach, lanterns flickering like fireflies caught in the palms. The distant hum of the resort faded behind you, replaced by the rhythmic hush of waves and the soft rustle of leaves. Jake’s thumb kept stroking the back of your hand in slow, absent circles, his grip warm and steady despite the slight tremor of nerves.

When the spot came into view, your breath caught. A small table had been set intimately in the sand, draped in soft linen and illuminated by strings of fairy lights woven through the palm fronds overhead. They cast a warm, golden glow that danced across the waves like scattered stars. Your favorite dishes from the trip waited along with a chilled bottle of wine. Soft music played faintly from a hidden speaker, something gentle and romantic that blended seamlessly with the ocean’s murmur.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in awe. Jake had managed to arrange this in the midst of the busy day you had, and you were truly rendered speechless. 

When Jake realized that you, in fact, liked it, he proceeded to pull your chair out for you, helping you get comfortable before he proceeded to sit right across from you. Well, he wished to sit right next to you, but then he wouldn’t be able to look at your face, which would be a problem, so he chose to be right in front—which appeared to be another problem simply because now he couldn’t hold your hand comfortably or kiss you. 

Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so clingy, so handsy. Of course, his friends can attest that he likes to hug, likes to cuddle, but in a romantic aspect, Jake had never gotten a chance to do so. So he stared, almost as if he was gravitating towards you, and how you styled the necklace he’d gotten for you. He had to bite down his smile seeing the accessory adorn your neck. 

It was only then he realized that he should probably get up and serve you wine, your eyes following his moves. It felt like the old movies that did not have audio, the storyline being purely based on acting and how much their actions can convey. Now, it was your turn to stare at how serious Jake was, passing you your drink, pushing your plate towards you and filling it up with small portions of dishes, also keeping a bottle of water on the side, and coconut water just in case you didn’t wish to consume alcohol. 

That’s how Jake was fundamentally at his core—affectionate and kind, the guy who had somehow managed to become the subject of your affections in such a short span of time. When he finally saw how you sat with sparkly eyes, your face resting on your palm, he almost felt shy. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, finally sitting down again, while also asking you to proceed to eat first. 

You stare at him for a moment longer, “you’re just beautiful,” you whispered, and he froze, not expecting any compliments, especially being called beautiful. 

“Where’s this coming from?” He chuckled, but the faint pink on his ears completely betrayed his nonchalance.

You shrugged, “just saying.” It was true though, and before he could start stuttering, you managed to stab a piece of pasta and extend your hand as he helplessly stared at it with his pulse spiking, because how did such a small gesture make him so nervous. 

He did proceed to eat it, pointedly looking into your eyes, the intimacy of the moment wrapping you both in a warm bubble. Only then he started to act like his own self with a point to prove. You had fed him, so he made it his personal mission to do the same tenfold. 

“You’re just feeding me,” you chuckled, and he nodded with painful seriousness. 

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for,” he replied earnestly, making you fall for him a little more, “besides, that’s the whole point of dinner.”

“You have to eat as well, baby,” you mumbled with a smile, watching the exact second he realized that you’d used an endearment for him.

So, Jake did what he had to since he couldn’t bear the distance anymore—he dragged his chair towards you and plopped down right next to you with a huff, gulping as he stared at you, “you’ve got something—”

He didn’t bother pointing it out, simply leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth, swiping his tongue with a gentle caress to clean the sauce. Your eyes drifted close at the sensation, because each kiss with Jake felt like a new feeling altogether, “Jake,” you breathed out, grabbing his arm.

“Yeah,” he whispered against your lips, not pulling back in sweet desperation of breathing the same air as you. 

However, a very obvious flash caught your eyes, and Jake didn’t have to know who was behind it, so he groaned, dropping his head on your shoulder as you turned your head to look at the source of your disruption. 

It was a sight truly—Beomgyu half-crouched behind a palm tree, phone raised like a spy on a mission. One by one the rest emerged from their terrible hiding spots—Jungwon looking guilty, Karina and Ningning giggling behind another tree, Hyuck with a triumphant grin, Sunghoon leaning casually against a rock, almost acting as one, and Jay trying to drag everyone inside but to no avail.

Much to Jake’s dismay, you laughed and they took it as an invitation, suddenly sprinting towards your table, minus Jay who was walking with a headache forming. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jake groaned yet again, wrapping his arms around your waist possessively, pulling you closer as the group swarmed in with zero shame, dragging extra chairs and stealing plates (where did they even get that from?), “I hate every single one of you right now.”

And just like that, Jake’s perfect dinner date with you turned into a group karaoke session. 

It took five minutes and several pinky promises that appeared to be more serious than the unbreakable vow before Jake succeeded to monetize your time by offering these idiots his card and permission to use it at the bar.

He’d also tamed Jungwon with a private conversation that apparently went well enough for Jungwon to walk over to you stiffly and give his blessings (what was that about?). Overall, you were thoroughly entertained watching Jake go around and try to make sure the night worked out well while you chatted with girls. 

“He’s—actually so lovely,” you’d mumbled with warmth, and they pulled you in a hug. 

Karina got emotional, “i’m so happy for you, you deserve the best,” she’d murmured softly, Yunjin and Ningning nodding alongside. But then they proceeded to treat you like a kid and talk about protection, and so you’d grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him away from the group, which by the way, continued to scream your way in crazy enthusiasm about how to spend the night together. 

“Run,” Jake mumbled, grabbing your hand and pulling you away. You only chuckled and followed him along with butterflies in your stomach, as if you’d turned into your teen self and were experiencing your first hand holding session with your crush. 

“This feels more like a chase than a date,” you breathed out, finally stopping. 

Jake only gave a tired smiled, “I swear, these idiots won’t let us live in peace,” he muttered, pulling you closer with a serious look, “I just wanna spend time with you.”

“Now you can,” you whispered, letting him rest his head on your shoulder yet again. 

“At this rate we won’t go beyond kissing,” he groaned and you almost laughed at how wounded he sounded, “I haven’t even touched your erogenous zones yet—”

You pulled away, horrified, “you did not just say that—”

“Why not? I didn’t wanna sound crude—”

“So what’s next? You call your dick a phallus?” You teased, amusement swirling in your eyes and it was Jake’s turn to be appalled. 

“What—no!” Jake burst out, eyes wide with mock horror as he clutched his chest like you’d just insulted his firstborn,“I have standards. It’s called a cock, thank you very much. Or Jake Jr. on special occasions.”

You snorted so hard you nearly choked on your own laughter, doubling over on the narrow trail. The rest of the group had finally disappeared, leaving the two of you alone (finally) in your hallway. 

“Jake Jr.,” you repeated with your brow raised and a slow nod, “please tell me you don’t actually call it that in bed. I’ll drown myself in the next river.”

He stepped closer, that signature cocky grin returning full force, “only if you’re very, very good and ask nicely. Otherwise it’s just the reason you’re gonna walk funny tomorrow.”

“Like you have been? You look cute all blue balled,” you poked his chest, still grinning.

Jake clutched the spot like you’d wounded him mortally, “wow, i’m being insulted instead of being rewarded?”

Lord help you, you’d grown to actually love his dramatics, and how he had no trouble taking jokes upon himself, furthering them even with nothing but wide smiles—really fucking pretty smiles, “you’re such a saint,” you whispered, pulling him back and closer.

“A very horny, very patient saint who just wants to spend time with you without an audience. Is that too much to ask?”

You fished your keycard out, waving it teasingly in front of his face, “then stop monologuing and get inside before someone sees us.”

He practically vibrated with giddy energy as the lock clicked open. The second you were both through the door he kicked it shut, spun you around, and pressed you gently against it with a bright, infectious laugh, “finally. No Jungwon, no Sunghoon, no Gyu vlogging our every move. Just you and me.”

You looped your arms around his neck, matching his smile, “poor Jake Jr. must be thrilled.”

Jake’s cheeks flushed with that happy, horny glow as he nuzzled into your neck, peppering it with quick, silly kisses that made you squirm and giggle, then he mumbled your name with such warmth, you couldn’t help but look into his eyes lovingly. 

“I really like you,” he confessed, looking ready to attack you. 

You can’t get enough, you really can’t, “show it then, Jakey.”

With your head falling back against the door, Jake wastes no time in sucking a mark on your neck. He wants to mark every bit of you, claim every inch of you. His mouth is hot and eager, sucking hard enough to pull a breathy laugh from your throat that dissolves into a moan when he grinds his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how thrilled his now half-hard cock is. 

“Fuck—finally,” he laughs against your skin, the sound giddy and wrecked at the same time, like he still can’t believe he gets to have you like this. His hands roam everywhere, sliding under your dress to squeeze your ass, pulling you tighter against him as he rolls his hips in slow, teasing circles, “been dying to do this without someone fucking interrupting us.”

You tug his hair, yanking his mouth back up to yours, and the kiss that follows is long and messy—open-mouthed and desperate, tongues sliding wetly, teeth clacking when you both grin too wide mid-kiss. There’s nothing elegant about it, simply pure, giddy hunger. You consume each other, licking into each other’s mouths like you’re trying to taste every laugh, every teasing word from the entire trip. Jake groans happily when you suck on his tongue, that little piercing cool against your own.

He tastes like sugar and salt from the beach, and he kisses like he’s been holding back for days—which he has. You still can’t get enough. Your hands push his shirt up and off, nails dragging down his back as he shoves your dress higher, palms greedy on your thighs. Every touch makes you both laugh breathlessly, little giggles breaking through the moans because he keeps making these delighted, happy noises every time his fingers find a new inch of skin. He is happy and not shy to show it. 

“You want me?” Jake murmurs hotly, trying to coax you into confessing something that’d sooth his nerves. 

He looks undone, a man at your command, lips parted and swollen and so very inviting. You feel drunk, licking into his mouth, “need. I need you.”

The reaction was instantaneous because how can Jake not obey you? He wants to see you cry out of pleasure, to reduce you into a puddle just for him. Nevertheless, his hands travel right up, tracing up your thigh, hand splayed enough to avoid the spot where you needed him the most, only travelling all the way up your backbone, tracing it with his knuckles as you leaned into him further, letting him wander freely. 

He unclasps your bra with a flick of his fingers, the fabric loosening under your dress, and lets out a low, shaky exhale when his palms slide beneath it to cup your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, thumb brushing over your nipple until it tightens under his touch. He pushes the dress higher, bunching it around your ribs so he can mouth at your chest through the loosened bra, tongue hot and insistent, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand works the other. The cool metal of his piercing drags over sensitive skin with every slow swirl of his tongue, making your back arch sharply.

“Your body is burning,” you gasped, carding your fingers into his hair. 

Jake hummed against you, the sheer possessiveness of his hold grounding you, “fucking feel feverish, all because of you,” he mumbled, nipping at your sensitive nipples.

Your eyes stayed locked on his face, one of his hands wrapping around your thigh to hold you in place—it was then you realized you’d been squirming, arching and urging him to take more of you, offering yourself on a silver platter if you must, “already? What will you do when you fuck me, hm?” 

Jake smirks, pinching your nipple in a manner that had you moaning openly, a sound so heavenly in the midst of an act so sinful. He watches the way your body reacts, eyes dark and fixed on your face like he’s memorizing every flicker of pleasure. “When I fuck you?” he repeats, voice low and rough, thumb still rolling the sensitive peak slowly. “I’m gonna take my time with you first, spread you open and use my mouth until you’re dripping down my chin and begging for more.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing, your control slipping. Jake only pushed your thighs apart to accommodate for the intrusion that was to happen. 

“Then,” he continues, the words vibrating against you, “I’ll slide in so fucking deep you feel me for days. Slow at first, so you can feel every inch, then harder when you start falling apart around me.” He nips at your nipple, then soothes it with his tongue. “I want to watch your face the whole time. Want to hear exactly how you sound when you fall apart on my cock.”

His hand on your thigh tightens for a moment, then begins to roam—sliding slowly upward, fingers tracing the soft skin of your inner thigh, brushing teasingly close before moving higher. He cups you over your panties, feeling how soaked the fabric is, and lets out a low groan against your breast as his palm presses firmly, rubbing slow circles right where you need it.

You’re breathing fast, fingers twisted in his hair, hips shifting restlessly. Jake lifts his head just enough to look at you, lips wet and swollen, eyes burning.

“Sounds good to you, hm baby?” He murmurs, voice hoarse, thumb still circling your nipple, “or do you want me to be more specific?”

You knew it, you knew Jake was good at talking, especially in the bedroom. The words so utterly filthy, almost as if you were dreaming of this, but no. Jake was real, and smitten with you, absolutely ready to please your whole being and soul, because that would bring him just as much pleasure if not more, “k—keep going, fuck—”

Jake stood up straight, lips brushing yours, “the sky looks pretty, doesn’t it?” He offers, confusing you to no ends at how the conversation shifted to that.

“What?” You let out a broken sigh, his grip on your pussy tightening in a squeeze.

“We shouldn’t miss it, baby,” he chuckles, pulling you into him, and suddenly, you were being lifted up and carried toward the open balcony doors. The cool night breeze hit your heated skin as he stepped outside with you wrapped around him, your legs locked at his waist, dress bunched high around your hips.

He pressed your back against the cool metal railing, the ocean stretching out dark and endless below, the sky above scattered with stars. One arm stayed wrapped under your ass, holding you up effortlessly, while his other hand stayed between your thighs. Eventually, you sat down on the thick and sturdy railing. It was only then Jake stepped back to admire you. 

“Fuck, look at that view,” he murmured, unbuttoning his shirt as you appreciated the view right back. 

To Jake, he saw a painting. The dark blanket of sky twinkling with stars all around, moon brightening up the sky. From Jake’s angle, it was right behind your head, making it appear like a halo, “you’re so damn stunning,” Jake found himself breathing hard, your disheveled state doing it for him, sitting there with legs spread, dress bunched up, bra halfway down revealing your tits he’d left bites all over. 

Perfect. You were perfect, carved out perfectly to fit into Jake’s arms, his hands, his fucking heart. You shivered at how dark his gaze was, or maybe the chilly winds, you didn’t know anymore. He bit his lip so hard he tasted metal. 

He stepped back in, hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them wider on the railing. The cool breeze made you shiver as his warm palms contrasted against your skin. Without another word he leaned in and consumed your mouth, tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to taste every moan you’d ever made for him, you only licked the blood off of him. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. In one sharp tug he tore the lace apart, the sound of fabric ripping cutting through the night air. You gasped against his mouth, breaking the kiss.

“Jake—someone could see us,” you whispered, voice shaky with both panic and arousal, glancing toward the other balconies. You were sure there had been other couples who did this, but for you, being semi public and so bare was a first. 

He only chuckled, like the possibility amused him more than it worried him, “let them,” he murmured, nipping at your bottom lip, “let them watch how fucking pretty you look when I touch you.”

He pulled you down from the railing, spun you around in one smooth motion, and pressed your front against the cool metal. His open shirt fell against your bare back, the warm skin of his chest and stomach flush to you, heat bleeding through the thin fabric of your bunched-up dress. One arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight, while his other hand slid between your legs from behind.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned into your ear, two fingers gliding through your folds before pushing inside you in one smooth thrust. He curled them immediately, finding that spot that made your knees weak, “look at the view, baby. Look at the ocean while I fuck you with my fingers.”

You moaned, head falling back against his shoulder as he started pumping slowly, your hand grabbing his arm to hold on to something, fingers digging in so deep, your nails left crescent marks all over. 

The cool railing pressed into your hips, his open shirt warm against your back, the contrast making every sensation sharper.

“That’s it,” he whispered hotly against your ear, fingers thrusting faster, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles, “I want you to remember exactly where you were when I made you cum for the first time, yeah?”

You whimpered, hips rocking back against his hand, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you mixing with the distant waves, “Jake— fuck, it’s too much, someone’s gonna hear—”

“Good,” he groaned, biting down gently on your earlobe as he curled his fingers harder, “let them, they’d thank me for it, such pretty moans for me, fucking hell. You’re clenching around me so fucking good, baby. You like this? Being fucked open right here where anyone could look up and see you falling apart for me?”

“Yes—god, yes,” you gasped, one hand gripping the railing, the other reaching back to clutch his thigh. “Don’t stop.”

Jake groaned, pressing his hard cock against your ass, grinding slowly as his fingers kept thrusting, “I can feel how close you are,” he rasped into your ear, voice filthy, “cmon, baby. Let go all over my hand while you stare at the ocean. I want to feel you soak my fingers.”

His words, the steady thrust of his fingers, the way his open shirt kept brushing your bare back—it all pushed you over the edge. You came with a broken moan, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing around his fingers as pleasure crashed through you in heavy waves.

Jake didn’t stop, fucking you through it with slow, deep strokes, murmuring praise against your neck until you were trembling and breathless against the railing, “so fucking good for me,” he whispered, kissing the side of your throat as you came down, thighs still twitching around his hand. He slowly eased his fingers out, bringing them to his lips and licking them clean with a low, satisfied groan. Then he turned you around, cupped your face, and kissed you deep—letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he walked you backward into the room.

The moment you crossed the threshold, the urgency took over. You stumbled together, lips locked, hands roaming. Your hip knocked into a side table, sending a glass and a small lamp crashing to the floor. Neither of you cared. Jake kicked the debris aside with a laugh against your mouth, pushing you further until the back of your knees hit the bed.

You fell onto the mattress together, still kissing, tongues sliding hot and messy. Jake sat up just long enough to shove the rest of your dress up and off, tossing it somewhere behind him, “you’re so needy,” you chuckled. 

Your bra followed next, “yeah, fuck i’ve been waiting.”

His fingers were quick and eager as he finally stripped you completely bare as if he was possessed, “then wait a little more.”

You didn’t let him stay in control for long. The second he leaned back down, you pushed at his shoulders, flipping him onto his back beneath you. Jake let out a surprised but delighted sound as you straddled his hips, your bare cunt pressing against the hard bulge in his pants.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hands instantly gripping your waist.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned down and dragged your mouth across his chest, kissing and licking every inch of warm skin. When you reached one of his nipples, you sucked it into your mouth, tongue swirling before you bit down gently. Jake hissed, hips bucking up against you.

You moved to the other side, sucking harder, leaving a dark mark right above his heart. Then lower—you dragged your teeth and tongue across his abs, sucking possessive bruises into the defined lines there, marking him the way he’d marked you.

“Shit, baby,” he rasped, one hand sliding into your hair, “you’re gonna leave marks all over me.”

“Good,” you whispered against his skin, sucking another bruise just below his ribs, “I want everyone to see them tomorrow.”

You sat up slightly and slid your hand down his torso, palming the thick, hard outline of his cock through his pants. Jake groaned deeply, head falling back against the pillows as you rubbed him slowly, feeling him throb under your touch.

“Fuck—your hand feels so good,” he breathed, hips rolling up into your palm, “been so hard for you all day. You have no idea.”

You squeezed him through the fabric, stroking him firmly as you leaned down to kiss him again, “I think I have some idea,” you murmured against his lips, squeezing him a tad tighter, “you’ve been pressing this against me every chance you got.”

He was flushed the prettiest shade of pink. No touch, no kiss had made him feel this fucked out before, and you were just getting started, sitting up on him with a fucking goddess bestowed upon him to bless his body. He groaned, eyes shifting to the night stand, a bottle of red wine kept there, “baby, I’m thirsty,” he bit his bottom lip, “won’t you help me?”

You followed his line of sight to see what he was hinting at, wondering if he wanted to drink wine before furthering the act, only for him to stare at your mouth, followed by your cunt, licking his lips to insinuate the meaning behind his words. 

“You’re such a freak, Sim Jaeyun,” you breathed, half laughing, turned on beyond belief, “just how many people have you done this with?”

Jake only chuckles, grabbing your thighs and switching positions in a second, towering over you now, “you’d be the first, if you let me, my love.”

You narrowed your eyes, but he didn’t let you ponder much as he chased your lips again. It was admirable how Jake couldn’t, for the life of him, stay away, as if addicted to the feeling of your lips, or maybe just you. He’s a simple man, he knows what he wants and goes for it.

“Tell me you don’t want it and i won’t do it,” Jake offered like the gentleman he is, his eyes however, not so gentle. 

You shifted onto your back against the rumpled sheets, heart hammering a wild staccato as you drew your knees up and parted your thighs in deliberate invitation. He knelt between your spread legs like a man at the altar. His hands, large and veined, smoothed reverently up the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh until your muscles quivered beneath his touch. His dark eyes tracked every movement, lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them as he watched you reach for the bottle of deep crimson wine.

“God, you’re really going to do it,” he breathed, voice rough with awe, “look at you—so fucking good for me.”

You held his gaze as you tilted the bottle, letting the first slow, chilled stream pour into the warm valley between your breasts. The wine traced a decadent path down your sternum, pooling in the delicate dip of your navel before splitting into teasing rivulets. A shiver tore through you at the stark contrast, making your breath catch in a soft, needy gasp.

Jake’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, thumbs pressing deep into the flesh as he leaned in closer, mouth hovering just above your dripping core. He waited, eyes locked on the glistening trail with predatory focus, every muscle in his shoulders coiled with anticipation, watching the ruby wine cascade directly over your cunt. The first cool drop kissed your swollen folds, sliding languidly between them.

The second it reached there, his mouth was there. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he slurped the wine straight from your pussy, tongue dragging broad and slow through your slick heat, chasing every crimson droplet mixed with your arousal. The obscene sound of him drinking you down sent a violent jolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Fuck—Jaeyun,” you moaned, back arching sharply off the bed. Your fingers tangled harshly in his hair, hips rolling instinctively against his face as he devoured you. His tongue plunged inside you, curling, stroking, then flicked up to circle your clit with precision that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

You poured again, slower this time, watching the wine flood over your pussy and drip down to your ass. Jake groaned in pure bliss, the vibration traveling straight to your core as he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, two thick fingers sliding deep into your clenching heat without warning.

“Shit—yes, just like that,” you gasped, voice breaking, “god, you look so fucking pretty drinking from me.”

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny and stained dark red, eyes glassy with lust, “pour more, I want to drown in you, I need to.”

Your hand shook slightly with arousal as you obeyed, tipping the bottle once more. The chilled stream hit your clit directly this time, making you cry out sharply. Jake was ready—mouth open, tongue extended, catching every drop before sealing his lips around your throbbing bundle of nerves again. His fingers curled relentlessly against that perfect spot inside you, stroking with devastating rhythm while he drank you down like fine wine.

“The housekeeping will be horrified tomorrow,” you managed between broken moans. 

Jake chuckled darkly against your cunt, “I’ll apologize to them in person,” he rasped, voice wrecked and dripping with filthy promise as he thrust his fingers deeper, faster, “maybe I’ll even let them watch how beautifully you fall apart for me. But right now?” He sucked your clit hard, then released it with a wet pop, “focus on me, princess. Let me ruin this pretty pussy with my tongue until you forget every name but mine.”

And he was successful truly, because you couldn’t remember any other name. His name was the only one on your lips, breathed out in a chant as if it were a mantra. 

He poured the next stream himself this time, controlling the flow so it dripped slowly over your clit while his mouth followed instantly, slurping and licking with renewed hunger. The sight was too hot, the feeling too intense for your body to not react. Your orgasm hit like a tidal fucking wave—back bowing, thighs clamping around his head as you came with a sharp, breathless cry, pulsing hard around his fingers while he drank every last drop of wine and release like a man starved.

Even as you trembled through the aftershocks, Jake kept licking softly, savoring you, eyes never leaving your face. Your body was still humming, every nerve singing as he gentled his mouth against your oversensitive folds, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your dripping slit like he couldn’t bear to part from you. A soft, broken whimper escaped your lips when his tongue flicked one last teasing stripe over your clit before he finally lifted his head.

Jake crawled up your body, his chest brushing against your wine-slicked breasts as he settled between your thighs. One large hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your face to his while the other traced lazy, possessive patterns over your hip and waist. His lips found yours instantly, wine-drenched. He licked into your mouth with the same devotion he’d shown your cunt, tongues sliding together in a slow, filthy dance that left you dizzy.

“You did so well for me, y’know?” He whispered, “fucking perfect for me, just for me.”

“Just for you,” you confirmed in a breath, staring at the man who’d made you cum so easily, granting you the best orgasm you’d ever had. 

“Gonna ruin you for everyone else,” he promises in a chaste kiss.  

“Jake—” you breathed against his mouth, rolling your hips up to chase his touch, “I need more, I need you.”

A smile curved his lips as he sat back on his heels, eyes locked on yours with molten intensity. Without breaking the gaze, he shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs, kicking them aside impatiently. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed a deep red, the head glistening with precum and veins standing out prominently along the impressive length. It twitched under your hungry stare.

Jake wrapped a hand around the base and leaned forward again, pressing his forehead to yours. He dragged the heavy head of his cock through your soaked folds in one slow, deliberate stroke, coating himself thoroughly in your cum. The slick, obscene glide made you both groan.

“Never got so hard for anyone before, it fucking hurts,” he groaned, his tip nudging your clit with every pass. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other braced beside your head as he rolled his hips in teasing circles, the thick head catching at your entrance before sliding back up.

“Don’t make me wait then, yeah?” You all but begged, trying to sound confident but your voice gave it away. 

“Patience has never been my virtue,” he murmured, leaning down, claiming your mouth in a slow kiss while he dragged the heavy, flushed head of his cock through your soaked folds one final time, coating himself thoroughly in your slick and the remnants of wine.

“Please—fuck,” you groaned as he pushed inside, stretching your entrance with a burning, delicious pressure that made your breath hitch sharply. Jake groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he paused, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he worked the thick head inside with shallow, careful rocks of his hips.

“Shh—easy, baby,” he whispered, rubbing soothing circles on your clavicle, his breath warm against your parted lips.

You exhaled shakily, fingers digging into his shoulders as the thick head stretched you open, “you’re too fucking big.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips, “I’ve got you. Just relax for me.” He rocked forward gently, feeding you another inch. The stretch burned sweetly, your walls yielding reluctantly even as you dripped around him. Jake groaned softly into your mouth, the sound raw and intimate, “fuck—you’re gripping me so tight. So warm inside.”

You moaned quietly against his tongue, legs tightening around his waist, “deeper,” you whispered when he paused, “I want all of you.”

Jake’s breath hitched. He kissed you again, slower this time, as he pushed forward, sinking another thick inch, “you’re taking me so well,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, “feel how deep I’m going?”

He did, hips rolling in a measured glide until the last thick inch disappeared inside you. When he bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, balls pressed tight to your skin, a shared shudder ran through both of you. The fullness was obscene, a heavy pressure that made your cunt flutter wildly around his entire length.

“Jesus,” Jake whispered, voice wrecked, mouth claiming yours in a filthy kiss full of tongue and teeth, “you’re squeezing me, baby.”

You rolled your hips experimentally, drawing a guttural moan from him. “Move,” you demanded softly against his lips, “I need you to fuck me.”

He started with devastating control—long, luxurious drags of his cock that pulled almost completely out before sliding back in to the hilt. Each thrust stirred your insides, the thick head dragging along every sensitive ridge within you. The wet, obscene squelch of your arousal coating his shaft grew louder with every plunge.

“Like this?” He groaned low, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, tilting you open wider for him. “Feel how easily you’re sucking me back in every time I pull out?”

“Yes,” you gasped, meeting his rhythm with rising urgency, nails scoring down his back, “harder, Jaeyun. I want to feel you tomorrow.”

His pace quickened, hips snapping with more force. The bed creaked beneath you as he drove deeper, pounding into that spot that made white-hot sparks explode behind your eyes. Sweat slicked your bodies where they joined, the lingering scent of wine mixing with raw sex in the air.

He brought you to the edge once with relentless precision, faster thrusts, thumb circling your clit until your thighs quaked and your moans turned sharp and desperate. Then he slowed to a torturous grind, keeping his cock buried deep while circling his hips, rubbing firmly against that devastating spot without mercy.

“Not yet,” he breathed against your mouth, stealing another deep kiss, “I want you aching for it. Feel how your cunt is trying to pull me deeper even now?”

You whimpered, hips chasing his, body trembling with need, “please, I’m so close.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice dark with lust as he kissed along your throat, sucking a mark into your skin, “hold it for me. Just a little longer.”

“So fucking mean,” you whined, actually whined and Jake found immense pleasure in that. 

“You have no idea how good you sound when you whine like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough, dragging his teeth lightly over the fresh mark he’d left, “all breathless and so frustrated because I won’t let you have it yet.” He kept that cruel, grinding rhythm, cock buried to the hilt, hips circling in slow, deliberate presses that rubbed relentlessly against the spot that made your vision blur. Every rotation sent sparks racing up your spine, keeping you balanced on that agonizing knife-edge.

Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss, “oh my god,” you gasped, hips rolling desperately against him, chasing more friction, “you’re enjoying this way too much—”

Jake chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He captured your mouth in a messy kiss before pulling back just enough to speak against your lips, “guilty. The way your body keeps tightening around me, like it’s begging even when your mouth is complaining.” He gave one sharp thrust, then returned to the torturous grind, “tell me exactly how it feels.”

You shuddered, “feels so good, Jakey, want more.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, “good girl,” he whispered, rewarding you with a series of deeper, faster strokes that had the bedframe protesting. He pushed you right to the brink again—hips snapping, thumb working your clit with devastating precision until your back arched clean off the mattress and your moans turned into broken, high-pitched gasps.

You let out a genuine sob of frustration, nails raking down his back, “Jake! I fucking swear—”

He kissed the corner of your eye, licking up your tear, “one more time,” he promised, voice strained with his own restraint, “I need to feel you right on the edge like this. So close I can taste how badly you want to cum.”

He built you up again, slower this time, drawing it out until every nerve in your body felt electrified. Your skin was fever-hot, slick with sweat, the remnants of wine sticky between your pressed bodies. When you were shaking uncontrollably, walls fluttering wildly around his thick cock, he finally gave in.

“Turn over,” he said suddenly, voice rough with urgency, “face down. I want that ass in the air while I fuck you properly.”

You barely registered the command before his hands were on you, strong and decisive. He flipped you onto your stomach and yanked your hips up high, pressing your chest and face into the pillows. The position left you utterly vulnerable—back deeply arched, knees spread, cunt exposed and dripping. Jake knelt behind you, spreading your cheeks with both hands so he could watch as he lined up and drove back in with one powerful thrust.

The new angle punched the air from your lungs. He felt even thicker, reaching impossibly deeper, the head of his cock dragging against places that made your toes curl and your fingers fist the sheets.

“Fuck—this is insane,” you moaned into the pillow, pushing back against him.

Jake groaned loudly, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks as he started a brutal rhythm. “This is what I wanted,” he panted, watching mesmerized as his glistening cock disappeared between your cheeks with every thrust. 

He fucked you with long, punishing strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside your muffled moans. One hand slid up your spine to press between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest pinned down while the other reached around to rub your clit in firm, relentless circles.

You were babbling into the pillow, words slurring together, “right there. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“Neither have I,” he admitted, voice breaking on a groan as he leaned over you, chest to your back, hips snapping relentlessly. 

He kept you suspended on that final edge longer than before, slowing whenever you got too close, grinding deep while whispering filthy observations against your ear. Your thighs were soaked, sheets ruined beneath you, body trembling violently from the prolonged denial.

When he finally let you cum, it hit you like nothing before, pure unadulterated pleasure, just the greatest feeling ever. Your walls convulsed around him in powerful, rhythmic spasms, a raw, shattered moan tearing from your throat as pleasure flooded every cell in your body. Jake fucked you through it without mercy, hips stuttering but never stopping, drawing out every last wave until you were a quivering, gasping mess.

Only then did he pull out.

With a guttural groan he flipped you onto your back again and knelt between your spread legs. His fist flew over his swollen, dripping cock, eyes locked on your flushed, pulsing pussy. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted across your skin—painting your swollen folds, your sensitive clit, and your mound in messy, glistening streaks. He stroked himself through every pulse, milking out every drop until you were thoroughly marked and shining with him.

You lay there utterly spent, chest heaving, body limp and buzzing. Jake collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, pressing slow, tender kisses to your damp forehead and swollen lips as you both fought to catch your breath.

Minutes passed in heavy, satisfied silence, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. Then you felt it—his cock, already twitching and hardening again against your thigh. 

“Jake, what the fuck?” You asked, horrified. 

Jake let out a low, breathless laugh against your neck, nipping the skin gently, “c’mon, Jake Jr. likes you.”

“No, absolutely not. I’m tired,” you huffed, though your body said otherwise as you pushed back against him, “besides, we still have half a day tomorrow.

Jake gasped, losing character as if offended, “half a day? You do realize that i’m not gonna leave you alone for like, forever, right?” He implored more than anything, turning you towards him.

Maybe you wanted to hear that, maybe that’s why you even worded it out so clearly. His eyes were softer now, the intense lust easing into something gentler as he brushed damp strands of hair away from your face. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking tenderly along your jaw while the other rested possessively on your hip, thumb tracing small circles on your skin. 

You leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips, “yeah,” you whispered against his mouth, and for once, you really wanted it to work out, “I want that too.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms, his fingers trailed soothingly down your spine, grounding you as your breathing finally evened out.

But then that familiar hunger crept back into his touch. His hand slid lower, squeezing your ass as he pressed his now fully hard cock against your thigh again.

“So, round two?”

It felt like déjà vu, sitting on the lounger by the pool with Jungwon eating his strawberry dipped in chocolate. This time, however, your eyes kept drifting towards a certain person, and you weren’t shy about it, borderline ogling even, because he displayed all the marks on his body oh so proudly. 

Some seemed as if an animal had scratched him, you being the animal in this situation. 

Standing across the deck, Jake was putting on another performance with his towel slung low around his hips like some bashful maiden guarding virtue (again) while shamelessly flexing every line of his torso. The same ridiculous confidence, the same dramatic flair. Only now it landed differently. 

When he caught you staring, he let out a bemused smile. How the turn tables. He abandoned the group mid-sentence and walked straight toward you, shorts slipping dangerously low on his hips with every step.

“Well, well,” he drawled when he reached your lounger, “you’re finally looking at me.”

You tilted your head, letting your eyes drift deliberately over his marked-up chest, “maybe I like what I see now.”

Jake’s playful mask slipped for a moment, revealing absolute molten adoration in his gaze. He leaned down, one hand bracing on the back of your lounger, the other gently catching your chin.

“Don’t say things like that unless you want a crazy, obsessive boyfriend.”

Ah, the label. Was it early? You couldn’t say much, granted whatever went down on this trip wasn’t exactly a slow burn. So, you didn’t bother answering with words. Instead, you reached up, fingers brushing one of the marks you’d left on his skin.

That was enough.

Jake closed the distance and kissed you all saccharine in its sweetness. It wasn’t the frantic hunger of stolen nights, but something quieter, heavier with promise. His lips moved against yours like he was savoring every second, thumb stroking your jaw with tender reverence.

When he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, you only smiled at him. 

“I think i’d like that, Jakey.”

THANK YOU FOR READING

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[hs-is-loml]

We Never Stood A Chance. (gg44)

Pairing: garrett graham x childhood best friend!reader

Summary: when the granddaughter of the former head coach of the New York Rangers transfers to BriarU, people don’t expect you to be so attached to captain of the Briar Hawks hockey team, garrett graham. what everyone didn’t know was that you are his childhood best friend. don't forget the guys who welcomed you with unconditional support and became family like you’ve never expected.

Warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope. (they act like they’re married and have been together for 30 years) one-bed trope. no mention of y/n, pet names are used to refer to the reader: petal and angel. found family to the absolute max, along with dean being a menace. wholesome love all around. reader is given princess treatment.

a/n: worked my butt off for this one, and i hope you all love it as much as i do. i'm such a sucker for the found family trope. also a little family healing for garrett, and did i mention that garrett is completely gone for the reader? (let me know what you think!)

Word count: 13.1k

masterlist

“Did you guys hear about the granddaughter of the former New York Rangers coach transferring here from Columbia?” Logan asked Dean and Tucker from the kitchen. “We’re out of beer.”

Just as he made the statement, Garrett walked through the front door holding a case of beer: “I come bearing gifts.”

“Our saviour,” Logan jokingly praised as he opened his welcoming arms for Garrett to hand the case over to him. 

“Logan, is she hot?” Dean chirped from the couch.

“What girl caught your eye?” Garrett teased, walking over to the pantry in search of a snack.

“Not yet. I was asking the boys if they heard about the new transfer from Columbia. Apparently, she’s the granddaughter of the former Rangers coach,” Logan explained. 

His words had Garrett pause his rummaging and slowly turn around to face Logan. “Where’d you hear that from?” Garrett’s voice came out more snippy than he had meant.

“A couple of the guys in the locker room mentioned it today at morning practice,” Logan shrugged, not noticing Garrett’s shift in mood. 

Garrett’s breath hitched at the mere thought of guys he knew talking about you. 

The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you. 

He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter. 

Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice. 

Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight. 

They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.

They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself. 

Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it. 

You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents. 

It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.  

A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.

“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”

“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.

Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life. 

“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.  

“I hate him.” 

“I know you do.”

“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”

His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.

Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment. 

“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.

Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted. 

“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.

Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.

“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”

Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?” 

“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs. 

“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.

His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!” 

Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”

“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”

“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you. 

“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.

“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”

“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”

“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it. 

“I miss you, Petal.”

“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”

The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”

“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”

“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you. 

“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.

“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.

“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.

“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”

“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”

The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”

“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”

“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.

“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.

“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs. 

Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?” 

Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?” 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.

The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet. 

Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway. 

“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it. 

“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment. 

“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.

“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious. 

Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”

Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly. 

“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”

“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization. 

“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey. 

“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.

“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow. 

“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly. 

“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her. 

“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him. 

“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”

“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.

“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”

“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”

“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone. 

Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave. 

“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored. 

“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea. 

“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three. 

Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.

Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”

“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice. 

“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.

“Besides the point,” you brushed off.

“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.

“Come in,” you told him.

 “You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door. 

“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room. 

“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink. 

The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice. 

“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”

“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.

“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted. 

Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad. 

They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion. 

“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”

“It was good talking to you, Pop.”

“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!” 

“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?” 

And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.

“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.

“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation. 

It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”

“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”

“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested. 

“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.

“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned. 

“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.

“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.

“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”

“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.

“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”

“Thanks, Tuck.”

After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon. 

While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were. 

It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like. 

Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already. 

Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks. 

“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.

“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.

Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him. 

You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.

Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”

“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.

“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar. 

He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands. 

The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them. 

The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go. 

“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.

Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world. 

“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.

Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you. 

Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”

“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.

“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him. 

“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head. 

“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

“Neither have I, Dean.”

“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.

“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”

You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”

Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.

You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”

“Worse.”

“Perfect.”

You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.

“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him. 

“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over. 

“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.

“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted, joking. 

Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”

“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake. 

Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?” 

“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off. 

“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.

Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”

“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.

“I hate you,” Garrett told him.

“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.

“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted. 

“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him. 

Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”

Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.

“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?” 

“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”

“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed. 

“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”

Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.

“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.

When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players. 

Well.

Four college hockey players, and apparently you know. 

Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.

With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”

“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”

“No problem, Angel.”

Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him. 

Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed. 

“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”

You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”

Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”

“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged. 

Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”

“Just books.”

“All of them?”

You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”

“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.

You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”

Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest. 

“Hey!” 

“No, Petal.”

“I can carry it,” you defended. 

“I know.” He said, heading into the house.

Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”  

“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in. 

The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean. 

“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room. 

Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.

Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it. 

By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry. 

By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it. 

Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”

“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags. 

“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.

“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”

“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said. 

“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled. 

By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table. 

Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.

“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.

Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”

“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.

You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed. 

Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”

You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”

No response. 

“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”

“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”

“How?” Dean gaped. 

“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him. 

“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.

“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”

“Who’s older?” Dean went.

You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming. 

“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.

“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”

“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.

“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned. 

“Still older.”

“You brought it up constantly.”

“Because it’s true.”

Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”

“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.

“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves. 

After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”

The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”

No one pushed. They all knew that much.

The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all. 

You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little. 

“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”

“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite. 

“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.

“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed. 

Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”

“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.

His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side. 

“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something. 

“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted. 

“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.

“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.

“There was a first time!” Dean gasped. 

“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.

“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.

Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” you asked.

“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”

Garrett groaned. 

Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”

“I have not.”

You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder. 

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.

Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see. 

The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck. 

The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you. 

“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.

“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.

“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door. 

“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him. 

The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”

“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room. 

“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him. 

“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away. 

“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”

“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.

“You’re a strong woman.”

“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door. 

“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.

“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips. 

“You are being dramatic.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you. 

You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him. 

You found him already staring at you. 

The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines. 

When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster. 

Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you. 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door. 

“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”

“Petal.”

You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?” 

Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in. 

“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. 

“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan. 

Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”

Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”

Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”

“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”

Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point. 

A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”

“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw. 

“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.

“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion. 

“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”

“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”

Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”

“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.

Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit. 

Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.

Whispers bounced between tables. 

“Who is she?”

“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”

“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”

“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”

Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”

“Maybe she’s his sister.”

You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all. 

One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”

Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted. 

Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”

There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation. 

Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”

“Always,” Logan added.

“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.

“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head. 

“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face. 

“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.

Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you. 

You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles. 

“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett. 

You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”

“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else. 

“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded. 

Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”

Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown.  His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.” 

Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly. 

Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out. 

Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”

The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth. 

Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.

Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all. 

Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were. 

Across the table, Logan stared. 

Then at Tucker.

Then at Dean.

“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.

“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another. 

Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”

You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.

The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.

Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table. 

Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared. 

The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted. 

“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied. 

“That’s a design flaw.”

“More like user error.”

You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.

“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table. 

You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week. 

The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”

“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”

She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”

“Yeah.” You smiled.

“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”

“I figured.” 

“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”

You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning. 

It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”

The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered. 

“Just the one I was sitting next to.”

She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweetie.”

When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”

“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said. 

“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach. 

“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him. 

“I regret nothing.”

Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it. 

“What?” Logan asked. 

“It’s empty.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”

“The bill.” 

“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned. 

Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”

“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett. 

“So was I,” Tucker admitted. 

The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”

Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?” 

Logan shook his head. 

“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent. 

Four pairs of eyes turned toward you. 

“Petal,” Garrett said. 

“No.” You stopped. 

“You paid?” He scoffed. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged. 

“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered. 

“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”

The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”

“Too late,” Logan mumbled.

“Petal, we don’t need that.”

You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement. 

“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”

“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off. 

“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.

You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.

A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle. 

“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart. 

Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”

You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured. 

You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.” 

“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“Who said you had to?” 

His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours. 

The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes. 

You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.” 

“Against what?”

“Us.”

“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”

The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything. 

Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.

Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.

As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties. 

Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.

You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored. 

You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk. 

“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off. 

You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others. 

Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.

Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch. 

You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.

His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag. 

“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.

He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.

“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet. 

“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice. 

“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett. 

Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”

“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.

“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular. 

“Is that the transfer from New York?”

“I want lunch, too.”

“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”

“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”

That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players. 

Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”

“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day. 

“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”

“Approved?” you said hopefully. 

“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room. 

“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.

The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it. 

Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one. 

Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.

“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”

“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”

“No. This is god sent.” 

“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.” 

Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”

Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”

Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”

“We heard that,” Dean called out. 

“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation. 

“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.

“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew. 

“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him

“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically. 

“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained. 

“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.

“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”

“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.

“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”

“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.

“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”

“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory. 

“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully. 

“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.

“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked. 

“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”

“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”

“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered. 

You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”

“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.

“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.

“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.

“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.

Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”

“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”

“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”

“That was what? When we were ten?”

“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”

“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.

“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.

“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.

You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. 

“Since when?” Tucker questioned.

“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”

“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted. 

“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together. 

“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added. 

“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.

Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”

“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile. 

By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.

Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find. 

But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head. 

Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit. 

You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands. 

“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.

Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.

Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons. 

Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”

Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared. 

You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.

The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.

The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one. 

Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.

To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.

Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”

Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck. 

Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.

Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes. 

Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”

The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.

When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.

The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”

He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly. 

“Good game, Pop.”

“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest. 

“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”

Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.

“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.

“Ma.”

“I asked a question.” She persisted.

“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”

The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.” 

Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”

“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”

Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”

Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”

“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter. 

Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”

Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”

“I’m trying,” Dean told him.

Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.

You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again. 

Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”

Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.” 

Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”

“You are old,” Your grandfather commented. 

“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted. 

The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked. 

“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed. 

“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.

Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”

Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”

Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”

Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”

The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”

As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”

“What?” Garrett glanced over at him. 

“They really are your family.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.

He had everything he needed all around him.

[midnightmax]

The baby 1 (two pink lines)

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Y/n finds out that Dean and her are expecting a baby.

Part. 2 | Part. 3

The classroom felt suffocating.

Not because it was hot.

Nor because the professor had been lecturing about the same topic for what felt like hours.

It was because Y/N couldn’t stop fighting the overwhelming urge to throw up.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, swallowing hard.

Please… not now.

For the third time in less than ten minutes, another wave of nausea crashed over her.

Beside her, Allie frowned.

“Y/N… are you okay?”

Y/N forced herself to smile.

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t.

She hadn’t been for days.

Morning sickness.

Constant exhaustion.

The smell of coffee—something she usually loved—now made her stomach churn.

And…

Her period was over a week late.

She had spent days convincing herself it was stress.

College.

Exams.

Dean’s hockey schedule barely lining up with hers anymore.

But deep down…

She already knew.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to the professor as she gathered her things. “I’m not feeling well.”

He simply nodded.

The moment she stepped outside, she took a deep breath of the cool air.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone.

Dean had texted her earlier.

Dean ❤️

Practice will probably go until six. Coach wants us on the ice forever 😒

Love you.

See you later.

That gave her almost three hours.

Three hours to find out if what she feared was true.

And, if it was…

Three hours to figure out how she was supposed to tell Dean.

—

The pharmacy was only a few blocks away.

She stood frozen in front of the shelf.

Pregnancy tests.

There were so many.

Different brands.

Different designs.

Different ways of delivering the same life-changing answer.

Her heartbeat pounded loudly inside her chest.

Finally, she grabbed four.

Paid.

And hurried out before she could change her mind.

—

The hockey house was unusually quiet.

The boys were all at practice.

Using the spare key Dean had given her months ago, she quietly unlocked the front door.

“Make yourself at home,” he always told her.

Usually, she would’ve smiled at the familiar mess that came with four college hockey players sharing a house.

Today…

She barely noticed.

She walked straight upstairs.

Straight into Dean’s room.

Then rushed into the bathroom.

Her hands shook violently as she opened the first box.

She read the instructions.

Then read them again.

And once more.

Even though she already knew every step by heart.

“Okay…”

She whispered to herself.

“You can do this.”

A few minutes later…

Four pregnancy tests rested side by side on the bathroom counter.

Three minutes.

Only three minutes.

Yet they felt longer than entire semesters.

She slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold bathroom floor, hugging her knees against her chest.

She stared at the timer on her phone.

One minute.

Two.

Two minutes and forty seconds.

She couldn’t look.

She didn’t want to.

Finally…

The alarm rang.

Her entire body froze.

Very slowly…

She reached toward the nearest test.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

Everything around her disappeared.

“No…”

Her voice barely came out.

“No…”

Tears instantly flooded her eyes.

A broken sob escaped her lips.

I’m pregnant.

She wasn’t crying because she didn’t want the baby.

She cried because, in one single moment…

Everything had changed.

Every plan.

Every dream.

Every version of the future she had imagined.

She buried her face in her hands.

The sobs became louder.

Harder.

Until she was curled against the bathtub, crying so hard that her chest physically hurt.

Dean…

How am I supposed to tell you?

They barely had enough time for each other lately between practices, games, exams, and assignments.

Now…

There would be a baby.

Everything would be different.

—

The sound of the front door opening startled her.

“Guys?”

Silence.

“Huh…”

She heard a hockey bag hit the floor.

“Guess everyone’s still out.”

Footsteps echoed upstairs.

Dean noticed their bedroom door was slightly open.

“Baby?”

No answer.

Then…

He heard a quiet sob.

“Y/N?”

Another one.

His heart immediately dropped.

He hurried toward the bathroom.

The moment he stepped inside, he froze.

She was sitting on the floor.

Eyes swollen.

Shoulders shaking.

“My God…”

He dropped to his knees beside her.

“Baby…”

He gently cupped her face.

“What happened?”

She tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

Only another broken sob.

“Talk to me.”

She shook her head desperately.

“I… I can’t…”

“It’s okay.”

His fingers carefully brushed her hair away from her face.

“You’re scaring me.”

Her eyes slowly drifted toward the bathroom counter.

Dean followed her gaze.

His eyes landed on the pregnancy tests.

Two lines.

He stopped breathing.

For what felt like forever…

Neither of them said a word.

Slowly, he reached for one of the tests.

Read it.

Looked at another.

Then another.

Finally…

He looked back at her.

“…You’re pregnant?”

Fresh tears streamed down her face.

“I’m sorry…”

His eyebrows knitted together.

“Sorry?”

“I… I don’t know what to do…”

“I wasn’t expecting this…”

“I wanted time to figure out how to tell you before you got home, but…”

Her voice broke again.

She couldn’t finish.

Without hesitation…

Dean sat beside her and wrapped both arms around her.

Immediately.

“No.”

She cried against his shoulder.

“I’m so scared.”

“I know.”

“What if this changes everything?”

“It will.”

Her body stiffened.

He gently lifted her chin.

“But changing doesn’t automatically mean it’ll be bad.”

More tears escaped.

“I thought you’d be angry.”

Dean looked genuinely confused.

“Angry at you?”

She nodded.

He shook his head immediately.

“Never.”

He kissed her forehead.

“We made this baby together.”

Another kiss.

“We’re both scared.”

Another one.

“But you’re not going through this alone.”

She closed her eyes.

“I don’t know how to be a mom.”

“You don’t have to know today.”

“I don’t know anything.”

He smiled softly.

“You think I do?”

She looked at him.

“I barely know how to take care of myself.”

A tiny smile appeared.

“Honestly… you’re usually the one taking care of me.”

She stared at him with watery eyes.

“What if we mess everything up?”

His eyes became glassy too.

“Then…”

He smiled through the emotion.

“We’ll mess it up together.”

A quiet laugh escaped her between tears.

“There she is…”

He gently wiped her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I love you.”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“So much.”

“I love you too.”

He looked at her red, puffy eyes.

“Come on.”

He carefully helped her stand.

“Let’s get you off this cold floor.”

“You’ll take a shower.”

“And while you’re getting dressed…”

“I’ll see what Tucker left in the fridge for us.”

Dean turned on the shower for her.

He picked out one of his oversized hoodies.

A clean pair of sweatpants.

Her favorite fuzzy socks she’d left there weeks ago.

When she stepped out wrapped in a towel…

He was waiting.

Without saying a word…

He gently dried her hair.

Carefully brushed every tangled strand.

“So gentle…”

She whispered.

“You’ve cried enough for one day.”

He helped her into the oversized hoodie.

The sleeves swallowed her hands.

He smiled.

“You’re beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I probably look awful.”

“You’ve never looked awful a single day in your life.”

She finally climbed into bed while he went downstairs to get dinner.

—

Later…

They lay quietly beneath the blankets.

Her head rested against his chest.

Dean absentmindedly played with her hair.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

It was peaceful.

After a long moment…

His hand slowly slid down to rest over her stomach.

“So…”

He whispered.

“Hi there, little one.”

She smiled through fresh tears.

“You’re already talking to the baby?”

He grinned.

“Someone had to introduce themselves.”

She laughed softly.

Dean looked down at her.

“I know today wasn’t how we imagined finding out.”

She nodded.

“But…”

He kissed the top of her head.

“I want you to promise yourself something.”

She looked up.

“What?”

“No matter how terrifying this gets…”

He intertwined their fingers.

“…you will never face it alone.”

Y/N buried her face against his chest.

His heartbeat echoed steadily beneath her ear.

Slow.

Strong.

Safe.

And for the first time since seeing those two pink lines…

She finally allowed herself to believe…

Maybe…

Everything really was going to be okay.

[b1u3c10ud]

<3

[ordinary-barbie]

i'm your dream girl, but you're not my type.

dean di laurentis x fem!reader

tags: enemies to lovers-ish, language, Dean’s dirty mouth, degradation kink if you squint, slight praise kink, fem reader, dean is lowkey a yearner, references to drinking/being drunk, pet names (baby, princess), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), nipple sucking, protected p in v sex, consent checks, hannah and garrett are lowkey matchmakers, aftercare discussion, vague top gun spoilers (sorry)

word count: 5.1k

summary: Dean Di Laurentis is perhaps the most insufferable person you've ever met—so how come you can't seem to stay away from him?

note: dipping my toes into off campus fic writing 🤭 dean is lowkey my king so I had to write for him first. hope y'all enjoy! title from fame is a gun by addison rae!

18+ only under the cut—minors do not interact!

Dean loves it when you're mean to him.

You get this special look on your face whenever you’re about to hurl a snarky remark at him—a glint in your eye, followed by a curled lip and topped off with a sharply arched eyebrow. Dean lives for it. You were already attractive, but for some reason, being mean made you even hotter in his eyes.

The two of you had met at one of the hockey house's epic parties. That night had started as usual: booming music, sticky floors, and a general sense of chaos. Dean was making the rounds, feeling tipsy and horny, when you walked in, stopping him in his tracks.

Yeah, Hannah and Garrett were also there, being disgustingly cute as usual. But all Dean could focus on was you, in your leather jacket and brown boots, looking like you'd rather be anywhere else instead of one of the hypest ragers at Briar. He strode across the room to you, instantly fascinated.

“Wellsy, I can’t believe you’ve been hiding one of your hot friends from me!” Dean exclaimed to Hannah, pouting exaggeratedly. He locked eyes with you, flashing the playful smirk that girls usually went crazy over. “Hey there, I’m Dean, and it’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You sharply rolled your eyes, completely unimpressed, and Dean felt his dick stir in his pants. “Oh, I know who you are. Tall, irritating, thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

Hannah tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. Garrett smirked. But Dean? He wasn’t fazed in the slightest. “Hopefully that’s your type,” he flirted, and you could practically smell the smugness (and expensive-ass cologne) radiating from him.

“Sure, if I’d just had a lobotomy, maybe,” you quipped, a mean glint in your eye.

Dean laughed heartily before breaking into a dimpled, ear-splitting grin. “Damn, you are mean.”

Hannah cleared her throat and said your name gently, reminding you and Dean that you weren’t the only ones in the room.

“Let’s go dance?” Hannah offered, linking arms with you. Right on cue, a Britney Spears song started playing—Toxic, one of your absolute faves.

“Garrett, I’ll see you later,” you said, flashing a friendly smile at Hannah’s boyfriend. Then, you turned to Dean, decidedly less cordial. “I’d say it was a pleasure meeting you, but I don’t like lying.”

Hannah shook her head amusedly, lightly tugging on your arm. You followed her to the living room-slash-dance floor, ready to dance, get sweaty, and hopefully erase any thoughts of Dean Di Laurentis and his stupid blue eyes and infuriating smirk from your mind.

• • •

From that moment on, Dean was hooked. Whenever you and Dean crossed paths—and that seemed to be happening quite often lately, to your chagrin and his delight—you ended up bantering. Some cosmic universal force seemed to always draw the two of you together, whether it was at a crowded football pregame at a frat house or at your favorite hole-in-the-wall pizza place where you and Hannah loved to satisfy your late-night cravings. You seemed totally immune to Dean’s charm, yet you hadn't told him to fuck off. He found you absolutely fascinating, like a riddle he was dying to solve.

Now it was the team's annual Halloween party, and Dean was chilling in the kitchen in an army green Top Gun-style jumpsuit, trying (and failing) to look like he wasn't waiting for a special someone to show up.

"She's coming over with Wellsy," Garrett said, snapping Dean out of his reverie.

Dean snorted. "Don't know who you're talking about, man."

Garrett said your name, the corners of his smile quirking up in amusement. "You know, the girl you're obsessed with?"

Dean rolled his eyes, his gaze fixated on the door, even as a bunch of beautiful women in revealing costumes cast flirty glances in an attempt to grab his attention.

"I am not obsessed with her," Dean insisted.

Garrett chuckled. "Sure, man."

Before Dean could fire off a retort to his pain-in-the-ass friend, the door swung open, and time seemed to stop as you and Hannah casually walked into the party. Hannah was dressed as Elton John, complete with sparkly pink square glasses and a Dodgers jersey—cute. And then there was you. Your costume was fairly simple: an all-black ensemble of a V-neck sweater, jeans, and a beanie (topped off with a plastic silver tiara), completing the look with a pair of dark shades perched on your nose.

You were the sexiest Louvre heist thief Dean had ever seen. 

"Have you come to steal my heart, princess?" he asked, those damn dimples popping out again as he flashed you a playful smile.

You responded with another one of your patented eye rolls. "I see you've decided to be a fuckboy for Halloween. But isn't the point of the holiday to not dress like yourself?" you snarked, crossing your arms. The movement pushed your boobs together in your sweater top, and Dean said a silent word of thanks to whoever knitted this garment.

Dean let out a faux gasp of horror. "I'm Maverick, baby. Don't tell me you've never seen the cinematic masterpiece that is Top Gun!"

"A 'cinematic masterpiece'?'" you repeated, your mouth twitching with amusement despite your best efforts.

"Hell yes! The acting, the music, the dogfight scenes? Tom fuckin' Cruise? It's one of the most iconic movies of all time, princess!" Dean insisted. He was so passionate and earnest about his love for this cheesy-looking 80s movie; it was kind of cute. It made your stomach churn a little to admit that, even to yourself.

"Well, okay, Maverick," you drawled, deciding to entertain him. "Why don't you make yourself useful and get me a drink?"

Dean smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "It would be my honor," he gallantly replied, prompting yet another eye roll from you.

• • •

You hated to admit it, but Hannah, once again, was right.

She’d invited you to another one of the hockey team’s stupid parties, promising you that you’d have a good time. (Maybe she also mentioned a certain blonde hockey player, but you’d ignored that). And yes, you were indeed enjoying yourself. After Dean gave you a Finnish Long Drink, you began to let loose, dancing with Hannah and a few other friends. You laughed, feeling completely light and happy, a fizzy buzz coursing through your body thanks to the grapefruit mixed cocktail in your system.

“May I have this dance, madamemoiselle?”

Dean. He’d disappeared after getting you a drink, occupying himself with a rotating cast of girls. Classic Di Laurentis. And yet, he found his way back to you, like a magnet attracted to its opposite pole.

You probably should’ve told him no. You’d already turned down a few guys who’d approached you, preferring to dance with your girls. And this wasn’t just any guy—it was Dean Di Laurentis, a guy that should come with his own warning label. But you were tipsy and Zombieboy by Lady Gaga was blasting, which sounded like as good a reason as any to bypass your better judgment.

You lowered your sunglasses and smirked at Dean. “Fuck it, let’s dance,” you replied casually. “But keep your hands away from my ass or I’ll make sure you can never hold a hockey stick again.”

Dean beamed, looking like he’d just won a mega million jackpot. He put his hands on your waist, pulling you close to him so your back was flush against his chest. You swayed your hips as Dean held you, losing yourself to the rhythm of the music.

After the song ended, you and Dean broke apart and looked at each other, chests heaving and skin glistening with a fresh layer of sweat. The air suddenly seemed charged with an electric energy, as if a storm was about to brew.

“Thanks for a surprisingly decent time,” you quipped. You took off your tiara, which had threatened to fall off your beanie multiple times tonight, and placed it atop Dean’s blonde locks. He should look ridiculous, but unfortunately he pulled off the headpiece, a perfect Prince Charming in a Top Gun jumpsuit. “See you around, Maverick.”

And then you were gone, disappearing into a sea of people, your ass looking absolutely perfect in those dark jeans. Dean hated to see you go—but he fuckin’ loved to watch you leave.

• • •

You weren't jealous, no matter what Hannah thought.

You stood next to the bar at Malone's during its weekly live music night, one hand at your hip while the other was gripping an unopened sparkling water. Meanwhile, Dean was dancing to an alt-rock band's cover of "Call Me Maybe" with a cute, redheaded young woman wearing a cropped Zeta sorority shirt. And you didn't care. As a matter of fact, it was a relief that he hadn't bothered you once tonight.

"You're staring at him again," Hannah singsonged, playfully hitting you in the shoulder with her rag.

You turned to Hannah, rolling your eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

Hannah chuckled. "Why don't you just go talk to him?"

You scoffed. "Because he's annoying," you mumbled, your face growing hot. "

Hannah's mouth twitched in amusement as she focused on sopping up a stain from the bar counter. "And yet you always seize the opportunity to talk to him whenever he gets close to you."

"Well, someone has to put him in his place," you replied, unable to look away from Dean and the Zeta girl. Something ugly and mean knotted in your stomach as you watched him run his hands down her sides, but that could just be a coincidence. Maybe you were hungry. Or tired. Anything but jealous that Dean was chatting up a girl who wasn't you.

After what seemed like an eternity, the song ended, and the band took a break. Dean and the Zeta went their separate ways, but not before she sent him one last flirtatious look. Then, as if sensing your presence, Dean instantly locked eyes with you, smirking lazily, and made his way over. Fuck.

Hannah opened her mouth to tease you again when a group of frat boys came up to the bar, pulling her attention away from you. You sighed, trying your best to keep your composure when Dean sidled up to you. He was wearing the same cologne as the night you'd first met, and you nearly smiled at the familiar scent. It was so musky and woodsy and him.

(What was going on with you?)

"You know, if you wanted a dance with me, you could've just asked," Dean murmured, somehow too close and yet not close enough.

So he had caught you staring. If ever there was a time for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, now would be perfect.

"Who said I wanted a dance with you?" you retorted, your voice impassive.

"Princess, I felt you burning a hole in the back of my head the entire time," Dean remarked, grinning from ear to ear. "It's okay if you're obsessed with me."

You wrinkled your nose, which only amused him more. "I'm not obsessed with you. Just fascinated by the way you always manage to find a girl as soon as you walk into a room. It's like your dick is a compass."

"And it led me to you, baby," Dean replied smoothly.

You pretended to gag. "You're insufferable, you know that?" you grumbled.

Dean laughed. "So I've been told by you many times. It never gets old."

This man was unbelievable.

"I know you're some kind of campus Casanova, but you're not my type," you said, crossing your arms as you glared at Dean.

Dean hummed in response. "Okay, fair. I'll leave you alone then. Maybe I'll hit up Mikayla again and ask for another dance."

Your eye twitched. "Go ahead," you said, casually shrugging your shoulders. You were fine, remember? You didn't care! "I hope you have a great time with someone who actually worships the ground you walk on."

Dean flashed a teasing smile at you. "Honestly, these days, pretty girls who love to argue with me are more my type. You have a good night, princess."

As Dean walked out of Malone's, you couldn't help but feel your stomach twist again. Was he joking about hooking up with Mikayla? Was he actually going to leave you alone now?

Hannah returned to your side, quirking an eyebrow in amusement.

"Don't even start," you warned. You didn't have the energy for another "I told you so" from Hannah right now.

• • •

You couldn't believe it, but you actually missed Dean's presence in your life.

Sure, he was busy with hockey, but he usually managed to pencil in time to be a flirtatious menace to you. But it had been days since he'd last teased you at Malone's. You ended up following him on Instagram, checking his stories (but not being the first one to click on them because you would rather die than be seen as too eager) to see what he was up to. There were random snaps from hockey practice, whatever songs he was listening to on Apple Music, and the occasional casual hangout pic with the boys. But one thing surprised you: no pics with random girls.

You figured Dean would be living his best fuckboy life with a different lady perched on his lap every night. The Fifth Line was usually popping off with stories about Dean's latest exploits, but it had been unusually quiet about him. You tried to distract yourself from thinking about Dean, and you even deleted your Instagram app so you wouldn't be tempted to check his account again. (That lasted for all of 10 minutes.)

"You're coming to the hockey game with me tonight," Hannah insisted, leaving no room for debate.

You grimaced. "Han, I'm not much of a hockey person. I'd rather just stay in the apartment and chill."

Hannah looked at you sympathetically. "I get it; you want to stay in bed and burrow. But it's been forever since we went out and had fun together. Just come with me, please?"

"Or maybe I could rewatch Before Sunrise for the millionth time instead?" you jokingly offered. Like Hannah, you adored Dirty Dancing, but your comfort movie of choice involved Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy roaming Vienna without a care in the world.

Hannah said your name pleadingly, looking up at you with big puppy eyes. "Please? I know Dean would want you there..."

You snorted. "Nah, Dean will have plenty of puck bunnies at the game screaming his name. I think his ego will be fine."

Hannah smiled, her eyes dancing mischievously with a secret you weren't privy to. "True, but Garrett told me he asked if you specifically would show up."

Your heart clenched at the thought. "Pretty girls who love to argue with me are more my type," he'd said that night at Malone's. And as it turned out, goofy 6'2" blonde hockey players who loved to annoy you had become your type.

"Okay, I'll go," you agreed. “But you’re gonna have to explain the rules of hockey to me.”

Hannah chuckled. “I think I only know slightly more than you do, but I’ll try my best.”

              • • •  

In your short time as a hockey watcher, one thing had become clear to you—Dean Di Laurentis was damn good.

You had to give credit to the other boys on the ice, especially Garrett, who looked so cool and calculated while doing whatever a captain did. But you found yourself transfixed by Dean; you’d never seen him so locked in before, and it was actually kind of hot. He was so quick on the ice and aggressive while playing defense. And when Dean set up an assist to Garrett to score the winning goal? That was just beautiful.

You leapt to your feet alongside Hannah, cheering at the top of your lungs. Garrett peered into the crowd, smiling softly at his girl. Dean looked up as well, giving a friendly nod to Hannah before noticing you, his eyes widening before he broke out into a huge grin that made your stomach do backflips.

You and Hannah waited by the entrance to the hockey arena, chatting idly until Garrett and Dean emerged from the locker room, still giddy from the high of upsetting the #2 team in the country. 

“Well, this was a pleasant surprise,” Dean murmured, eyeing you appreciatively in your Briar Hawks hoodie. 

You smirked. “Congrats, Di Laurentis. Pleasantly surprised by how competent you were out there.”

“Was that a…compliment?” Dean joked, his voice full of exaggerated awe. “This is the best night of my life!”

“C’mon, Wellsy, let’s leave these lovebirds alone,” Garrett teased, laughing as Hannah playfully shoved his shoulder. The two of them scurried off to Garrett’s Jeep, leaving you and Dean alone. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering despite the hoodie you had on.

"Wanna warm up in my car? I got heated seats," Dean offered, grinning crookedly.

Not even you could pass that up. You accepted Dean's offer, gamely following him to his car despite your nerves.

“Princess, you didn’t comment on how douchey and expensive my car is. Are you okay?” Dean joked after you both climbed into his BMW, adjusting your seat so you could be more comfortable.

You rolled your eyes, though there wasn’t a hint of malice behind the gesture. “I’d rather talk about why you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

Dean frowned. "Thought you wanted some space, so I backed off. Especially after you posted on your story about going on a date."

Oh yes, the date. A couple of nights ago, you'd tried the ultimate get-over-Dean strategy: focusing your energy on somebody else. Your friend Rhiannon had set you up with her twin brother, Declan, confident that the two of you would make a great match. And Declan was definitely appealing, with sparkling green eyes and a sharp wit, and he was very easy to talk to. In a different time, you could see yourself falling for him. But you had an annoying, Dean-shaped roadblock in your way, so you'd let Declan down gently at the end of the night. Thankfully, he was pretty chill and understanding about it. (If only all guys could be like that!)

Wait a minute. “How did you know I went on a date?” you asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Garrett told me,” Dean admitted, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. You’d forgotten for a split second that Garrett followed you on Instagram. Of course, Garrett would see the photo you took of your delicious pasta (caption: “on a date with some penne alla vodka…kind of nervous…oh, there’s a guy here too”) and tell his buddy.

You awkwardly cleared your throat. "Anyway, the date went okay, but I probably won't go out with him again."

Dean's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really? Why not?"

You sighed. "Because I like someone else. Unfortunately, he's irritating and flirty and, of course, owns a luxury car. I'm just shocked it isn't a Lambo."

A boyish grin spread across Dean's face. "BMWs are just better," he replied simply.

Dean suddenly grew serious. “Can I—would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked, nervously fiddling with the gold chain around his neck. He looked leagues away from the smooth talker he usually was.

“Yes, please,” you enthusiastically replied. Dean grinned, climbing into the backseat, and you followed after him. He pulled you into his lap, holding your face with both hands as he kissed you deeply. You moaned before returning the kiss with equal fervor, relishing the feeling of his soft lips on yours.

You shifted your position in Dean’s lap, making him groan as you brushed against his hardening erection.

“Wow, someone sure is excited,” you quipped, snickering.

“Let me take you back to my room, princess,” Dean murmured, kissing below the shell of your ear.

You couldn’t think of anything you wanted to do more.

• • •

You and Dean raced up the stairs of the hockey house, itching to get your hands on each other. Dean locked his bedroom door and pinned you against it, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck while his free hand toyed with the waistband of your jeans. 

“Bet you’re soaked for me, princess,” Dean teased. 

You let out a breathy chuckle. “Why don’t you check for yourself?” 

Dean happily obliged, unbuttoning your jeans and letting them pool at your feet with lightning speed. He hummed appreciatively at your black undies before sliding a finger inside, smirking when he heard the squelch of your wetness soaking his digit. 

Dean brought his finger to his mouth, closing his eyes in bliss as he licked off your slick. “Fuck, baby, you’re delicious.” 

He slid his finger back into your wet heat, pumping it in and out before curling it just so and making you see stars behind your eyes. You put a hand over your mouth, cautious about making even the slightest sound. 

“C’mon, baby, I wanna hear all the pretty sounds you can make for me,” Dean purred, rubbing at your clit, causing your hips to buck up.

“B-But what about your teammates!” you protested, holding in a gasp. 

“‘s nothing they haven’t heard before,” Dean casually replied before adding in another finger, using both digits to pump into and scissor your pussy. You whimpered, feeling so good but also wanting—craving—more.

“What’s wrong, princess? You’re usually so good with your words,” Dean cracked, his voice dripping with lust. “Tell me what you need.”

“Need your mouth on me,” you whined.

Dean cupped a hand to his ear in response, his eyebrows knotted together in mock confusion. “What’s that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

You were going to kill him. “Oh, you heard me, you absolute menace,” you grumbled. 

Dean pulled his fingers out of you before lifting you over his shoulder and gently laying you on your back atop his bed. A cynical part of you braced yourself for Dean to do the bare minimum, but he absolutely feasted on your pussy, licking at your folds and sucking on your clit like this was the first decent meal he'd had after a week stranded on a deserted island.

"You close?" Dean murmured, massaging your clit with two fingers while he continued passionately eating you out.

“Yes,” you replied, breath hitching. “Oh, god.”

“Actually, I’m Dean, but that works too,” he joked. Before you could offer a snarky reply, Dean buried his nose into your cunt, inhaling your natural scent. You let out a wanton moan, bucking your hips up again and grinding yourself against Dean’s face.

“Let yourself go, princess. Come on my face,” Dean encouraged you.

You cried out as you orgasmed, soaking Dean’s face with your arousal. Dean looked up at you, face and chin glistening, and flashed you a devilish smile.

“Baby, you are unreal,” Dean marveled, wiping a hand across his face and licking off your juices. “Holy shit.”

“Fuck. That was pretty good,” you admitted. “You’re annoyingly talented.”

A satisfied grin spread across Dean’s face. “To me, eating pussy is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Obviously I wanna make you feel good, but it’s really fuckin’ fun for me too.”

Your pussy throbbed at Dean’s words. You couldn’t help but wonder—if he was this good with his fingers and his mouth, what would his dick be like? The thought made you even hornier than you already were.

“Princess, I’m already hard again,” Dean confessed, palming himself through his jeans.

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Is that your way of saying you want to sleep with me?”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Dean asked, furrowing his brows together. “I would love to have sex but I won’t make a move unless you’re 100% down.”

You were pleasantly surprised at Dean’s thoughtfulness. “I am absolutely, completely, 100% down. But it’s hot that you asked for consent first.”

“Consent is sexy,” Dean agreed, looking at you tenderly. “Can’t make you feel good until I know you feel safe.”

Your chest felt warm with affection. The more you truly got to know Dean, the more you realized that he was a walking green flag.

You climbed into Dean’s lap, straddling him as you kissed his neck. Dean let out a throaty growl, looking one second away from ripping your clothes off like a rakish period romance love interest. He expertly unhooked your bra and tossed it to the side, gazing at your fully nude body with the reverence usually reserved for Renaissance art.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful,” Dean praised, his blue eyes the size of dinner plates.

You smirked. “Pick your jaw up from the floor and get naked already.”

Dean’s pupils darkened with desire. “Damn, I love it when you’re mean to me,” he murmured, quickly stripping off his clothes and tossing them into a pile.

Dean let his hands roam over your body, caressing every curve and crease like he was trying to commit your body to memory just by touch. He cupped your breasts in both hands before sucking your nipples, eliciting a whine from you as you gripped Dean’s bedsheets.

You pouted when Dean pulled away from you, instantly missing his touch. Dean chuckled, opening his bedside drawer and pulling out a foil wrapper.

“Don’t pout, baby. Just getting some protection,” he assured you before ripping the wrapper open with his teeth. You gulped when you saw his dick pressed against his stomach, the tip flushed a bright red and already dripping with precum.

“You like what you see?” Dean murmured, smirking as he rolled the condom on.

You arched an eyebrow. “Less talk, more action, Di Laurentis,” you retorted, your face growing hot.

Dean tutted. “My impatient girl.” You spread your legs wide for him, watching as he gave his dick a few pumps before he slowly slid inside you. Both of you gasped, reveling in the sensation of his girthy cock stretching your walls.

“You’re so tight, princess,” Dean mumbled appreciatively, holding onto your shoulders as he thrusted into you with a steady pace.

You felt like your soul was being sucked out of your body in the best possible way. Dean must’ve wished on a star or made some other fantastical bargain because how was his dick game so good? He seemed to know all the right spots to hit that would drive you wild. You’d never been so vocal during sex before, and your noises only spurred Dean on more, his pace gradually increasing until you could hear his headboard banging against the wall.

“Come for me one more time,” Dean whispered into the shell of your ear, lightly nipping at your lobe before soothing the bite with a kiss.

You were already on the ski lift to your peak, but then Dean rubbed soft circles on your clit, which sent you into ecstasy. Your legs trembled as you came all over Dean’s cock. His orgasm wasn’t too far behind, and he moaned your name before spilling into the condom.

Dean pulled out, his chest heaving as he tied the used condom in a knot and tossed it into the wastebasket beside his bed. He turned to you, still shaking from the aftermath of an incredible round of sex, and put his arms around your waist.

He was so soft with you, leaving gentle kisses on your cheeks and holding you close until you came back down to Earth.

“You did so good for me,” Dean said, unknowingly activating the part of your lizard brain that thrived on praise. You hummed happily, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“You want some water?” he offered. “And I can help you clean up. Or you can use my shower.”

“Dean Di Laurentis provides aftercare? You continue to prove yourself to be a decent human being,” you quipped, the corners of your mouth curling into a grin. “But seriously, thank you. I had fun—and I’d definitely do this again.”

Dean smiled fondly before rolling out of bed and getting dressed. “Pleasure was all mine, princess.”

• • •

“I can’t believe you, Dean. This was supposed to be a silly little 80s action film with a sprinkle of homoerotic friendship between Maverick and Goose. But this movie had the nerve to make me cry!” you sniffled as the end credits for Top Gun began to roll.

Dean grinned at you. “Isn’t it great?”

You and Dean had been a couple for a few weeks, and now that the hellish period of final exams had ended, he’d invited you over so you could finally experience one of his favorite movies. (Yeah, Hannah and Garrett and Logan and Tucker were there, too. But in Dean’s eyes, they were pretty much set dressing compared to you.)

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, fine, I did enjoy it. But it’s nowhere near the best film of all time, Di Laurentis.”

Dean shook his head in amusement. “Agree to disagree, princess.”

“You two are disgusting,” Garrett muttered, wrapping his arm around Hannah.

“Pot, meet kettle,” you retorted, shooting Garrett a pointed look. Hannah snorted, playfully nudging her boyfriend.

Dean kissed the top of your head, pulling you closer to his chest. This was nice: you, wearing your boyfriend’s jersey, relaxing in his grip while casually bantering with his friends. When you and Dean had first met, you wouldn’t have entertained this scenario in a million years. But now? You were glad you took a chance on the hockey player you’d initially written off. Your life genuinely felt better and brighter with Dean in it.

You heard the sharp ding! of an oven timer and Tucker leapt to his feet, scurrying into the kitchen. “All right, cookies are done!” Everyone nearly jumped in excitement; Tucker’s peanut butter chocolate chip cookies were the stuff of legends.

“I honestly might leave you for these cookies,” you joked to Dean, enjoying the way the chocolate chips melted in your mouth.

Logan snickered. “Dean, you got competition, dude.”

“They’re good cookies, but I guarantee they can’t do that tongue thing she likes,” Dean cheekily replied before popping another cookie into his mouth.

Tucker groaned. “Dude, not in front of my desserts!”

“You are impossible,” you muttered to Dean, though your words lacked any real heat.

“You still like me, though,” Dean countered, pecking your lips.

And honestly, he was right. Nobody drove you up the wall like Dean Di Laurentis, but that’s exactly how you liked it. Dean was goofy as hell and annoyingly charming and all yours.